Page 170 of Arrow

I studied his face, trying to read between the lines. Arrow rarely spoke about his mother, and when he did, it was always with a careful neutrality that masked deeper wounds. The fact that he’d kept the property, specifically to preserve it, had my chest tightening. I wanted to ask him more about the villa, about his mother, about this part of himself he’d never shown me before. But something in his expression warned me not to push. Not here. Not with an audience.

“Lake Como sounds beautiful,” I said instead, keeping my voice neutral even as his fingers continued their torturous path up my thigh.

Luna’s face lit up. “Oh, you'll love it! Atlas took me to Italy last year. The food, the wine, the views . . .” She sighed dreamily. “It’s the perfect place to . . . recover from a wedding.”

The way she said “recover” made me think she knew exactly what kind of wedding night Arrow and I would have—violent, passionate, and probably ending with one of us bleeding. The thought sent a shiver down my spine that Arrow must have felt, because his grip tightened possessively.

“I’ve never been to Italy,” I admitted. “My father doesn’t trust Italians.”

Atlas barked a laugh. “Your father is Italian.”

“Exactly.” I grinned. “He knows what they’re capable of.”

Atlas laughed again, louder this time, and clinked his glass against mine. “I like her, Arrow. She’s got balls.”

“More than most men in this city,” Arrow agreed, his hand still tracing dangerous patterns on my thigh under the table.

The conversation flowed more easily after that, drifting from wedding details to Luna’s pregnancy cravings to Atlas’s latest business ventures. I found myself relaxing despite everything, enjoying the strange normalcy of dinner with another couple—even if both men at the table had body counts higher than their investment portfolios.

Arrow leaned close to me, his breath hot against my ear.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured. “They like you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not trying to impress your friends.”

“Liar,” he whispered, teeth grazing my earlobe. “You’ve been on your best behavior all night.”

Before I could retort, Luna set down her spoon and fixed me with an intent stare. “Can I steal you for a minute? Girl talk.”

Arrow’s hand tightened on my thigh, but I ignored him, sliding my chair back. “Of course.”

Luna led me toward the ladies’ room, her hand resting on her swollen belly as she walked. Once inside the plush bathroom with its marble countertops and fresh orchids, she checked under the stalls to make sure we were alone.

“Are you okay?” she asked once she was satisfied we had privacy. “Really okay?”

The question caught me off guard. Most people in our world didn’t ask such direct questions, preferring to dance around intentions with veiled threats and loaded compliments.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically, then caught myself. Something about Luna’s genuine concern made me want to be honest. “Actually, I don’t know. I’m about to marry into the family that killed my brother.”

Luna nodded, no judgment in her eyes. “I get it. When I first got involved with Atlas, I thought I was making a deal with the devil.” She smoothed her dress over her belly. “Sometimes I still think that.”

“But you love him,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“Enough to have his child.” She smiled ruefully. “Love isn’t always the problem in our world. It’s everything else that comes with it.”

I leaned against the marble counter. “How do you do it? Live with someone who could kill without blinking?”

“By remembering he would kill for me first.” She studied my face. “Arrow would do the same for you. I see how he looks at you.”

“With possession, not love,” I countered.

Luna laughed softly. “In men like ours, they’re often the same thing.” She took my hands in hers. “I heard about what happened at the club. With Harley.”

My cheeks flamed. “You heard about that?”

“Everyone has,” Luna said, not unkindly. “This city runs on gossip and blood.”

I looked away, studying my reflection in the mirror. The marks on my neck were mostly hidden by the high collar of my dress, but the ghost of Arrow’s grip lingered on my skin like a memory.