Page 188 of Arrow
“Did you kill her?”
His eyes met mine, unflinching. “No. But I didn’t save her either.”
His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes darkened. “She was my father’s assistant. Got too close, learned too much. My father had her killed to send a message.”
I absorbed this, feeling the weight of his words settle between us. “And Irina?”
“Survived by being useful.” He adjusted his cufflinks with practiced precision. “And by knowing exactly when to disappear.”
We walked back through the corridor in silence. When we reached the main floor, Orion materialized from the crowd, eyebrow raised in silent question.
“Everything good?” he asked, eyes flicking between us.
“Perfect,” Arrow replied smoothly. “Any developments?”
“Meeting’s wrapping up. They’re getting antsy without you there to finalize.”
When we reached the mezzanine level again, I could feel the shift in energy. The men were still there, but their postures had changed—more alert, more wary. I slid into the booth beside Arrow, feeling their eyes assess my slightly disheveled appearance, the fresh mark blooming on my neck, the way Arrow's hand settled possessively on my thigh.
“Good of you to rejoin us,” Vasily drawled, his accent thicker after what I assumed were several more drinks. “We were beginning to think you’d abandoned us for more . . . pleasurable pursuits.”
“I’m sure Mr. Romanov had important business to attend to,” I replied coolly, crossing my legs and feeling Arrow’s cum slide between my thighs. The sensation was a filthy reminder of what we’d just done, a secret written on my skin that only we knew.
Marco’s eyes narrowed, his gaze lingering on the fresh mark on my neck. “Indeed. The Romanov definition of ‘business’ has always been flexible.”
Arrow’s hand tightened on my thigh, but his face remained impassive. “The security arrangements are settled then?” he asked, seamlessly redirecting the conversation.
Vasily nodded, sliding a folder across the table. “Everything as discussed. My men will coordinate with Frank on the perimeter details.”
The meeting concluded quickly after that—territories agreed upon, security details finalized, temporary truces established. I watched Arrow operate in his natural habitat, the casual way he commanded respect. His words carried weight not because he raised his voice, but because everyone knew what he was capable of.
“The meeting’s concluded,” Arrow announced, rising to his feet. The others followed suit, handshakes exchanged with the ritualistic formality of men who trusted each other just enough not to kill one another in public.
Marco lingered, his eyes finding mine. “Miss Virelli,” he said, voice dripping with false courtesy. “Your father sends his regards.”
I froze, feeling Arrow tense beside me. “You’ve spoken with him recently?”
“Just yesterday.” Marco’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s quite interested in the arrangements for your upcoming nuptials.”
“I’m sure he is,” I replied coolly. “Tell him I’m looking forward to seeing him walk me down the aisle. It’ll be the first time he’s walked me anywhere.”
Marco laughed. “I’ll pass along the sentiment. He’ll be so pleased to hear his daughter hasn’t lost her spirit.”
* My little viper
* Your father is nothing!
* Fuck me.
40
FORTY
HARLOWE
The night of the rehearsal dinner had come, with the wedding only a day away. The rehearsal dinner felt like a cease-fire in a war zone. Everyone armed but pretending they weren’t, smiles that didn’t reach their eyes, and enough tension to snap a steel cable. I wore a white dress that clung to every curve, a deliberate mockery of bridal innocence with a slit high enough to show the bruises Arrow had left on my inner thigh. The necklace with his initial rested against my throat, a collar and a claim.
Atlas and Luna had chosen Sanctum for the rehearsal dinner—neutral ground where neither Virellis nor Romanovs could claim home advantage. The private dining room glittered with candles and crystal, bathing everyone in a golden light that made even the most hardened killers look almost human.
