Page 190 of Arrow

I felt something unexpected bloom in my chest at his words—not quite pride, but something adjacent to it. Even in his cruelty, my father acknowledged the one truth about me that had always been constant: I was ungovernable.

“Perhaps that’s why she’s perfect for me,” Arrow said, his hand sliding to cup my hip. “I’ve never wanted anything docile.”

My father’s gaze fixed on me, searching for weakness. I met his stare unflinchingly, chin tilted in that way he’d always hated.

“You look like your mother,” he said finally, the words carrying more weight than anything else he could have uttered. “She would have hated what you’ve become.”

“She would have hated you more,” I replied, the words escaping before I could swallow them back.

A flash of something—pain, maybe, or just irritation—crossed his face before the mask slipped back into place. “Enjoy your evening,” he said, already turning away. “I’ll see you at the church.”

I watched him retreat, back straight, shoulders rigid, every inch the don even as the years were finally catching up to him. I felt Arrow’s fingers brush against mine, a subtle reminder that I wasn’t alone anymore.

“He’ll never apologize,” I said quietly. “Not for selling me, not for Luca, not for anything.”

Arrow’s eyes followed my father as he rejoined his men by the bar. “I don’t expect him to. Men like Giovanni don’t apologize—they just find new ways to justify their cruelty.”

I turned to face Arrow, studying the sharp planes of his face in the golden light. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but I could feel the tension radiating from him like heat from a furnace.

Before I could respond, Orion appeared at Arrow’s shoulder, leaning in to murmur something in his ear. Arrow’s expression hardened, jaw tightening as he gave a short nod.

“What is it?” I asked when Orion had melted back into the crowd.

“Your father’s men are getting too close to mine. Tensions are high.” His hand slid to my hip, anchoring me to his side. “Might be nothing. Might be everything.”

I scanned the room, noting the invisible lines dividing Virellis from Romanovs, the way security personnel from both sides circled each other like wary wolves. “The day before the wedding seems like a terrible time for a bloodbath.”

“There’s never a good time for one.” Arrow surveyed the room. “I’ve arranged for extra security, just in case.”

“Are you expecting trouble?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.

“Always.” His gaze settled on my father, who was now deep in conversation with one of Arrow’s uncles. “Especially from him.”

Luna appeared at my side, her pregnant belly preceding her. She looked radiant in a midnight blue gown. “There you are,” she said, linking her arm through mine. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Atlas is about to make the toast.”

I glanced at Arrow, who nodded slightly, before pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “Go. I need to speak with Orion anyway.”

“How are you holding up?” Luna asked.

“Better than I expected,” I admitted. “No one has tried to kill me yet, so that’s something.”

She laughed, and the sound was bright against the low murmur of tense conversation. “The night is young.”

Atlas cleared his throat, commanding attention with nothing more than his presence. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him. He stood tall, glass raised, looking every inch the king of his domain.

“Tonight,” Atlas began, raising his glass higher, “we gather to celebrate what many thought impossible—a union between the Virellis and the Romanovs.”

I felt Arrow come up behind me, his hand sliding around my body to rest against my stomach. I watched the faces around the room. Some looked amused, others skeptical, a few openly hostile.

“Two families,” Atlas continued, “with histories written in blood and vengeance, now joining together through marriage. Arrow and Harlowe represent something new in our world—not peace, perhaps, but possibility.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I spotted my father’s expression darkening, his fingers tightening around his glass until I thought it might shatter. The Romanovs looked equally uncomfortable, shifting on their feet like predators denied their kill.

“To Arrow and Harlowe. May your enemies fall before you, and may you only turn your knives on each other when it leads to pleasure rather than pain.”

Laughter—uneasy but genuine—broke the tension. Glasses clinked as people drank, though many eyes remained watchful above the crystal rims.

Luna squeezed my arm gently. “He has a way with words, doesn’t he?”