Page 229 of Arrow

“You chose to spit on three generations of Virelli blood. You chose to dishonor your grandfather’s memory, your brother’s memory, your mother’s memory.”

“Don’t you dare,” I hissed, fresh tears streaming down my face. “Don’t you dare use their memories to justify this. Luca would have hated what you’ve become. And my mother—she killed herself to escape you, not because of Arrow.”

This time, he slammed his fist into my stomach, driving the air from my lungs. I doubled over, gasping for breath as pain exploded through my abdomen.

“I made you strong,” my father said as I struggled to breathe, his face contorted with rage. “I gave you everything, and you repay me by abandoning your bloodline and crawling into bed with the enemy like a street whore.”

I gasped for air, the pain making my vision swim. Through the haze, I saw Arrow fighting against his restraints with renewed fury, his eyes wild as he watched me suffer.

“The Romanovs have always taken what wasn’t theirs,” my father continued, his voice dropping to that dangerous register I remembered from childhood. “Territory. Power. Lives.” He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. “And now you.”

“Let her go, Giovanni,” Arrow snarled, blood streaming from his nose. “This is between you and me.”

My father released me with a disgusted sound. “You’re right. It is between us.” He turned back to Arrow, picking up a knife from the metal case. “But my daughter should understand the cost of betrayal.”

The blade glinted in the dim light as my father approached Arrow. I fought against the hands holding me, desperation making me strong. I twisted, elbowed one of the men in the ribs, and managed to break free for just a moment before they recaptured me.

“You won’t win,” I spat at my father. “His men will be here any minute.”

“His men?” My father laughed. “They’re dead. Every last one of them. This house was sealed tighter than a tomb before we even entered. No one is coming to save you.”

The knife pressed against Arrow’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood. “Tell me, Romanov. What do you think happens when a man loses everything? His power, his territory, his life?” The knife pressed deeper. “His woman?”

“Don’t,” Arrow growled, his eyes never leaving mine. “Don’t you fucking touch her.”

“I won’t have to,” my father said, his voice almost conversational. “She’ll come back to me willingly after watching you die. I’ll be the only one who will protect her then. Especially when your father thinks she’s the one who ended your life.”

“Wh—What?” I stuttered, confused.

“Oh yes, my darling daughter. You didn’t think I’d just welcome you back with open arms, did you? I’ve planned this for months,” my father continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried through the room. “The wedding was the perfect cover. Everyone was watching you two, celebrating your union. No one was watching me.”

I struggled against my captors, fresh terror coursing through my veins. “What have you done?”

“Everything,” he replied simply. “I’ve planted evidence throughout this house—in your bedroom, in your things. When the Romanovs find this scene, they’ll see a tragic story: the new bride, manipulated and abused by her husband, finally snapping and killing him in self-defense.”

“No,” I whispered, horror washing over me. “They won’t believe that.”

My father’s smile was terrible to behold. “They will. I’ve made sure of it. Your fingerprints on the knife. Your hair on his body. Your scent all over this place.” He gestured at Arrow, still on his knees before us. “And when they find you, distraught, hysterical, even, and covered in your husband’s blood, with a story about how you were framed . . . who do you think they’ll believe?”

Arrow’s eyes met mine across the room, and in them I saw not fear for himself, but terror for me. He knew, as I did, that my father’s plan was perfect. The Romanovs would never accept me as their daughter-in-law if they believed I’d murdered their son.

“But you won’t kill her,” Arrow said, his voice rough with pain but certain. “She’s your last connection to your bloodline. Your only heir.”

My father’s smile faded. “You’re right. But I’m not done with her. No, Romanov prince, I’ve planned everything, and in turn, I’ve secured the future bloodline of the Virellis. You know, once word got around that I’d given my only daughter to the most hated family in New York, you’d be shocked to know the number of offers I had to reconsider. Families offering to pay in territory, money, even blood, if I’d give them to them. So, I thought to myself, why not make a deal with the Albanians for my daughter? They’ve always wanted to breed with the Virelli bloodline. And they’ve offered quite the compensation.”

My blood ran cold.

“You wouldn’t,” I whispered, unable to believe even my father could sink this low.

He laughed, the sound echoing off the marble floors. “The contract is already signed. After your husband’s tragic death, you’ll be too distraught to return to the Romanovs. You’ll come back to your family, to your father who loves you despite your betrayals. And then, when you’re vulnerable, I’ll have you married to Tariq Vasili, the Albanian prince.”

“Never,” I spat. “I’d die first.”

My father’s eyes hardened. “That’s what your mother said too. But death isn’t always an option.” He gestured to one of his men, who produced a syringe filled with clear liquid. “This will make you . . . compliant. You won’t remember what happened here today. You’ll wake up in your childhood bedroom, confused, traumatized by your husband’s violence. And I’ll be there to comfort you, to guide you toward a more . . . suitable match.”

I felt the world tilt beneath me, my legs growing weak. The man holding me tightened his grip, keeping me upright as my vision blurred.

“You’re insane,” I whispered.