She reads eyes.
He hides madness behind them.

As the firstborn of New York’s most formidable crime family, Kayla Sforza was born to rule men who feared nothing except their own obsolescence. Cold-blooded, diamond-cut, and devastatingly perceptive, she once studied optometry to learn how eyes lied. These days, she uses that gift to unmask traitors, unmake rivals, and keep her pulse buried so deep even she can’t feel it. Her laughter is rare—joy is a vulnerability. Her stilettos are sharp—softness is a liability. And the only time her gaze lingers is on the man she should loathe.

Lucius Andrade is everything a sensible conscience should flee: rage wrapped in charm, the bastard son of South America’s most vicious kingpin. Set loose to New York to seal a fragile alliance through a marriage of strategy, he ends up betrothed to Kayla’s younger sister, who was . . . very much in love with women. For Lucius, the sham buys legitimacy, plus a front-row seat to the in-law who steadies the static in his skull. Around Kayla, the meds meant to leash his mania gather dust. Around him, her steel composure turns porous.

She should’ve looked away. Instead, obsession bloomed behind her perfect poker face, a pulse she tracked from surveillance feeds to FBI black sites. He should’ve stayed clear of her orbit, yet every time he blinked she was there. An echo in his bloodstream. A queen whose fingerprints smudged every door he opened.

Opposites don’t repel; they collide.

One kiss after twenty-four months of restraint rewrites the underworld’s balance sheet, and a rough-voiced “principessa” turns caution into treason. Because when the Queen with a vendetta falls for the Devil’s untamed son, only one rule remains:

Don’t get caught.

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