Counterfeit

My name is Alexandra Wentworth.

To the outside world, I am an heiress, an honor student, a doll who speaks in the softest register and never lets her smile slip.

All of it is a performance.

Two years ago, I gave my first night to Leonardo Cortez. Beneath the moonlight and the flowering vines, the golden boy whispered that I was the only one he loved. Then he vanished, leaving me alone.

I thought I hated him. Until he reappeared in my apartment.

To uncover the truth behind my mother's death, I had no choice but to strike a dangerous bargain with him-partners who share a bed. In the chill of Lake Como, he kissed me savagely. In the heat of Miami, he asked me if I would promise never to leave him.

I told him I was someone without a heart. Until I traced the murder of my mother back to its true architect.

In that moment, I tore off every mask I had ever worn. I walked into the family gala with a gun and a file of evidence. And he-the mafia heir-dropped to one knee before all those watching eyes, and begged me to let him be the one to follow me into hell.

That was when I understood: we were both living in a world of counterfeits, yet we had spent all our days trying to become the one authentic thing in each other's sight.

Deception is our camouflage. Revenge is the theme.

And love is the one artifact that needs no authentication between two souls mapped entirely in scars.