Elara Vance was a ghost in her own life, a "civvy" caught in the crosshairs of a debt she didn't owe. Her brother's gambling habit had finally hit a wall—a wall named Dante Moretti, the heir to the North End's most ruthless syndicate.
When Dante's men hauled her into his study, she expected a cold execution. Instead, she found a man who looked more like a fallen angel than a monster. He didn't scream; he spoke in a low, melodic rasp that made her skin prickle.
"Your brother's life is worth more than he can pay," Dante said, circling her chair. "But your reputation for discretion... that is priceless."
He offered a deal: stay in his estate for three months, acting as his fiancée to ward off a forced political marriage arranged by his father. In exchange, her brother lived. Elara agreed, but as the days bled into weeks, the "act" began to fray. Dante was a man of violence, yet he left peonies by her bed. He was a killer, yet he read Keats in the library at 3:00 AM.
The suspense broke one night when a bullet shattered the dining room window, missing Elara by an inch. Dante didn't call for his guards; he shielded her with his own body, whispering, "I've brought the devil to your door, haven't I?"