Page 78 of Arrow

“What are you planning to do with her?” Orion asked.

I shrugged and reached for the heavy cut-glass decanter, pouring two fingers of scotch. My hands were steady and precise, but my eyes focused on nothing.

“I’m going to keep her alive; that’s the only way to break them. Giovanni’s banking on another funeral.” I picked up the glass, studying the refraction of the flames, and set it down, untouched. “That girl is the only thing left in his harem of power. He wants a pawn to infiltrate the Romanovs, or he wants her dead.”

“You’re giving him the nuclear option, Arrow,” Orion said, voice slicing under the fat of Atlas’s bluster. “One move and it’s open war. Are you ready for that?”

“The last of the Virellis and the last of the Romanovs. Two of the oldest bloodlines are left from the original five families. Giovanni made a deal. Harlowe and I are his insurance policy.”

“Jesus Christ,” Atlas muttered. “You’re merging dynasties like this is a medieval throne room.”

“It is.”

Orion narrowed his eyes. “And Harlowe knows about this?”

My jaw ticked. “She knows enough.”

Atlas laughed. “You mean you told her after the ring was already welded to the cage?”

“She’s not in a cage,” I snapped.

Orion raises a brow. “Could’ve fooled us. She doesn’t strike me as the ‘arranged marriage’ type. More like the ‘light it all on fire and watch it burn’ type.”

I didn’t argue. “It’s not about love.”

“It never is,” Orion replied coldly.

I stood.“It’s about power. The kind that doesn’t get erased with bullets or headlines. My father knows it, Giovanni knows it, and I know it.”

Atlas dragged two fingers across his jaw, as if weighing the pros and cons of finishing what my father didn’t. “Giovanni Virelli’s not weak. He will use her to cut your throat while you sleep. How can’t you see the knife he’s planted in her spine?”

I almost laughed. “If she cuts my throat in my sleep, she’ll have earned it. But she won’t. She’ll try, but she’ll fail. That’s the point.”

Atlas pressed his glass to his lower lip, assessing me. “So, is she in on it, or just the payload?”

I hesitated, just a flicker, but Atlas saw all. “She’s the payload,” I said. “But I’ll make her the fuse.”

Orion’s eyes moved, analyzing everything. “If you’re wrong, we’re all ghosts. They’ll take the whole East End as a dowry.”

“Then it’s a good death,” I said. “Let her walk through the fire. If there’s anything left on the other side, it’ll belong to me.”

Orion blew out a breath, rocking back. “Goddamn, Arrow. You’re really going to marry this girl.”

“White wedding dress, church, and all the expected wedding celebrations.” I added.

Atlas laughed again, and this time, it was almost approving. “God, you’re sick.”

I finally allowed myself a smile. “I am. She’s a problem,” I said.

“A psychotic one,” Orion allowed, draining his glass. “We’ve all heard the rumors about Giovanni Virelli’s daughter and her particular tastes.”

The fire held my attention while I remembered the shape of Harlowe’s wrists inside my hands, the resilient snap in her jaw, the blueprint for a woman who wouldn’t break, morphing under pressure, each evolution more dangerous.

I finished the whiskey, letting the burn cauterize the memory. “Whatever power Virelli had, it’s in decline. I’m giving him a shot at legacy. He won’t take it. He can’t.”

“He’ll try to kill you at the altar.” Orion scoffed. “He’ll poison the cake or the air you breathe.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” I said. “But I’ll keep her alive—for as long as she’s useful, and maybe a little longer.”