He was supposed to kill me. I had done the unthinkable. I called the cops on him, on his family, but he let me live. We became friends, and then...we fell in love. Lucy Ives is a foster kid, running from her turbulent past. On her first night in New York City, she accidentally calls the cops on the mafia. But when their fixer comes to kill her, he ends up sparing her life in exchange for a favor - be his fake fiancé or die.

I shouldn't have remembered him. He was just a guy who walked through a restaurant. I didn't know his name. We never made eye contact. There was no connection between us at all. But I could feel him. The tingle down my spine. The command in his presence. The snap of tension in the air around him. That was the first time I saw him, and I was captivated.

We were best friends, then we were enemies. Loved. Protected. Cherished. There was a time when Ranieri Andretti made me feel those things. That was before his family came after mine. He was supposed to forget me. We went our separate ways. It should have stayed like that. But now he's back in my life, and he's my new boss. I want to hate him. He's my ex-best friend. My tormentor. The head of the Andretti family. But no matter how hard I try...I can't stay away.

I had a plan to escape the friend zone. Step one: sneak into Reed’s room. Step two: sleep with him. But when the lights turned on, it wasn’t familiar blue eyes I saw. These were dark, angry, and full of demons. And they belonged to Reed’s much-older brother. Four years later, Nash Prescott is no longer the help’s angry son. I’m no longer the town’s prized princess. At 22, I’m broke, in need of a job. At 32, he’s a billionaire, in need of revenge.

Ten years ago, I crushed Damiano De Luca’s heart, vowing false promises I never delivered. The revenge? Didn’t happen. The destruction? As if I could. Betrayal? Not. A. Chance. We were 18 when I left, taking my secrets with me. Now at 28, there’s no trace of the jaded mafia prince with the protective streak. He’s crueler. Colder. More calculated than ever. And he’s glaring at me from a funeral pew, looking at me and my wedding ring like we should be the ones buried six feet under. The war is back on, but I’m not that teenage girl anymore. This time, there will be blood.