Eyes Never Lie
Chapter One Sneak Peek
Read Chapter One of Eyes Never Lie by Evie James, Book Three in the Sin Syndicate series. This dark forced proximity secret identity mafia romance begins with a legal attack on Club Xyst and an Irish mafia enforcer who thinks he knows exactly what kind of woman has walked into his world.
He does not.
Evie James | Personal Annotation
I knew what Eyes Never Lie was before I wrote it.
Not every detail. Not every line. Not every secret, betrayal, or kiss.
But I knew the shape of it.
I knew Lachlan Byrnes needed a story that began in control and ended somewhere he never saw coming. I knew Isabella’s story had to be quieter at first, hidden beneath walls, silence, and survival. And I knew this book needed to turn on the kind of twist that makes a reader stop, blink, and realize the story they thought they were reading had just become something else entirely.
Months before I finished writing Eyes Never Lie, I could already see them so clearly that I ordered the character art. That almost never happens for me that early. But Lachlan and Isabella were vivid in my head from the beginning: the dungeon, the danger, the tenderness, the violence, the secrets, the strange intimacy of two people learning to trust each other in a world built to make trust impossible.
I wanted this book to feel different from Nik’s and Lucian’s stories.
Eyes on You is obsession, protection, and the brutal beginning of the Sin Syndicate war.
Eyes of the Unholy is sacrilege, vengeance, and an Irish mafia enforcer dragging a woman out of a church and into a reckoning.
Eyes Never Lie is about truth.
Truth hidden inside lies. Truth that rips apart Lachlan Byrnes, changing him forever.
When I started this book, I hoped the dark, twisty turns would surprise readers. I hoped the secrets would land, and that Isabella’s quiet strength and Lachlan’s dangerous devotion would stay with people after the final page.
And now that readers have started sharing their reactions, I can honestly say this is one of the things I’m proudest of: I wrote a book that surprised people in a way that jolted them.
So before you read Chapter One, know this: the story starts with an Irishman who thinks he knows exactly what kind of woman has walked into his club.
He does not.
And that is where the fun begins.
Chapter One ~ Legal Daggers and Dangerous Names
LACHLAN
A man didn’t wake his brother on his wedding night unless someone was dead, dying, or about to wish they were.
No one was dead yet.
So I let Lucian enjoy his new wife and went to Nikolai Volkov, the Russian bratva’s shadow king, who could bury a government problem behind a wall of code before most men finished their first coffee.
I slapped my palm against the private elevator’s scanner.
The panel rattled as I stared straight ahead, jaw locked, while it glowed red then green.
Seconds later, the doors opened into Nik’s Central Park South penthouse. Morning had barely cracked over Manhattan, and pale winter light was just beginning to spill through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I was still wearing the tux I’d worn to my brother’s wedding, minus the tie, with a drink carrier in one hand, a sack of bagels in the other, and a legal hit job tucked under my arm.
No sleep.
No patience.
And my Irish temper had burned through every last shred of control I had left, leaving nothing but violence smoldering under my skin and the image of some city attorney’s pretty neck caught between my hands.
The elevator doors whispered shut behind me.
Temporary liquor-license suspension.
Civil enforcement action.
Sexual assault allegation.
Forty-eight hours before escalation.
The words had burned in my gut for the last few hours like battery acid. Not because I understood every legal twist in the stack of papers Isabella Delgado had shoved at me. I didn’t. I knew building codes, profit margins, security plans, corrupt cops, drunk rich boys, and how to make a man regret putting his hands where they didn’t belong.
I didn’t know the finer points of the city’s legal paperwork.
But I knew a threat when it walked through my door flanked by the NYPD.
And I sure as hell knew the name Delgado.
A shadow moved at the far end of the hall.
Nik appeared without a sound, barefoot and dressed in black joggers and a dark gray T-shirt, his hair mussed as if he’d either slept badly or not at all. Knowing Nik, it was the latter. His pale eyes swept over me, taking in my disheveled appearance and my weak attempt at breakfast diplomacy.
One corner of his mouth rose.
“That better be coffee.”
“Aye. Brought bagels with lox too—and a city-sized pain in my ass.”
His gaze dropped to the folder tucked under my arm. His faint amusement vanished.
“Your text said there was a problem that couldn’t wait.” His mouth tightened. “You look like shit. What happened?”
“Long night. Figured I’d soften the blow for dragging you out of bed with some of Cipher Coffee’s finest.”
“You didn’t drag me far.” His gaze cut briefly toward the hall that led to his bedroom. “Lacey and I were up late. Weddings make my wife sentimental, and I’m not stupid enough to waste that. She’s finally asleep, so keep your voice down.”
“More than I needed to know.”
“You came to my door at sunrise. You get what you get.”
I almost smiled, but the folder’s edge dug into my palm, dragging me back to why I’d come.
I let out a breath and shook my head, hating that any of us had to deal with this shit today. “You know I wouldn’t have disturbed you if I had a choice. But this needs to be handled before Xyst opens tonight, and hell will freeze before I knock on Lucian and Scarlett’s door because a hotshot city attorney decided to gut our club on their wedding night.”
“After what they survived, they get a few days of peace regardless of whatever fire is burning at Xyst’s front door,” Nik said, stepping closer and taking one of the coffees from the carrier. “And don’t apologize for coming here.”
“I wasn’t apologizing.”
“No.” He tipped his coffee at me. “But you were thinking it. I took the blood oath beside you for a reason, Lach. You need me, you come. Any hour. Any problem.”
I nodded once.
I had two kinds of brothers in this life: the one born to my mother and the ones who’d cut their palms beside mine. Nik belonged to the second kind, and men like him didn’t take oaths lightly.
I followed him to the island between the kitchen and living room, dropped the bagels and drink carrier on the counter, and pulled a coffee free. Neither of us touched the food.
Nik lifted the lid off his cup and breathed in. “Now tell me who was stupid enough to walk into our house thinking they could touch us.”
We crossed the living room together. His office sat behind glass panels on the far side, overlooking the park. The glass frosted as soon as we entered, and the door latched behind us, sealing the room off from everything but the view. In Nik’s home, every system could lock a door, watch a room, listen in, or kill access at the touch of a button or spoken command.
“After the reception cleared, and the staff and I had nearly finished cleaning up and prepping for tonight, two uniforms walked in.”
“Precinct?”
“Sixth.”
His eyes slid to mine.
“Aye.” We both knew what that meant. Luca Genovese had owned the Sixth long before Xyst existed, and before we’d become made men under his roof. Luca ran most of Manhattan through politics, money, unions, and favors, while Nik ruled the shadows with enough hacker reach to make governments sweat.
“Anyone else with them?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah—the mouthpiece.”
Nik paused and arched a brow before stepping closer to his desk.
“She was a petite woman with long black hair, wearing a crisp white blouse with one of those fancy navy suits. Confident smile. She was pretty enough to be distracting, but that wasn’t what got my attention. It was her arrogance. As if she were a predator sizing up prey.”
Nik grunted. “Good. Arrogance is what gets most people in trouble.”
I took a sip of coffee and let the heat burn a trail down my throat. “She scanned the room, found me, and locked on. Attitude screaming she’d already won, and carrying enough legal ammunition to bury us six feet under.”
“Name?”
“Isabella Delgado.”
Nik stilled. His expression didn’t change, but something cold and lethal shifted behind his eyes. That was the thing about him. Most men got louder when the air changed. Nik went quiet.
“Before she could say another word, I asked if she was related to Ciro Delgado,” I said, tapping the folder against my thigh.
Nik stared at me. “And?”
“Said she didn’t know who he was. She didn’t so much as blink. Kept that same smile on her face like I’d asked her about the weather.” I took another drink. I could read people. It was one of the few useful gifts God had given me. “Either she’s the best liar I’ve ever met, or she genuinely doesn’t know him. Could be the name’s just a coincidence.”
“Anyone named Delgado who walks into Xyst with NYPD backing isn’t just a coincidence.”
I shrugged. “That was my first thought, too, but who knows?”
Nik set his coffee down, pressed his palm to the scanner built into the workstation, and the screens woke one by one in a wash of artificial light.
I tossed the folder onto the desk.
“Start with the pretty attorney,” I said. “I want to know everything. Where she lives. Where she came from. Who she’s working for. And whether she’s connected to Ciro Delgado or just unlucky enough to share his name.”
Nik flipped open the folder and quickly shuffled through the documents.
Then he pointed toward the black leather sofa along the side wall. “Sit. This may take a minute. You look one breath away from putting your fist through something expensive.”
“Then don’t own so much expensive shit.”
His mouth twitched, but his eyes focused on the first document.
I lowered myself onto the sofa and set my coffee on the table beside it. From here, I had a front-row seat to Nik’s entire command center. He took the chair behind his desk and tapped the keyboard in front of him.
Windows began opening across the monitors, and the printer along the wall clicked to life.
Nik read the first page and swore under his breath in Russian.
“What?” I asked.
His eyes moved down the letterhead. “Assistant Corporation Counsel Isabella Delgado, New York City Law Department, Administrative Law and Regulatory Litigation Division. Assigned to the Mayor’s Office of Special Enforcement.”
He looked up at me.
I stared back. “Say that again in English.”
“She’s not some private attorney trying to scare you with stationery. She’s a city lawyer.”
“City lawyer sounds better than whatever the fuck you said before.”
“The Law Department represents the City.” He flicked the page with one finger. “That gives her proper authority.”
“Authority enough to shut Xyst down?”
“Enough to make most men hesitate.”
“Good thing we aren’t the type to hesitate.”
“Yes,” he said, already scanning the next page. “She assumed we’d comply and let our attorneys battle it out with the city. That appears to be her first mistake.”
The screens shifted as he worked, scanning the documents and entering key pieces of information into his system. One screen displayed the documents; another filled with legal jargon and government-looking files, while a third moved too fast for me to make sense of, lines of text jumping as his fingers slid over the keyboard.
I leaned back, but every muscle in my body stayed tight with irritation.
Nik read in silence for a minute.
Finally, he said, “This isn’t just one case.”
“Didn’t look like a stack of good news.”
“It’s a coordinated hit.” He dragged three documents to the center screen. “City enforcement here. State Liquor Authority here. And this, this is a private civil suit.”
I stared at the pages on the screen. “Cut through the legal BS and tell me what it all means for the club.”
He pointed to the first document. “The City’s framing Xyst as a dangerous venue—a nightlife nuisance, a public-safety threat, and a business that can’t control what happens inside its own walls. If a judge buys it, they can bury us in inspections and restrictions or shut us down outright.”
“They should put that on a billboard. I bet it’d bring more of the filthy rich in.”
Nik moved to the next filing. “The liquor authority suspended us over the kid with a fake ID who assaulted a cop last April, and they claim we pose a threat to public safety. Xyst is now dry.”
“No alcohol means no club.”
“It means bleeding money, angry members, and the press sniffing around.” He shifted to the third document. “And this is the private complaint.”
He glanced at me.
“Sarah Farris is the private plaintiff in a civil suit,” he explained. “She’s not Isabella’s client. Not directly. Delgado represents the City in enforcement actions. Sarah is the sympathy play, the victim narrative. The alleged assault story they want the press to repeat.”
“So when she said she represented the plaintiff—”
“She was blurring the lines on purpose.” Nik’s voice stayed flat. “The City is the hammer. Farris is how they make attacking Xyst look like protecting women. The SLA is the noose. And the Sixth Precinct gave the city the police incident report they needed to turn an underage drinking, fake-ID, officer-assault mess into a public-safety case. Someone tied it together and sent a city lawyer into Xyst with men from a precinct that should’ve answered to Luca.”
I dragged a hand over my mouth. The documents on the screen blurred for half a second before I forced them back into focus.
“Are they claiming Xyst committed the assault?”
“No. They’re claiming Xyst served the underage kid who later assaulted Farris and a responding officer. Negligent security. Failure to protect patrons. Unlawful service to a minor. Dram shop liability.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Dram what?”
“A type of bar liability,” Nik said. “Their way of saying Xyst helped create the danger by putting alcohol in the kid before he hurt someone.”
“The kid was drunk and underage. That part we knew.” My voice came out in a growl. “Ana was handling the club’s business side back when it happened. She said Luca dealt with the rest, and no one mentioned a woman had been assaulted until now.”
Nik’s fingers paused.
“That wasn’t in the original charges?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I remember a drunk rich boy with a fake ID. I remember him getting stupid enough to put hands on a cop and learning fast that a rich father and a fat bank account couldn’t protect him inside Xyst.” I leaned forward. “I don’t remember any woman being involved. And I sure as hell don’t remember the Sixth coming to us with that kind of allegation.”
Nik studied me.
“Anyone who knows us understands we’d burn our own club to the foundation before we let a woman get hurt inside it or because of it and shrug that off.”
“Yes,” was all he said.
Nik had been forged in the Russian bratva and knew the underworld’s violence firsthand. Luca represented generations of mafia power, backroom deals, dirty money, and handshakes that ruined lives. None of us was a saint. But even men like us had lines we didn’t cross.
The true monsters were the ones who had no lines, then smiled for the cameras and sold themselves as decent men while girls disappeared behind them.
“Is this Hayes’s dirty work?” I asked.
Andrew Hayes no longer occupied the mayor’s office, but he still had enough political reach to make trouble from City Hall to Washington.
Nik’s mouth tightened. “It has his fingerprints all over it.”
“Too bad Lucian didn’t fucking kill him.”
“Hayes is hard to kill,” he grunted.
“He’s a politician. They usually are.”
“His influence only grew after Lucian put a bullet in him.” Nik leaned back, eyes on the documents. “City Hall. Albany. Federal friends. Donors. Men near the White House who think favors are currency and women are collateral. Hayes still has pull, and he’ll use every bit of it to win that Senate seat.”
“That cat has to be on his ninth life,” I said. “And it’s time someone stopped him from landing on his feet.”
“Yes,” Nik said. “But not before we know who’s pulling the strings.”
Evie James | Personal Annotation
Before you go any further, let me say this plainly: Eyes Never Lie is a true dark romance.
Not “a dangerous man growls a little and everything stays pretty.”
This book digs into captivity, stolen identity, cartel power, trafficking networks, political corruption, institutional rot, sexual trauma, and morally gray men who understand that justice does not always arrive wearing a badge.
As noted in the content warnings, this story includes sexual assault on the page. It is nonconsensual. It is committed by antagonists. It is not romanticized, softened, or treated as something the heroine secretly wants. The trauma in this book exists because the villains use bodies, power, and fear as weapons—and because the romance at the center of the story is built in direct opposition to that. Choice matters here. Consent matters here. Freedom matters here.
And if you’re a dark romance reader?
Welcome to Lachlan Byrnes’ book.
I knew from the beginning that Eyes Never Lie had to feel different from both Nik’s and Lucian’s stories. Eyes on You opens inside Nik’s exhausted, violent, coffee-starved head. Eyes of the Unholy opens outside a church on Christmas night, with Lucian Byrnes about to commit a sin even he knows should probably send him straight to hell.
Lachlan’s book opens with something quieter.
Paperwork.
A legal threat. A government order. A city attorney with a dangerous name. A folder full of official language sharp enough to blow up a business before anyone ever pulls a trigger.
That was intentional.
Because one of the things I wanted to explore in this book is how power hides behind systems. In this world, evil does not always kick down the door. Sometimes it walks in wearing an expensive suit, carrying a badge, quoting statutes, and pretending the knife in its hand is procedure.
Lachlan understands violence. He understands loyalty. He understands what it means when a someone threatens his family, his club, or the women under the Syndicate’s protection. What he does not understand—at least not yet—is that the most dangerous lies in this book are not shouted. They are filed. Stamped. Signed. Smiled through.
That is why this chapter begins with Lachlan going to Nik.
Not because he is helpless. Lachlan Byrnes is many things, but helpless will never be one of them. He goes to Nik because the attack on Xyst is bigger than one club, one attorney, or one civil complaint. It is a threat. And in the Sin Syndicate world, every threat eventually leads to a monster with money, power, and people willing to look away.
This is also the book where the title matters from the very beginning.
Eyes Never Lie.
Lachlan trusts what he sees in people. He reads tells. He sees arrogance, fear, defiance, hunger, calculation. But this story asks what happens when even a man that observant is looking at the wrong truth.
A file can lie.
A beautiful woman can lie.
But eyes?
Lachlan believes eyes tell the truth, and this book is going to make him bleed for that belief before it rewards him for it.
The Sin Syndicate books are written so each couple has their own full romance, emotional arc, and happily-ever-after. You can read Eyes Never Lie as Lachlan and Isabella’s story and understand what matters between them. But the series is even richer when read in order. By the time Lachlan steps onto the page here, the Syndicate has already been dragged into political corruption, trafficking networks, and a war against men powerful enough to buy silence.
Now the war moves beyond Manhattan.
Into cartel territory.
Into locked rooms.
Into the kind of love story where rescue is not enough unless the woman being rescued still gets to choose what happens next.
If you prefer your romance soft, safe, and morally tidy, this may not be your book.
But if you love dark mafia romance where the dangerous man is not the worst thing in the room, where protection has to learn the difference between shelter and control, where truth hides in plain sight, and where love means handing someone the key instead of building them a prettier cage…
Then welcome to Eyes Never Lie.
Read the content warnings.
Don’t trust your own eyes.
Then keep going.
Chapter One, Part Two ~ Who’s Pulling the Strings
LUCIAN
His hands moved again in controlled, precise keystrokes. A pause, then another command. Another file opened because Nik asked, and security systems had a habit of obeying him.
From the sofa, I couldn’t read every window that filled the monitors, but I followed along as Nik dug deeper into the assault charges. Court records gave way to old addresses, sealed filings, employment history, government databases, and a few black screens that looked like places honest men weren’t supposed to go.
Nik didn’t hack like men did in movies. There was no grin. No dramatic bullshit.
He simply walked through closed doors without getting out of his chair.
“Sarah Farris,” he murmured. “Thirty-four. Yonkers. Petty-theft conviction, cocaine possession, missed court date, rehab recommended but never completed. Her employment history is erratic at best.”
“So how does a woman like that end up tied to our fake-ID kid?”
“Good question.” His fingers kept moving. “Middle-class background. No violent record. Enough wreckage to control her, enough normalcy to make her sell as sympathetic in front of a jury.”
A cold thread of understanding slid through me.
“She’s exploitable.”
He opened another file, then another, and paused. “This is interesting.”
“What?”
Nik’s eyes narrowed. “Ms. Farris has a second life. She’s been working under an alias for the last few months.”
My molars ground against each other. “Doing what?”
“Escort work,” he said. “Name on the bookings is Tammy Bondi.”
I huffed. “Classy.”
“She works for Elysian Companions Group.”
The name sounded expensive.
“That’s what hooker services call themselves when they want rich men to feel respectable,” I said, leaning forward and resting my forearms on my thighs.
A corporate org chart appeared on the screen. Nik grimaced and leaned closer.
Then he stopped and scrubbed a hand over his chin.
“Elysian Companions connects to Leon Brands.”
I raised a brow. “Never heard of them.”
“You’ve heard of their world.”
“Does that mean anything useful, or are you being dramatic?”
Nik gave me a look.
I shrugged. “No sleep, remember?”
“Leon Brands is a fashion and makeup empire. Lingerie, modeling-adjacent products, private events, mentorship programs, and women’s leadership foundations. They’re respectable on paper and clean enough for charity galas and boardrooms.”
“Sounds like the billionaire class doing what they do.”
“It is,” he growled. “It’s also access. Pretty girls want in. Girls with dreams of modeling, dancing, acting, internships, travel. Girls who think proximity to money means hope for an amazing future.”
The back of my neck prickled.
“Franklin Whitaker,” Nik said.
The name had been in the air since Scarlett and Lucian came back from Spain with files linking him to the global sex trafficking network behind the monastery.
Nik’s expression hardened. “He’s a predator with an Ivy League education and better manners than Delgado. He doesn’t need gangs on street corners. He needs men with money, influence, and appetites they can’t show in daylight.”
My jaw locked.
“He worked his way into Leon Brands through the billionaire who built it. He started as a financial adviser and made himself the gatekeeper. Now he manages the money, foundations, real estate, private events, and access to models. He runs the kind of rooms where a man can shake hands with a senator at noon and choose a girl from a private list by midnight,” Nik continued. “Scarlett and Lucian brought back enough from Spain to prove the monastery wasn’t an isolated nightmare. Every file opens into another institution and another girl.”
He dragged the corporate map wider.
Leon Brands sat near the center of the web.
“Whitaker has become my number-one focus,” he said. “Every time I pull one thread, a thousand more come with it.”
He took a slow drink from the coffee, rubbing the edge of the cup across his bottom lip and studying the information.
“And now Sarah Farris, our surprise assault victim, leads to him.”
“She’s being paid to frame Xyst,” I barked.
“Paid, pressured, handled…who knows? Maybe all three.” Nik sent several files to the printer. “But she is not random.”
Paper began spitting out of the machine.
I stood because sitting had become impossible, then paced across the office.
“What about the woman who came to the club with all this cooked-up bullshit?” I asked.
Nik shifted screens, and I moved to stand behind him, arms crossed over my chest.
“Let’s see who Miss Delgado really is.” The keyboard clattered away as he typed faster.
A city personnel file opened, followed by a résumé, a bar record, and a university transcript.
“Isabella Delgado,” he read. “Twenty-six. Born and raised in San Antonio, with an undergraduate degree from the University of Texas at Austin. Top of her class. Law review. Then a summer associate at Harrington Shaw & Pierce, doing white-collar and regulatory work. She was admitted to the New York bar and hired by the City’s Law Department less than three months ago.”
“Sounds shiny.”
“Very.”
“Too shiny?”
“Not fake shiny.” He kept reading. “That’s what bothers me.”
“You’re telling me the woman who walked into our club is legitimate?”
“I’m telling you her credentials are.”
“That’s comforting.”
“She’s well-educated, polished, and credentialed enough to know exactly which statute to quote when she wants a business owner nervous.”
“Why the hell would a woman with that résumé trade private-law money for working in city enforcement?”
Nik glanced over his shoulder at me.
“Exactly the question to ask.”
I shook my head. “That wasn’t an answer.”
“It was the answer.” He leaned back in his chair. “Most people take the background check at face value. They see legitimacy and stop looking. We don’t. We play poker,” he said. “Everyone has a tell. So does a file. The résumé isn’t the lie.”
“The placement is.”
His mouth curved. “Now you’re awake.”
“Don’t push it.”
Nik tapped the hiring record on the screen. “She joined the City a few weeks after I settled in Manhattan permanently. A few weeks after Hayes and Delgado realized I wasn’t going to stay in my lane. I doubt that’s a coincidence.”
I let out a low hum. “Amazing how many people are keeping their eyes on you.”
Nik didn’t blink. “No shit.”
I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck. “Ciro seems good at creating identities.”
Nik’s eyes lifted to mine.
“Kind of like you,” I added.
He huffed once. “No one is as good as I am.”
“There’s the humility we all admire.”
“But yes,” he said, ignoring me. “Delgado has enough money, corrupt officials, and terrified people willing to stamp whatever he puts in front of them. But this doesn’t look like a woman invented from nothing. It looks worse.”
“Worse how?”
“She’s a real woman. Real credentials. Real access.” His gaze cut back to the personnel file. “Someone placed her exactly where Delgado, Hayes, or Whitaker needed her.”
I pictured Isabella Delgado standing in Xyst with two uniforms and a smile too calm for the room she’d entered. She’d been pretty, polished, and entirely untroubled.
Maybe she was innocent.
Maybe not.
“And if she’s exactly who she says she is?” I asked.
“Then we need to find out why she chose to become useful to the wrong men.”
The printer clicked again.
Nik pulled out the fresh stack of documents, skimmed the first page, and tucked them into the same folder Isabella had shoved at me.
“Farris, the corporate trail, and everything I found on Miss Delgado.” He held it out to me. “It’s all there.”
I took it as one last page slid into the tray.
Nik pulled it free, glanced down, and smirked.
“What’s that?”
“The liquor-license suspension.”
I took it from him and frowned at the page. “This says terminated.”
“Yes, it does.”
I looked up.
Nik’s face was calm.
“You fixed it?”
“I erased the active suspension and every flag it pushed to the City. If some ambitious clerk goes hunting, they’ll find an amended-filing problem and a supervisor’s note telling them not to touch it until corrected documents are uploaded.”
I stared at him.
He picked up his coffee. “Xyst can sell alcohol tonight.”
A slow smile pulled at my mouth.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Like I just handed you a loaded gun and a woman arrogant enough to stand in front of it.”
I tapped the folder against my palm.
He sighed. “You’re going to enjoy this.”
“Oh, you know I will.”
I glanced at one of the monitors. Her professional headshot stared back from the corner of the personnel file, long black hair framing big brown eyes.
The pretty attorney had picked the wrong club to fuck with.
Nik’s voice cut through the thought.
“Review these. Then go put Assistant Corporation Counsel Isabella Delgado in her place.”
I tucked the folder under my arm.
“With pleasure.”
Fun Fact
When I first started building the El Salvador portion of Eyes Never Lie, I realized how little I actually knew about the country beyond the way it is often portrayed in American media.
The headlines tend to focus on gangs, prisons, corruption, violence, migration, and fear. Those things are part of the country’s complicated modern story, but they are not the whole story. Not even close.
El Salvador is also home to hardworking families, artists, farmers, students, business owners, guides, cooks, coffee growers, and ordinary people living full, beautiful, complicated lives in a place that deserves to be seen as more than a backdrop for danger.
And then I started researching the land itself.
I had no idea how small El Salvador is, or how dramatic the terrain could be inside such a compact country. Volcanoes. Mountain roads. Ravines. Lakes. Pacific coastline. Dry-season light. Dense green growth. A landscape that can feel lush, beautiful, isolated, and dangerous all at once.
The story takes place in January, which falls during El Salvador’s dry season. That mattered more than I expected. It changed the way I imagined the air, the roads, the forest, the heat in the lower elevations, and the cooler temperatures higher on the volcanic slopes.
I also learned about the coffee grown on those slopes. High-end Salvadoran coffee is cultivated in volcanic regions, where elevation, soil, shade, and climate all matter. Once I understood that, the fictional Delgado compound started to click into place.
Finca La Cruzona is fictional, but I built it from real inspiration: a remote coffee estate high on the slopes of San Vicente, also known as Chichontepec. The volcano, the old plantation roads, the coffee trees, the banana and plantain growth, the steep terrain, and the sense of being close to civilization but still dangerously cut off all gave the compound the feeling I needed.
And yes, I had to learn the difference between bananas and plantains too. Plantains are related to bananas, but they are starchier and usually cooked instead of eaten raw. Think fried plantains, tostones, or a more savory, potato-like food when green rather than the sweet snack banana most of us know.
For the story, the coffee-estate setting gave me everything I needed: old workrooms, storage spaces, hidden passages, a service stair, thick walls, and the perfect fictional cellar beneath Isabella’s room. Once I imagined that brick air vent between the room above and the darkness below, I knew she would hear everything.
That detail became one of the most important pieces of the book.
The San Vicente setting also helped the escape make sense. The steep terrain, ravines, coffee and banana forest undercarriage, old service paths, rural chapel, and volcanic landscape all gave Lachlan and Isabella a world that could hide them and threaten them at the same time.
I loved that contradiction.
Nature becomes part of the suspense. It gives them cover. It gives them danger. It gives them obstacles, shelter, pain, beauty, and the feeling that every step away from the compound could either save them or kill them.
Because in Eyes Never Lie, El Salvador is not just a place Lachlan is taken to.
It is the terrain of the story: beautiful, brutal, secretive, and alive with hidden paths.
It gave me the dungeon.
It gave me the escape.
And it gave Isabella a way to listen before she ever found the courage to open the door.
When a woman with a dangerous name walks into Club Xyst and threatens the Sin Syndicate’s empire…
Irish mafia enforcer Lachlan Byrnes sees a problem he wants to solve, a beautiful liar he should not want, and a mystery that refuses to look away.
But the first lie is only the beginning.
Soon, Manhattan’s legal war turns into a cartel nightmare, and Lachlan is dragged into a world of stolen identities, brutal secrets, captivity, and a woman hidden behind every answer he thought he had.
Eyes Never Lie is a dark forced proximity secret identity mafia romance with an Irish mafia enforcer, cartel danger, captivity, vigilante justice, touch-her-and-die devotion, and a love story built on choice, truth, and survival.
If you want to know what happens after Lachlan Byrnes follows a beautiful lie into hell, keep reading.
Get your copy of Eyes Never Lie today and see what happens when the man who trusts no one finally believes the one woman everyone else tried to erase.
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Romance for Readers Who Crave More Than a Love Story
If you love romance with powerful men, fierce women, sharp banter, dangerous chemistry, impossible choices, and emotional healing, you’re in the right place. My books move through mafia underworlds, hospital corridors, snowbound holiday towns, war-zone danger, and aviation worlds where pilots, protectors, doctors, survivors, and morally gray men fall hard. Expect forced proximity, enemies to lovers, protective heroes, obsessive devotion, one-bed tension, high-stakes suspense, and hard-won happily ever afters.
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