Page 174 of Arrow

His hand tightened at my waist. “Nothing honest about either of us, Harlowe. But yes, this is where I plan to claim you in front of God and every criminal family in New York.”

The massive wooden doors creaked open as we approached. Arrow must have called ahead, because an elderly priest in traditional black waited just inside, his face a roadmap of wrinkles and secrets.

“Mr. Romanov,” he nodded, his voice like gravel stirred with honey. “And this must be the bride.”

“Father Pavel,” Arrow greeted him with a nod. “This is Harlowe Virelli.”

The priest’s eyes widened slightly at my name, but he recovered quickly, crossing himself discreetly. “A Virelli and a Romanov. I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“That makes two of us,” I muttered.

The interior of the cathedral was stunning. Moonlight filtered through the colorful glass, casting shattered patterns across the worn marble floor. Dust motes danced in the beams of light, and dark moss grew along the walls, giving the entire space an ethereal air. Rows of dark wooden pews stretched toward a stone altar that looked like it had survived a war, and maybe it had. The walls were adorned with faded frescoes of saints in various states of beautiful agony.

“It’s . . .” I struggled to find the right word.

“Apocalyptic?” Arrow offered, his voice echoing against the stone.

“Perfect,” I breathed.

Father Pavel shuffled ahead of us, his shadow stretching like a specter across the floor. “The Romanovs have been patrons of St. Ignatius for generations. Your future husband’s grandfather helped rebuild after the fire of ‘86.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if the fire had been set by the Romanovs themselves, a convenient way to claim a holy place without the mess of official acquisition. The thought made me smile.

“What’s so amusing?” Arrow asked, his breath warm against my ear.

“Just imagining all the bodies that have been blessed on this altar before being dumped in the East River.”

Father Pavel cleared his throat. “The sanctuary can accommodate three hundred guests, though I understand security concerns may necessitate a smaller gathering.”

“Three hundred of our families’ enemies in one room,” I mused. “Sounds like a bloodbath waiting to happen.”

Arrow’s fingers dug into my hip. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I wandered toward the altar, my fingers trailing along the worn wooden pews. The cathedral smelled of incense, dust, and something older—the lingering scent of countless prayers offered and ignored. My heels echoed against the stone floor as I climbed the three steps to the altar platform.

Standing there, I turned to face the empty church, imagining it filled with the city’s most dangerous people, all watching as Arrow claimed me publicly. The thought sent an electric current down my spine.

“What do you think?” Arrow asked, climbing the steps to join me.

I met his gaze, unflinching. “I think it’s suitably dramatic for two people who tried to kill each other before fucking.”

Father Pavel choked somewhere in the background.

Arrow laughed, a rare, genuine sound that echoed in the vaulted ceiling.

“I think we need to add a few more exit points,” he said, eyes scanning the perimeter with the practiced efficiency of a man who’d spent his life planning escapes.

“Paranoid, much,” I replied, but I was already mentally mapping the quickest routes from altar to door, counting the seconds it would take to reach safety if gunfire erupted mid-vow.

Father Pavel shuffled closer, hands folded at his waist. “The Romanovs have always been . . . cautious. Your future husband requested extra security, and every guest will be checked for weapons.”

“Nothing says ‘I do’ like being in a room where half the people hate you.”

Arrow’s thumb traced circles on my palm, the gesture incongruously tender. “I’ve got Frank organizing security details. We’ll have men stationed at every entrance, the bell tower, and the roof.”

“What about my father’s men? They’ll expect positions too.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Your father’s men can take the south entrance and the crypt.”