Page 193 of Arrow

“And you’ve decided it should be Romanovs?”

His smile was thin and sharp as a blade. “I’ve decided nothing yet.”

I leaned closer, placing my palms flat on the table. “Mom wouldn’t want this. Luca wouldn’t want this. More bloodshed won’t bring them back.”

My father’s hand shot out, gripping my wrist with enough force to bruise. “Don’t you dare speak of them,” he hissed, his voice dropping to that dangerous register I remembered from childhood. “You lost the right to invoke their names when you spread your legs for a Romanov.”

I didn’t flinch, though his grip tightened enough to make my pulse throb against his fingers. “I’m doing what you taught me—surviving by any means necessary.”

His laugh was bitter, a sound like broken glass. “Is that what you call it? Survival?” His eyes flicked to Arrow across the room, watching us with barely contained violence. “I see the way he looks at you. The way you look at him. This isn’t just survival for you anymore, is it?”

The question caught me off guard. My father had never been perceptive about emotions—only threats, weaknesses, and opportunities. Yet somehow, he’d seen what I was only beginning to acknowledge to myself.

“What does it matter to you?” I asked, deflecting. “You sold me. You don’t get to question what I do with what’s left of myself.”

He released my wrist abruptly, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t sell you, Harlowe.” His voice had changed, grown quieter, almost contemplative. “I positioned you.”

I froze, the implications of his words washing over me like ice water. “What?”

“You think I’d give my only living child to the Romanovs without purpose?” He took another sip of scotch. His eyes, so like my own, held a calculating gleam that made my blood run cold. “You’re my daughter. My blood. Did you truly believe I would hand you over to my enemies without gaining something in return?”

I stared at him, pieces clicking together in my mind like the tumblers of a lock. “What have you done?”

“What I’ve always done—protected our family.” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper. “The Romanovs think they’re gaining a foothold in our territory through this marriage. They think they’re humiliating me by taking you. But they’ve invited a viper into their nest.”

“Me,” I said, the word barely audible. “I’m the viper.”

His smile was cold, proud in a way I hadn’t seen since I was a child. “You’ve always been smarter than your brother. More ruthless. More like me.”

I felt sick, the champagne turning to acid in my stomach. “You expect me to do what? Kill Arrow on our wedding night? Poison the entire Romanov family?”

“Nothing so crude,” he replied, waving his hand dismissively. “You’re in their inner circle now. You see their operations, their weaknesses. You know who they trust, who they fear.” He leaned closer. “Information is power, Harlowe. And you’re positioned to gather more than any spy I could plant.”

The realization hit me like a physical blow. This wasn’t just an arranged marriage—this was his master plan. I was merely a chess piece he’d been positioning all along.

“You’re insane,” I whispered, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “You think I’d betray Arrow? That I’d spy for you?”

“I think you’re a Virelli before you’re anything else,” he replied calmly. “Blood always wins in the end, Harlowe.”

I felt someone approaching before I saw them—Arrow’s presence was like a gathering storm at my back. His hand slid around my waist, proprietary and warm.

“Everything alright here?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual though I could feel the tension radiating from him.

My father’s eyes flickered between us, assessing, calculating. “Just having a heart-to-heart with my daughter. Father of the bride privilege.”

Arrow’s thumb traced small circles against my hip. “The heart implies you have one, Giovanni.”

My father smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes. “We all have hearts, Romanov. Some of us just put them to better use than others.” He stood, straightening his jacket with practiced precision. “I should circulate. Can’t have people saying I’m not a gracious guest.”

As he walked away, I remained frozen, his words echoing in my mind. You’re positioned to gather more than any spy I could plant. I’d spent years believing my father saw me as nothing but a liability, a reminder of my mother’s weakness. Now I realized he’d seen me as something else entirely. A weapon he was carefully honing. The most devastating kind of betrayal wasn’t selling me to his enemies; it was expecting me to destroy them from within.

“What did he say to you?” Arrow asked as we walked away.

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. Should I tell Arrow the truth? That my father expected me to spy on him, to gather information that would eventually destroy the Romanovs? Or should I keep this revelation to myself, another secret to add to the growing collection between us?

“Harlowe,” Arrow’s voice sharpened, his fingers tightening on my waist. “What did he say?”

I looked up into his face—the sharp angles, the darkness in his eyes that matched my own. In that moment, I made my choice.