“King of the North,” he hissed, checking the device. He already expected me to betray him. He’d hated me ever since my twin, Enzo, outed me in middle school. I could still feel the sting of his spit on my face from that day. “Come on, pretty son,” he smiled. “Let’s get you married.” I put on my Ray-Bans. I wasn’t Luca anymore. I was a mask. To unite the fractured syndicates of Chicago, a marriage is arranged. The groom? Silas Vane, the ruthless, cold-blooded “King of the North,” who is 45 and widowed. The other groom? Lucas De Santis, the 22-year-old reckless partying son of the southern boss, viewed as a pawn and a liability by his own father. Silas expects a brat to ignore. Luca expects a monster to fear.