No Mercy, No Vows

I came home for a funeral and left with a fiancé. That's what happens when your father needs a ceasefire and has two daughters. My sister was already engaged, so I got the honor. Marco Vazquez didn't want a bride from a rival crew. I didn't want a husband at all. So we made a deal: two years, separate rooms, a public show. He'd keep his family off mine. I'd keep my mouth shut. Easy. Then I did his books — I'm a lawyer, I can't help it — and found a shell company, a smuggling operation, and my own father's fingerprints on every page. Now I'm married to the enemy, and the enemy is the only person in Philadelphia who isn't lying to me. The contract had a two-year exit clause. We're not going to make it that long.