Page 166 of Arrow

Arrow looked at me with that infuriating half-smile that never quite reached his eyes. “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.”

I pulled a face and punched him in the arm. “Don't patronize me, Arrow. If you’re making moves that affect us, I deserve to know.”

His expression darkened, and for a moment, I thought he might shut me out again.

Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Svetlana’s father is trying to leverage his connections to block our marriage license. Says a union between Romanovs and Virellis threatens the balance of power.”

“And?” I pressed.

“And I reminded him that his diamond imports rely on our shipping routes. That his daughter’s social standing in this city exists because I allow it to.” Arrow’s eyes met mine. “I also might have mentioned that your father still controls the docks where his merchandise arrives.”

My breath caught. “You involved my father?”

“I didn’t have to. He called me after the club incident. Giovanni was . . . surprisingly supportive.”

“Of me?” I couldn’t hide my shock.

His laugh was short and humorless. “Of us. Apparently, he finds it amusing that his daughter has the balls to publicly humiliate a Romanov and still have him crawling back.”

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. It was exactly the kind of twisted logic my father would appreciate—his daughter showing strength while still securing the alliance.

“So we’re good?” I asked cautiously.

“We’re standing on a knife’s edge,” Arrow corrected, checking his watch. “But we have leverage now. Your father on one side, my father on the other. The Kovenskis in the middle.” He held out his hand to me. “Ready?”

I took his hand, feeling the calluses on his palm. “You think I’m pretty?” I asked, unable to keep from smirking.

“What?” he raised an eyebrow at me, then he realized he had used the word pretty when describing my head, and even he couldn’t stop the grin that lit up his face.

He reached out and touched my face, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip. “You’re fucking gorgeous, and you know it, Harlowe.”

“Tell me more,” I teased, leaning into his touch.

Arrow’s eyes darkened as he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. “I’d rather show you, but we’d be late for dinner.”

Even after everything, his proximity still affected me like a drug. “Later, then.”

“A promise,” he murmured, stepping back. “Come on, Atlas hates when people are late.”

We took the private elevator down to the garage, where Frank was waiting with the car. He nodded to Arrow, then gave me a look that was part concern, part amusement.

“Evening, Principessa,”⁠* he said, opening the door. “Nice to see you in one piece.”

I rolled my eyes. “Takes more than a Romanov to break me, Frank.”

“Don’t I know it.” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

The drive to Carne, a high-end restaurant on the Upper West Side, was mostly quiet. Arrow kept his hand on my thigh the entire ride, his thumb tracing small circles on the fabric of my dress. The city lights streamed past the tinted windows, casting shadows across his face that made him look like something out of a nightmare—beautiful and deadly.

Frank caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Your father called. Wanted to know if you need extra security for the rehearsal dinner?”

I stiffened. My father rarely concerned himself with my safety unless there was a threat worth noting.

“What did you tell him?” I asked.

“That I’d discuss it with Mr. Romanov.” Frank’s eyes flicked to Arrow.

Arrow’s grip tightened on my thigh. “Tell Giovanni we have it handled. The Romanovs will provide security.”