Let's play a game, shall we? Never have I ever read a book involving a cheating spouse and rooted for the couple cheating until now. Yes, I am mildly alarmed but also resigned. Do share your bookish variation of this game.

Anyway.

On a historical level, I am sure there were countless and endless things incorrect in this book around the 1940s and gangs. On a practical level, the relationship is toxic, messy, and creepy. If a man looms menacingly outside your house repeatedly, I am begging you to not pine after him, okay? Do literally anything else.

Lucky for me, I don't know enough about the Mafia (a shock I am sure) or the 1940s for it to negatively impact my reading experience. I was simply sucked into the journals and the spiraling of Genevieve as her world fell apart. Similar to Genevieve, I should be ashamed of reading and enjoying this book. I'm not.

This book is basically made of gossamer threads on a spiderweb. Don't look too closely, alright? If you pull, it'll unravel. We are here for the haunted mansion (reminiscent of the Adams family), weird violent undertones (thanks to the mob), and toxic but compelling romance. The book lingers somewhere between campy old horror and soap opera yet avoids both somehow. No, I don't know how. I also don't care. I am here simply for the vibes and it delivered.

Now please don't mind me reading more by this author. I have to balance somehow between my love of romances and eternal obsession with Criminal Minds. Dark romance happens to hit both preferences perfectly. I just know older pulp fiction writers applaud and fear this genre. Okay, think of me as I venture into this dark abyss. I'm going in.