Page 135 of Arrow

Compromised. It was the worst thing you could be in our world—worse than weak, worse than broke. To be compromised meant your decisions weren’t your own anymore. It meant you had a vulnerability that could be exploited.

“I know what I’m doing.”

Orion just nodded, but his eyes said he wasn’t convinced. “I told Atlas you’d be an hour. And that was me being generous.”

“One hour late. How will I ever get back in Atlas’s good graces?” I teased, knowing Atlas would be annoyed, but also understood the fragility of the situation with my father.

Atlas was waiting in the back booth of the unmarked speakeasy. The place was a throwback to the Prohibition era with dark wood and brass fixtures, and a single bartender who knew better than to look up when the door opened. He didn’t stand when we approached. His stillness was part of what made him deadly—like a statue that only moved when you blinked.

“You good?” he asked, not looking up from the amber liquid in his glass.

“Just shit with my father.” I slid into the booth across from him, noting the manila folder centered on the table between us. “What couldn’t wait?”

He finally raised his eyes to mine. Atlas had the kind of face that gave nothing away—handsome in a classical sense, but cold as marble. His suit was impeccable, as always, not a wrinkle to be found, despite the late hour.

“Your fiancée’s father is making moves.” He pushed the folder toward me. “Giovanni thinks you’re distracted.”

Flipping open the folder, I scanned surveillance photos of Giovanni meeting with representatives from three different families. The timestamps showed they were all within the last forty-eight hours.

“He’s desperate,” I said, though something twisted in my gut. “He knows he’s losing power.”

“He’s gathering allies,” Atlas corrected. “And he’s telling them you’ve gone soft over his daughter.”

The irony—Giovanni using Harlowe as bait while simultaneously telling them I’ve gone soft over her.

I shook my head. “What’s his plan?”

“My guess?” Atlas leaned forward, voice dropping. “He’s positioning for one last power play. You marry his daughter, he gains our protection, then orchestrates a hit on you. With you gone, Harlowe inherits everything as your widow, and control reverts to Giovanni.”

“He clearly doesn’t know his daughter very well.” I laughed darkly.

“Or maybe he knows exactly what he’s doing,” Atlas countered. “How certain are you that she isn’t part of this?”

The question hung between us, weighted with implication. I thought of Harlowe sleeping in my bed, vulnerable and marked with my bruises. The way she’d looked at me with defiance, even as she surrendered her body—the bite marks she’d left on my neck.

“She’s not working with him.”

Atlas and Orion exchanged a look I didn’t like.

“You sound pretty confident for someone who’s only known her for a few weeks,” Orion remarked.

“I know enough.” My tone made it clear the subject wasn’t up for debate.

Atlas sighed, tapping the folder. “There’s more. Giovanni’s been in contact with the Albanians—the same ones your father just ordered a hit on. Coincidence?”

Closing the folder, my mind raced through the implications. If Giovanni was aligning with the Albanians while my father was targeting them, it wasn’t a coincidence.

It was a fucking trap.

“When did these meetings happen?” I tapped the surveillance photos.

“The last one was yesterday,” Atlas said. “Right before the party.”

I leaned back, pinching the bridge of my nose. The timing was too perfect. My father pushes for Albanian blood, Giovanni cozies up to them, and suddenly there’s a sniper with my name on their bullet. The whole thing reeked of coordination.

“You think my father and Giovanni are working together.”

Atlas didn’t confirm or deny, but his silence spoke volumes. “I think you should consider all possibilities.”