Prologue
London was a suffocating tomb of grey stone, rain, and guilt. Inside her pristine, silent walls, the truth didn’t matter; Eliza knew she had betrayed Matteo. She had loved him, yet she had wrapped herself in lies and kept dangerous secrets from the man who ruled New York. She had even killed one of his men.
The memory of the warm blood on her hands burned like acid whenever she closed her eyes, but what stung worse was the cold, unyielding fury in Matteo’s eyes when he cast her out.
“If I ever see you again, I will put a bullet in your head.”
The threat echoed in her mind, matched by the steady, rhythmic patter of heavy English rain against the windows, keeping her awake until dawn. Angry, heartbroken, and suffocating under the weight of her choices, Eliza knew she couldn’t stay.
She needed to get away from everyone she knew, far from the reach of the American syndicate. But navigating the world was terrifying when her fractured memory could only stretch back a few years into the darkness. She didn’t know who she used to be.
Desperate to run, she turned to Vivienne, her benefactor. Using her vast underworld resources, Vivienne secured a fake passport at Eliza’s quiet request. It was an unspoken agreement; Vivienne provided the shield but asked no questions about the destination.
Without telling a soul, she packed her life into a single bag and slipped away into the night. Eliza Markham lay buried in the rain; she was Eliza Matthews now.
She travelled south to Naples, where the air was warm, and the world moved with a chaotic, vibrant energy that left no room for ghosts. It was a harsh lesson in survival, but some deep, ancient part of her—instincts that existed long before the darkness took her memory—already knew exactly how to endure.
Within eight months, the Italian sun had started to wash the paleness of London from her skin. By day, she wiped down tables at a quiet local café. But her nights mirrored the life she thought she had left behind.
Four nights a week, she stepped into the neon-lit sensory overload of Velluto Nero—a high-end gentlemen’s club that shared a dangerous elegance with The Raven. Walking among the wealthy, powerful men of Italy brought a constant prickle of adrenaline to her skin, a reminder of the fire she had escaped.
She was rebuilding herself, piece by piece, in the shadows of an entirely new underworld. But shadows have a habit of stretching, and the past was already catching up.
