Page 89 of Arrow

The house fell silent, hungering for the victor.

“Never figured you for a pastry chef, Virelli,” she hissed, eyes watery with pain. “But it doesn’t matter.” She pulled a gun out of the back of her pants and pointed it at me. “A gun always wins over a knife.”

Fuck.

I raised my hands in surrender.

She smiled at me, and the sound of gunfire, followed by the spray of her blood across my face, coincided precisely with the sensation of my heart stuttering. I thought she’d shot me, because my brain crumpled under the sound and I felt my chest seize.

But then I saw Natalya sag, the smile still pried open on her bloody teeth, the gun loosening from her grip.

Turning, Arrow was there, at the top of the stairs, wearing only boxer briefs, arm extended, the barrel still smoking, mouth set as if he regretted the necessity but not the act.

The world seemed to hold its breath as Natalya slumped to the floor, her blood pooling around her like a crimson halo. I couldn’t move as my brain struggled to process what just happened.

Natalya lay crumpled in on herself like a paper doll that had outlasted its necessity. Her head turned sideways, one arm flung out, and blood pumped from a neat, surgical hole in the middle of her forehead.

Arrow only lowered the gun when he saw me, eyes flicking first to check that I wasn’t shot, then down to his cousin, leaking red onto the white tile.

He didn’t speak, barely even moved until he was sure the threat was over, then stalked down the steps, barefoot and silent. His face was expressionless, but his eyes burned with a cold fury that made my skin crawl.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice unnervingly steady.

I shook my head, unsure if it was him or me I was trying to convince.

My brain was unable to form words, and my body was frozen in place, Natalya’s blood warm and sticky on my face.

He knelt beside his cousin’s body and pressed two fingers to her neck, as if there could be any doubt, then used his toe to roll her onto her back, exposing the full stupidity of her devotion to losing.

The counter caught me mid-stagger, my breathing wild and desperate. Blood and saliva dripped from my chin onto the floor.

He killed his cousin before she killed me.

Wiping a hand over his face, he exhaled so slowly I had time to study the sadness in him—the regret so pure it shivered a chill up my spine.

I wanted to say something. Apologize. Scream. Laugh, maybe. But the kitchen had gone quiet, nothing but the thick copper smell of blood hanging in the air. I dragged the sleeve of my nightgown over the spatters on my face, only managing to smear it wider in clownish arcs across my mouth and jaw. I must have looked rabid.

Arrow’s eyes flickered up at me—nothing there but distance. He didn’t offer anything. Instead, he knelt, moved Natalya’s hair from the wound, and closed her eyes.

A small, ancient gesture.

“She said you were good.” His eyes were still on Natalya. “She didn’t lie . . . much.”

I stared at the body, fighting the urge to kneel next to her, emptying the soft wailing noise in my head onto her face. Instead, I stepped back, hand fisting in my hair, pulling until it hurt.

“She was going to kill me,” I said, still unable to understand my role in the death, or its meaning. “She would have, if you hadn’t⁠—”

He snorted, a bitter, almost fond sound.

“Everyone in this family was always going to try,” he said. Standing, he wiped his hands on one of the kitchen towels, then tossed it into the sink. “Natalya just wanted to see if you’d let her.”

Wary, I shook my head, waiting for the next move.

Arrow regarded Natalya’s body for a long moment, then shrugged like a man who’d disposed of worse. He stepped over her without ceremony and walked toward me, hands loose at his sides.

My body tensed, bracing for a slap, a breaking, some retribution. The reaction was involuntary—muscle memory from too many men closing the distance with violence in their hands.

He stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing, and studied me like I was evidence at a crime scene. Reaching around me, he gently grabbed my trembling hands and pressed a seltzer water into my palm, all while keeping my hand firmly in his grip.