The city never sleeps – because the nightmares do not end. Detective Jack Steinway has seen it all: locked-room murders, crooked politicians, ghosts in human skin. But when a powerful aide to the Mayor turns up dead – five bullets in a sealed apartment – Steinway is pulled into a case that smells like smoke, secrets, and something far older than either. In a metropolis split between neon and decay, Steinway’s only allies are a bottle of whiskey, a jukebox crooning Sinatra, and the kind of intuition that comes from too many sleepless nights. His only lead? A smooth-talking private investigator with perfect hair and motives as slick as his smile. And a note hurled through a window warning: Don’t trust Romano. He is one of them. As the investigation drags him through rain-slick alleys, glittering towers, and the haunted minefields of memory, Steinway discovers that in a city built on lies, the truth has gone extinct – and maybe he’s next on the list. Taut, brutal, and darkly romantic, You Go to My Head resurrects the hardboiled tradition for a new century, where jazz has been replaced by holograms, and the only thing more dangerous than technology is nostalgia. With dialogue sharp enough to draw blood and a setting that hums like a broken neon sign, Manos Psistakis crafts a world where every shadow hides a story, and every story ends the same way: in smoke.