An open letter to all the nice guys in literature: 
 Dear "nice guys," 
 On behalf of women everywhere (or at least the rational, normal, not-stupid ones), I apologize for this book. 
 By "nice guys," I don't mean guys who slap the label on themselves haphazardly in order to absolve the fact that they are incapable of getting a girl because they don't expend any damn effort, I mean guys who are genuinely awesome. Guys who risk everything for the woman they love. Guys who focus on friendship first. Guys who actually put forth the time to get to know the girl. Guys who have normal, stable careers. Guys who want to settle down. Guys who know that the woman they like, then admire, then love, is more than a piece of pussy to be used and thrown away as they lose interest. 
 I just wanted to let you guys know that you are appreciated. You are loved; truly. As readers, I love reading about nice guys, and I am so sorry for the way you are so often treated, so often dismissed in favor of a lesser creature. I am particularly apologetic for the atrocious way one of your own, Luca, is treated by Cass, his frilly fucking of fluff of a fiance within this book. 
 I swear to you, most women are better than this; we are better than her. We do not harbor feelings for a criminal, a liar, a grave-robber. One who shows no signs of remorse, no signs of wanting to change for the better. 
 [Cass and Falco's] whole relationship was based on secrets and lies. Even if Falco had stopped stealing dead bodies...did that mean he wouldn't turn to crime again the next time he needed more than his art could provide? She didn't know. 
 We do not prefer such an overwhelming dickwad over someone like her fiance, Luca, a gentleman, who is a dream come true. 
 He was handsome and kind and smart, a good man, from a well-established Venetian family. And he loved her. He loved her so much, he would die for her; he had proven that already. 
 You see, while Luca was in prison, his erstwhile fiancee was off on something she calls a "rescue mission," under the cover of a clandestine romance. While Luca was rotting in prison, Cass has been out doing the tonsil tango with the starving artist/criminal/grave robber/asshat/douchebag guy on the side. 
 Her fiance had spent the night alone, in a cramped cell, possibly being starved or tortured while Cass had been drinking ale with Falco. 
 Kissing Falco. 
 What was the matter with her? 
 We would not think that it is destiny that we were meant to be with someone besides you. Someone, who is, with her knowledge, DANGEROUS. 
 Fate. Once again, the entire universe seemed to be aligning in a manner that brought her and Falco together. Either that or he had an uncanny ability to find his way straight to the heart of everything evil. 
 We would not choose a starving artist over a lawyer. Someone who WOULD PAINT HER LIKE ONE OF HIS FRENCH GALS. 
 He had insisted on painting her. His soft hands had seemed so purposeful as he arranged her body, as if his growing feelings had determined the tilt of her head and just the way a lock of damp hair should fall over the bare skin of her throat. 
 I swear, most of us are smarter than this. We are not cheaters. We are faithful. We would defend you. I wouldn't go so far as to call Cass dumber than dirt, but let's just say that if dumb were dirt, Cass would have enough to plant and fertilize an entire field of apples. Yes, apples, which I would then use to throw at her once they were thoroughly rotten. 
 We are faithful. We are loving. We are capable of loving you, and only you. We will never accept your love as second-best. We will never take you for granted. You are better than a consolation prize. You are not a last resort, only to be accepted when the object of our infatuation has proven to be false beyond belief. 
 Keep searching for your perfect woman (or man, if you swing that way), and keep believing in us. The female gender has so much more to offer you than the simpering twit of the heroine within this book. 
 Once again, please accept my sincere apologies. 
 With love, 
 Khanh