Page 227 of Arrow

I didn’t answer; my eyes locked on Arrow. He was breathing hard, blood dripping from his split lip, but his gaze never wavered from mine. In his eyes, I saw fury, but more so, fear for me.

“The Romanovs,” my father continued, his voice taking on a lecturing tone, “have been stealing from the Virellis for three generations. Territory, business, respect. But the greatest theft of all was personal.” He stopped in front of Arrow, looking down at him with undisguised hatred. “This man watched my wife die. Held her hand while she poisoned herself. And he did nothing to stop her.”

“She made her choice,” Arrow said, his voice rough but defiant. “I honored it.”

My father’s hand shot out, backhanding Arrow across the face with enough force to snap his head to the side. “You encouraged it! You filled her head with ideas about protecting Harlowe, about escaping me. You turned my own wife against me!”

“You turned her against you!” Arrow spat blood onto the marble floor. “Every time you raised your hand to her. Every time you treated her like property. You destroyed her long before I ever spoke to her.”

Another blow, this one to Arrow’s ribs. I heard something crack, saw Arrow’s face contort with pain, and something inside me shattered.

“Stop it!” I screamed, my voice breaking. “Please, Father, stop!”

Giovanni turned to me, his expression shifting to something almost sad. “You see what he’s reduced you to? Begging. My daughter, who I raised to be strong, to be ruthless, reduced to begging for the life of a Romanov.”

“I’m begging because I love him,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “Because he's my husband. Because you’re wrong about him.”

“Love,” my father repeated, the word dripping with contempt. “Love is what weak women use to justify their betrayals. Your mother loved you, and look where that got her. Dead, alone except for this monster.”

“She wasn’t alone,” I said fiercely. “He stayed with her. He kept his promise to her. That’s more than you ever did. You watched her break when Luca died. You didn’t avenge him. You killed her. You’re the monster.”

My father’s expression darkened. “You defend him. Even now, even after I’ve shown you what he truly is—a thief, a manipulator, a man who watched your mother die—you still defend him.”

“Yes,” I said, lifting my chin despite my tears. “Because he’s shown me more loyalty, more honesty, more love in a few months than you’ve shown me in my entire life.”

His fist came so fast I didn’t see it coming. My head snapped to the side, pain exploding across my cheek. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Arrow roar with rage, the sound of a struggle as he fought against his restraints.

“You ungrateful little bitch,” my father hissed, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him. “I gave you everything. A name, a legacy, a place in this world. And you threw it away for him.”

“You gave me nothing but fear and pain,” I shot back, tasting blood where my teeth had cut the inside of my cheek. “Arrow gave me a choice. He gave me freedom.”

My father released me with a disgusted sound, turning back to Arrow. “Freedom. Is that what you call it?” He gestured to his men. “Bring the tools.”

My blood ran cold. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching you a lesson, daughter.” My father’s smile was terrible to behold. “You want to choose him over your family? Over your blood? Then you’ll watch what that choice costs.”

Two of his men returned carrying a metal case. When they opened it, I saw instruments that made my stomach turn—pliers, knives, a blowtorch, and other things I couldn’t identify and didn’t want to.

“No,” I whispered, horror washing over me. “No, please, Father, don’t do this.”

“You made your choice,” he said coldly. “Now live with the consequences.”

He selected a pair of pliers from the case, testing their grip with a casual air that made my skin crawl. Arrow’s eyes tracked the movement, his jaw clenched, but he didn’t flinch.

“I’ve had to stay silent while your husband rubbed my nose in the dirt, while he paraded you around like one of his whores. But now that you’ve married him, by law, everything he owns, everything he is, is now yours. But this?” He gestured around the bloody scene. “This is mine.”

Arrow spat blood onto the marble floor. “You won’t win this, Giovanni. My men are already on their way.”

My father laughed, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. “Your men are dead or dying. The ones who aren’t here, anyway. This house was your fortress, Romanov. Now it’s your tomb.”

I struggled against the men holding me, desperate to reach Arrow. The shirt I’d thrown on—his shirt—was stained with blood from my split lip, the fabric catching on my wrists as I fought.

“Let me go!” I screamed, twisting in their grip. “Father, please⁠—“

“Silence her,” he ordered, not even looking at me.

One of the men holding me clamped a hand over my mouth, cutting off my protests. I bit down hard, tasting leather and blood as he cursed and tightened his grip, his other hand twisting my arm painfully behind my back.