Page 137 of Arrow

I froze. “How did you know that?”

Her smile was small, knowing. “Frank keeps me informed. Old habits.”

I crossed to her, needing to touch her, to remind myself of what was real between us. This dance between us—violence and desire, threat and need—had become our new language. When my hands found her waist, she didn’t pull away, but her eyes remained questioning.

“What did he want?” Her fingers trailed the stubble on my jaw.

“The usual—to remind me of my place.” I brushed her hair back from her face, studying her features in the blue glow of the city lights. “To make sure I haven’t forgotten what it means to be a Romanov.”

“And have you?” Her voice was soft, but her question cut deep.

There was no humor in my laugh. “That’s what he’s afraid of.”

She turned back to the window, her reflection ghostly against the glass. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. “Every time I closed my eyes, I saw blood. Yours. Mine. I don’t know anymore.”

Stepping closer, I pressed my chest against her back, wrapping my arms around her waist. She melted into me, her head falling back against my shoulder.

“What are we doing, Arrow?” she whispered. “This isn’t what either of us expected.”

I buried my face in my hair, breathing in her scent—vanilla and amber. “No,” I agreed. “It’s not.”

Her fingers found mine where they rested on her stomach, tracing the scars across my knuckles. “My father will never stop. As long as he’s alive, this—us—is just borrowed time.”

“I know.” I turned her to face me, needing to see her eyes. “Giovanni’s meeting with the Albanians.”

Something flickered in her expression, not surprise, but confirmation. “I figured he would. He always runs back to them when he’s desperate.”

“You knew?”

“I suspected.” She rested her hands on my chest. “He used to brag about his Albanian connections when he was drunk. Said they were the only ones who truly understood loyalty.”

“Atlas thinks you might be part of it—that you’re playing both sides.”

She didn’t flinch.

“Of course he does.” She laughed. “And what do you think? Am I the dutiful daughter, secretly plotting with Daddy to take you down?”

Holding her gaze, I searched her eyes for deception.

“If I were going to kill you, you’d already be bleeding out.” She placed a palm against my cheek. “I wouldn’t waste my time fucking you first. Although fucking you, then killing you, does hold a type of poetic justice, doesn’t it?” My shirt came free of my waistband, and that grin—pure sin—spread wider as her fingers worked the buttons free. “Besides, Giovanni beat the loyalty out of me years ago.” Her fingers traced methodically down my chest. “You think I’d ever align myself with a man who sold me like cattle?”

I caught her wrist, stilling her movements. “I need to know, Harlowe. No games.”

Her eyes met mine, clear and unflinching. “I hate my father more than I could ever hate you, killer. And that’s saying something, considering how much I wanted to put a bullet in your brain when we first met.”

My grip loosened on her wrist. She didn’t waste the opening, pushing my shirt off my shoulders, her palms mapping the bruises and bite marks she’d left earlier.

“Do you trust me?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“No,” I answered honestly. “But I want to.”

That made her smile a real smile, softening her features and making something twist painfully in my chest.

“Smart man.” She traced the tattoo over my heart, following the intricate lines with her fingertip. “I don’t trust you either, but I think I could.”

I backed her against the window, and she gasped at the cold glass against her skin. “Your father thinks he can use you against me.”

“And your father thinks I’m making you weak,” she countered, her breath warm against my lips. “They’re both right, in a way.”