Page 194 of Arrow

“He thinks I’m his spy,” I said quietly, watching Arrow’s expression harden. “He expects me to gather information on the Romanovs and report back to him.”

Arrow’s jaw tightened, the muscle there jumping. “And what did you tell him?”

“Nothing. You arrived before I could respond.” I met his gaze steadily. “But I wouldn’t have agreed. Whatever this is between us, I won’t betray it. Not even for my father.”

The tension in Arrow’s shoulders eased slightly, though his eyes remained watchful. “Are you sure about that? He’s your blood.”

“Blood doesn’t mean loyalty. Not anymore.” I took a deep breath, feeling something break and reform inside me. “He killed Luca as surely as the Romanovs did. He watched my mother fade away and did nothing. And now he wants to use me like a weapon. That’s not family. That’s not love.”

Arrow studied my face, searching for deception. I held his gaze, letting him see whatever truth he needed to find there. Finally, he nodded, his hand sliding up to cup my face.

“Giovanni is more dangerous than I thought,” he said quietly. “If he’s planning something⁠—“

“He’s always planning something.” I leaned into his touch despite myself. “The question is what.”

Arrow’s thumb brushed across my cheekbone. “We should leave. Now. Before anything escalates.”

I glanced around the room, noting how the lines between families had blurred slightly as the evening progressed. Alcohol and forced civility were working their temporary magic, though tension still hummed beneath the surface like an electrical current.

“If we leave now, it’ll look suspicious,” I said. “Like we’re planning something.”

“We are planning something,” Arrow replied, his voice low. “Getting you out alive before your father decides tonight’s the night to rewrite the terms of our arrangement.”

I looked across the room to where my father stood, surrounded by his capos once more. His eyes met mine briefly, a flash of something like satisfaction in them before he turned away. A chill ran down my spine. The look in my father’s eyes made me uneasy. I recognized that calculating gaze—it was the same one he wore before ordering hits, before destroying rival families. It was the look of a man who believed he was three steps ahead of everyone else.

“We need to stay,” I whispered to Arrow. “If we leave now, he might accelerate whatever he’s planning.”

Arrow’s jaw tightened. “Fine. One hour. Then we’re gone.”

I nodded, letting him guide me back to where Atlas and Luna stood. Luna’s eyes immediately searched my face, concern evident in her expression.

“Everything okay?” she asked quietly.

“My father thinks I’m his sleeper agent,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Apparently selling me to the Romanovs was his master plan all along. He expects me to spy for him.”

Atlas’s expression hardened. “That complicates things.”

“It changes nothing,” Arrow said firmly, his hand still possessive at my waist. “The wedding proceeds as planned.”

Luna touched my arm gently. “Are you alright with that?”

I considered her question carefully. Was I alright with marrying Arrow, knowing my father expected me to betray him? Knowing that both men saw me as a means to an end? The answer surprised even me.

“Yes,” I said. “Whatever game my father thinks he’s playing, I’m done being his pawn.”

41

FORTY-ONE

HARLOWE

The dinner continued with excruciating politeness. Speeches were made—polite lies wrapped in fancy language. I watched the room like a battlefield, noting positions, alliances forming and dissolving with each new conversation. My father remained in his corner, holding court like the king he believed himself to be.

Arrow’s hand never left my body—at my waist, my shoulder, my thigh—a constant reminder of who I belonged to now. As I stood there, watching the tense interplay between my father’s men and Arrow’s security, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of what was coming. In less than forty-eight hours, I would be Harlowe Romanov—a name that would have been blasphemy just months ago. The thought should have terrified me. Instead, I felt something dangerously close to anticipation.

“You’re quiet,” Arrow murmured, his lips brushing against my temple. “What are you thinking?”

I turned in my seat to face him, studying the sharp planes of his face in the golden light. “I’m thinking that both our fathers underestimated us. Mine thinks I’ll be his spy. Yours thinks you’ll break me. They’ve both miscalculated.”