Natasha Knight, you need to be studied.
No, seriously—someone call NASA, because whatever gravitational pull your books have on me is unnatural. I open one “just to peek,” and suddenly it’s 4AM, I’m emotionally malnourished, and I’ve forgotten how to blink like a normal human being.
The Pawn? More like The Pain, because this book wrecked me.
We pick up right where The Villain left my soul—dangling off a cliff, screaming Allegra’s name into the void. Cassian Trevino, our morally gray god of chaos, is out for blood, and let me tell you, vengeance has never looked so damn good in a suit. He’s unhinged, obsessive, loyal to a fault, and probably one government file away from being declared a national security threat… and yet, I love him with the kind of devotion that should concern a therapist.
And Allegra? Oh, my girl didn’t just survive—she ascended. This woman walked through fire, danced with monsters, and came out wearing their crowns. The transformation from fragile moth to flame-slinging queen had me standing up, slow-clapping like I was watching her win an Oscar for “Most Likely to Burn Her Enemies Alive.”
The tension between them? It’s not chemistry—it’s arson. Every glance, every argument, every “don’t you dare touch her” moment had me pacing my room like an unpaid bodyguard. Their love story feels less like a romance and more like divine punishment, and I enjoyed every devastating second.
This book isn’t gentle. It’s brutal, it’s bloody, and it doesn’t come with emotional airbags. Betrayals fly like daggers, secrets detonate, and every character looks guilty enough to lawyer up. There were moments I literally whispered, “Natasha, please, I’m just a girl,” while wiping tears and internally scheduling therapy.
And yet… I wouldn’t change a thing.
The way Cassian loves Allegra—raw, desperate, infinite—should be studied in dark romance history books. The man vows violence like it’s poetry. The kind of devotion that terrifies you because it’s too real.
By the time I hit the last page, I wasn’t reading anymore—I was grieving.
For my sanity. For my sleep schedule. For the fact that Jet Blackstone exists and doesn’t have his own book yet. (Natasha, I’m begging—feed us. We’re starving.)
So here I am again, ruined and reborn, looking at my reflection like, “Was it worth it?”
Yes. Every chaotic, soul-rattling page.
The Pawn isn’t just a book—it’s a war, a reckoning, and a love story carved out of vengeance and devotion.
And I’d walk straight into that fire again. 🔥