4. Four #2
My phone buzzed again—my father, this time. I ignored it. He’d want an update on the wedding preparations, on Harlowe’s compliance, and on whether I’d secured the Virelli assets we’d discussed. All business, always business.
I texted Frank. He’d worked for the Virellis for decades, but his loyalty had shifted when Giovanni failed to avenge Luca’s death—when he’d spent a decade watching Harlowe slowly fade away, eventually becoming a shell of the girl she’d used to be.
He’d watched over her like she was his own daughter, and I knew his motives were strictly to get her out of that house and somewhere where he believed she stood a chance.
Frank had been feeding me information about Harlowe for months—her habits, her weaknesses, her nights at La Lune Noire. I knew about her preference for pain that bordered on transcendence. I knew about the pills she took to sleep and the nightmares that still woke her.
Knowledge was control, and I intended to control every aspect of Harlowe Virelli until she no longer knew where she ended and I began.
“Make sure she eats today,” I texted Frank. “Use whatever means necessary.”
His response was immediate. “Yes, sir.”
I smiled.
Frank’s loyalty to Harlowe was genuine, which made his betrayal of her all the more valuable.
He believed I could give her structure, discipline, and protection from her father—what she really needed.
He believed he was saving her. In his own way, he was right.
Not everyone is your father, Frank had told her.
He was right about that.
I was something far worse.
I showered and dressed, selecting a charcoal suit that my tailor had finished just yesterday.
The Romanov family ring sat heavy on my finger, its weight familiar after all these years.
My father had given it to me when I turned eighteen, the same night he’d told me about the Virelli blood debt.
“One day,” he’d said, “you’ll wear this when you take what’s ours.
” At the time, I’d assumed he meant territory or business. Not a wife.
As I left my penthouse, my security detail fell in around me. Two men, both ex-military, both loyal to death. Not that I needed them. I’d been trained to kill since I was twelve, another Romanov tradition.
The elevator descended, and I checked my watch.
I had a meeting with Giovanni Virelli at his club in Little Italy.
A formality, really. We would discuss the final arrangements for transferring his daughter from his household to mine.
The paperwork was already drawn up, but Giovanni was old school.
He wanted to look me in my eye when he sold his only remaining child.
Manhattan sprawled past the windows as we slid into traffic, the city’s pulse quickening as the day began.
People hurried along the sidewalks, all of them oblivious to the machinations happening in the penthouses above their heads.
How simple their lives must be, I thought. How blissfully uncomplicated.
The car pulled up to Giovanni’s club, a nondescript building with a burgundy awning and brass fixtures that had seen better days. Two guards flanked the entrance, their eyes tracking me as I approached.
They knew better than to search me.
Even on Virelli territory, a Romanov walked untouched.
Inside of the club smelled of cigars and aged leather, a relic from a time when men like Giovanni thought they would rule forever. He was waiting in his private room, a tumbler of scotch already in his hand, despite the early hour. He didn’t stand when I entered.
“Arrow,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.
I nodded and took the seat, keeping my posture rigid. Giovanni Virelli had aged since I’d last seen him up close. The lines around his mouth were deeper, and his eyes were more sunken. Power was slipping through his fingers like sand, and we both knew it.
“Your daughter seems reluctant,” I said, not bothering with pleasantries.
Giovanni laughed, a hollow sound that didn’t reach his eyes. “My daughter has always been difficult. Even as a child.” He took a long sip of his scotch. “She gets that from her mother.”
I didn’t respond to the bait. Giovanni wanted me to ask about his wife, to show interest in the family I was marrying into. I had no such curiosity.
“The terms remain as discussed,” I said instead, placing a thin folder on the table between us.
“Once we’re married, the Virelli holdings in Brighton Beach and Red Hook transfer to Romanov control.
Your remaining operations continue under your management, with a sixty percent stake directed to my family’s interests. ”
Giovanni’s fingers tightened around his glass. “And my daughter’s safety?”
“It’s guaranteed,” I replied smoothly. “As long as you uphold your end of the bargain.”
He studied me, this old lion with dull claws. “You know, I remember when you were just a boy, following your father around like his shadow. Always watching, never speaking.” He leaned forward. “I always wondered what was happening behind those cold eyes of yours.”
I let his words hang in the air between us, neither confirming nor denying whatever he thought he knew about me. Giovanni Virelli was fishing, trying to find leverage where none existed. The silence stretched until he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“You’ve never liked me,” he finally said.
“I’ve never thought about you at all.”
His face twitched, a momentary crack in his composure.
He was a man used to inspiring fear, respect, or at least hatred.
Indifference was the one thing he couldn’t tolerate.
I let the truth of that sit between us, watching as his shoulders stiffened.
This man had spent decades commanding respect through fear and violence, and here I was, treating him like an afterthought.
“The ceremony will take place as scheduled,” I continued, my voice clipped. “I expect Harlowe to be present, sober, and compliant.”
Giovanni’s expression hardened. “She will be.”
“Good.” I stood, buttoning my suit jacket. “Then our business here is concluded.”
As I turned to leave, Giovanni spoke again. “She’s not like all your other women, Romanov. She won’t break easily.”
I paused at the door, allowing myself a small smile. “I’m counting on it.”
The sunlight outside felt abrasive after the club’s dim interior. My driver opened the car door, and I slid into the cool leather interior. As we pulled away from the curb, I checked my watch. I had a few hours before my next meeting, enough time to pay a visit to Harlowe.
It was time she understood exactly what she was getting into.