PROLOGUE

SOPHIA

They say New York looks best from the top of the world.

I adjusted my phone, framing the Manhattan skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Winters Building.

My husband, David, had been in his meeting for an hour. Which meant I had at least another thirty minutes to stand here, look pretty, and contemplate whether jumping from here would be faster than getting a divorce.

I was joking. Mostly. I could never divorce David.

"That's a terrible angle."

The deep voice came from behind me. It was dark, smooth, and with just enough gravel to make it interesting.

I didn't turn around. I rolled my eyes. "And yet, I don't remember asking for photography lessons."

"No, but you're about to cut off the Chrysler Building, and that would be a crime."

"Bold of you to lecture me about crime."

I lowered my phone and turned, fully prepared to offer my best society-wife smile; the one that said please go away in six different languages.

The smile died on my lips. The man in front of me was beautiful in the way dangerous things are beautiful. He was tall, at least six-three.

His dark hair was swept back from a face that was bothered by angles, a blade of a nose, a mouth that looked like it rarely smiled but would be devastating when it did, and a jaw that could cut glass.

But it was his eyes that made my breath catch. They were silver, not gray or blue-gray. It was actually silver, unnatural and so intense I felt stripped bare under their force.

And he was staring at me like I was something he wanted to devour. It wasn't the appreciation men usually offered after remembering whose wife I was. This was hunger, raw, unfiltered hunger and so blatant it sent heat crawling up my spine.

I'd forgotten what it felt like to be looked at like that; a woman, not just David's property.

"See something you like?" I asked. Being sarcastic was easier than acknowledging the way my pulse had just kicked into overdrive.

His mouth curved into a ghost of a smile that somehow made him more dangerous. "I'm still deciding."

He moved closer, and I caught his scent: cool, minty ice and something warmer, like smoke.

"You shouldn't be up here," he said, his voice dropping lower. "This floor is restricted."

"And yet, here I am." I lifted my chin, refusing to back down even though every instinct I had was screaming at me to run. "David told me to wait, so I'm waiting."

“David?”

The way he said my husband's name as though it tasted bitter, sent a chill through me.

"David Winters," I clarified, though I had a feeling he already knew exactly who I was talking about. "My husband."

"Ah." He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made me feel like a specimen under glass. "So you're the wife. Funny." He stepped closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to hold his gaze. Close enough that I could see the thin scar cutting through his left eyebrow, the slight crook in his nose that suggested it had been broken at least once. "I didn't think Winters had a sense of humor."

"He doesn't.”

His laugh was soft and dark, and I wanted to hear it again. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Depends. Are you planning to use it for good or evil?"

"Evil, obviously."

"Then it's Sophia." I extended my hand, because even in the middle of whatever this was, four years of society training died hard. "Sophia Winters."

His hand engulfed mine. He didn't shake it so much as he held it, his thumb brushing across my knuckles in a touch that felt far too intentional.

"Cassian," he said. "Cassian Devine."

The name was like cold water, killing the heat that had been slowly building in my stomach.

I knew that name. Everyone in New York with even a passing connection to the underworld knew that name.

Cassian Devine. Import-export magnate. Rumored arms dealer. The man Big Mike had called "that Devine bastard" at least a dozen times over family dinners, usually followed by creative threats involving concrete and the Hudson River.

The Devines and the Winters had been at war for as long as I'd been married, maybe longer. And I was standing here, letting David's mortal enemy hold my hand and look at me like I was something worth wanting.

I should pull away, smile politely, make an excuse and leave, instead, I smiled.

"Devine," I repeated, letting the name roll off my tongue. "That's a lot of pressure to live up to."

"I manage." His thumb stroked another slow circle on my hand. "Though right now, I'm thinking your husband made one terrible mistake."

"Only one?"

"Leaving you alone." His silver eyes held mine. "Where any monster could find you."

My breath caught. "And are you a monster, Mr. Devine?"

"The worst kind." He leaned in, close enough that I felt his breath against my ear. "The kind that knows exactly what he wants."

Heat flooded through me, pooling low in my belly. It had been so long since anyone had looked at me like this.

And now this man; this dangerous, beautiful, absolutely forbidden man was looking at me like I was the only thing in the room.

"Sophia!"

David's voice from behind us made me jump in my Chanel heels. I jerked back, pulling my hand from Cassian's grip as my husband appeared in the hallway, his face tight with barely controlled fury.

The change in Cassian was instantaneous. The heat in his eyes vanished, replaced by winter ice. His face went blank, no, not blank,but carefully, deliberately empty.

He straightened to his full height, and suddenly the man who had been looking at me with hunger was gone. This man was cold, harsh and lethal.

"Winters," Cassian said, his voice flat.

"Devine." David's hand closed around my elbow. It was possessive in a way he'd never been before. "I see you've met my wife."

"Charming woman." Cassian's eyes fell to me for just a second, and I saw that flash of heat under the ice. "You're a lucky man."

"I'm aware. Was there something you needed? Or are you lost?"

I could practically feel the violence simmering under the surface of both men, barely leashed and looking for an excuse to explode.

"Just admiring the view. The city looks beautiful from up here. Though I suppose you'd know that better than anyone, wouldn't you? This building, these floors, that corner office..."

Cassian pointed vaguely toward the end of the hall, where the largest office was dark and empty.

"Used to be yours, didn't it? Before I bought it out from under you."

David's face went red. "Get out."

"Already leaving." Cassian adjusted his cuffs, and I noticed the Rolex on his wrist. "Mrs. Winters."

He nodded at me, and for just a second, so brief I might have imagined it, that hungry look was back. Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the marble hallway until the elevator doors closed behind him.

"What the hell were you thinking?" David hissed, spinning me to face him. "Do you have any idea who that was?"

"Cassian Devine, I'm not an idiot, David."

"Then stop acting like one!" He released my arm and ran a hand through his hair, agitated. "If my father finds out you were talking to him…"

"Then don't tell him."

David stared at me, and I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. We had an arrangement, David and I. He got his perfect society wife to hide behind. I got my mother's medical bills paid and a roof over my head.

It wasn't love, and on some days like this, it wasn't even friendship, but it was survival.

"Fine," he said finally. "But stay away from him, Sophia. I mean it. That Devine bastard is dangerous."

"I know."

And I did. I knew exactly how dangerous Cassian Devine was.

I just couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd looked at me like he wanted to ruin me, or maybe he wanted to save me.

That night, I lay in my separate bedroom in the Winters mansion, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about those silver eyes

I failed, because for the first time in four years, someone had looked at me like I was alive.

And God help me, I wanted to feel that way again. I craved the wrong man.