Page 167 of Arrow

Frank nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced. Neither was I.

“My father wouldn’t offer protection unless he thinks I need it,” I said quietly, for Arrow’s ears only.

“He’s just flexing,” Arrow replied, but there was something in his tone that made me uneasy. “Reminding me that you’re still a Virelli.”

“I’ll always be a Virelli.”

His eyes met mine. “And after tomorrow’s rehearsal, everyone will know you’re about to be a Romanov too.”

The restaurant came into view, a sleek glass-and-stone structure with a line of black SUVs parked outside. I recognized Atlas’s security team standing by the entrance, their suits unable to hide the bulges of their weapons. Arrow squeezed my thigh once more before Frank pulled up to the curb.

Arrow had told me about how Luna was trafficked by Nikolai, and Atlas saved her. Both Atlas and Arrow came from long lines of men who kept their secrets close, rarely died of natural causes, and never let their wives outlive them unless it could be avoided. I tried to picture a child between us: Romanov instability, Virelli ruthlessness, topped with Arrow’s cool survivor eyes. Born ready to break the world or sell it piece by piece.

We went inside side by side, the doorman flinching at Arrow’s pace but not daring to do more than tip his cap. The inside was cold, baroque, and candlelit. The clientele tonight were monsters in their best skins: Manhattan oligarchs, ex-mobsters disguised as foodies, and a whole pack of high-gloss influencers sipping $80 cocktails and perfecting their predator faces for every selfie.

The hostess recognized us immediately, her eyes widening slightly before she composed herself. “Mr. Romanov, Ms. Virelli. Mr. King and Mrs. King are waiting for you in the private room.”

We followed her through the main dining area, where conversations hushed as we passed. I felt the weight of dozens of eyes tracking our movements, phones discreetly capturing our passage. By morning, these images would be all over social media—Arrow Romanov and his wild Virelli fiancée, out in public together after the club incident.

Good. Let them look. Let them see us together, united despite everything.

The private dining room was separated from the main restaurant by a wall of smoky glass. Atlas and Luna were already seated at a sleek black table when we entered. Atlas rose immediately, his imposing figure filling the space. Despite his designer suit, there was something primal about him, a leashed violence that reminded me of Arrow. Luna remained seated, her elegant features softening into a smile when she saw us.

“You made it,” Atlas said, extending his hand to Arrow. The two men clasped forearms in that way that powerful men do, not quite a handshake, more like warriors acknowledging each other’s strength.

“Traffic was light,” Arrow replied, his hand settling possessively at the small of my back.

Luna stood then, her silk dress flowing around her pregnant belly like water. She embraced me, her perfume enveloping me in jasmine. “Harlowe,” she murmured against my cheek. “Wow! You look beautiful.”

“So do you,” I said, and meant it. Luna was stunning in that effortless way that made other women both envious and desperate to be her friend. Even pregnant, she was radiant.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, nodding at her belly.

Her hand moved instinctively to rest on her stomach. “Like I’m carrying a future MMA fighter. This little one never stops moving.”

Atlas appeared beside her, his hand covering hers protectively. The gesture was so tender it almost seemed out of place coming from a man whose reputation was built on ruthlessness.

“She’s been craving the strangest combinations,” Atlas said, his eyes never leaving Luna’s face. “Pickles and ice cream was just the beginning.”

“The baby wants what it wants,” Luna laughed, leaning into him. “Just like its father.”

Atlas guided us to our seats, signaling the waiter for wine. “We ordered the ‘82 Bordeaux,” he said. “Hope that’s acceptable.”

Arrow nodded. “Perfect.”

We settled at the table, Arrow pulling out my chair before taking his own seat beside me. A waiter appeared immediately with a bottle of wine for the table and sparkling water for Luna.

“Harlowe, you look stunning,” she smiled, gently squeezing my hands in hers. “Way too beautiful for a beast like Arrow.”

“Beauty’s only useful if you can weaponize it,” I winked.

I meant it as a joke, but Luna’s expression flickered in that way trauma recognizes its kin. She gave a little nod that said maybe she understood too much, and poured us both a glass of mineral water. Atlas watched her with the kind of attention that made me uncomfortable; not that he didn’t trust her, but that he couldn’t ever stop gauging the perimeter of her safety. I wondered what it would be like to have a man so attuned to your shadows that he could read the story of your last hour off your shoulders alone.

Arrow watched me watch them, his gaze narrowing as he scanned every tic, every glitch of my face. He nudged his hand onto my knee beneath the table, not for show but for contact, and the heat of his palm was a current that shot up to the base of my jaw. I let myself lean into the sensation—a domesticity play, something I’d tried on only in the privacy of imagination.

I liked Luna immediately. She had the air of a half-wild animal learning to like the leash but not trusting it, not even for a second. Her long black hair was curled and fell in gentle waves to her pregnant belly. She was petite and beautiful, exuding an aura of kindness and ferocity in one breath. I could understand why Atlas saved her, and even more why she was about to have their child.

“So,” Luna started softly, “word is that you two are actually going to do it.”