I was raised a dutiful mafia princess. Never tip your hand. Never show fear. Other than the occasional single tear, I only ever cried on the inside. But I was willing to spill my own blood to escape an arranged marriage. When that failed, I finally fled. Never in my darkest, deadliest dreams did I think my path to freedom would thrust me right into bloodthirsty enemy arms. Arms and eyes made of steel. A man like no other man I'd ever known. He'd be the death of me. If only the death of me didn't feel so excruciatingly good.
