39. Thirty-Nine
THIRTY-NINE
HARLOWE
The meeting continued, voices dropping as they discussed territories, shipments, and other business matters that would normally have been kept far from my ears.
I absorbed every word, filing away information that my father would kill to know.
Arrow’s hand never left my body, his touch a constant reminder of ownership—and perhaps, though he’d never admit it, protection.
When the conversation shifted to a dispute over gambling territories in Brighton Beach, I excused myself to the restroom. Arrow’s hand clamped around my wrist before I could fully stand.
“I’ll come with you,” he said, his voice casual but his eyes deadly serious.
I leaned down, my lips brushing his ear. “Worried I might run off with a hot, less complicated, mafia boss?”
His jaw tightened. “Five minutes. Then I come looking.”
“Counting the seconds already?” I smirked, pulling my wrist free. I felt his eyes burning into my back as I walked away, hips swaying deliberately with each step.
The women’s restroom at Erebus was unlike any I’d ever seen—black marble, gold fixtures, and a lounge area with velvet chaises where women touched up makeup or did lines of cocaine off compact mirrors.
The attendant, dressed in nothing but a corset and heels, offered me a warm towel with a smile that lingered too long on my lips.
I took my time, reapplying my lipstick in the mirror, watching the reflection of women behind me as they whispered and giggled, some disappearing into stalls together. The bathroom was its own ecosystem of secrets and desire.
As I turned to leave, the server from earlier—the one with the jasmine scent and knowing eyes—blocked my path.
“Romanov’s new toy,” she said, her Russian accent lilting and sharp. “You’re more dangerous than you look.”
My lips curled into a smile as I studied her—high cheekbones, dark eyes with a hint of something feral. “And you're more perceptive than most.”
Stepping closer, she invaded my space. “I worked for the Romanov family before Arrow went his own way. I know what happens to beautiful things in that family.”
“And yet you’re still here,” I observed, “serving drinks to his son.”
She laughed, a sound like broken glass. “We all serve someone in this city. The question is whether we choose our masters or they choose us.” Her fingers brushed my arm, light as a butterfly’s wing. “You wear his mark,” she nodded at my necklace, “but your eyes don’t match your collar.”
“Maybe I like the contradiction.”
“Or maybe you’re playing a game you don’t fully understand.” She leaned closer, her breath warm against my ear. “Be careful, Virelli. The last woman who thought she could tame Arrow Romanov ended up in pieces.”
Before I could respond, the bathroom door swung open. The woman stepped back smoothly, her face transforming into a pleasant, servile mask as Arrow filled the doorway, his expression thunderous.
“Time’s up,” he said, eyes flicking between us.
The woman dipped her head in mock deference. “Just offering your fiancée a towel, Mr. Romanov.” She glided past him.
His eyes followed her until the door closed, then locked onto me. “What did she say to you?”
I shrugged, smoothing my dress with an intentional air of casualness. “Just girl talk. Bathroom etiquette. You know how it is.”
He stepped closer, backing me against the marble counter. “Don’t lie to me, Harlowe. Not here.”
I met his gaze, unflinching. “She warned me about you. Said the last woman who thought she could tame you ended up in pieces.” I tilted my head. “Care to elaborate?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Irina talks too much. Always has.”
“Irina,” I repeated, filing the name away. “So you do know her.”
“She worked for my father.” His hand came up to cup my jaw, thumb pressing just hard enough against my pulse to feel it quicken. “She likes to collect secrets and sell them to the highest bidder.”
“And what secrets was she hoping to collect from me?”
His eyes darkened. “Whatever would hurt me most.”
The possessiveness in his voice sent a thrill through me—not fear, but something darker, more primal. I leaned into his touch, letting my lips brush against his thumb. “And what would destroy you most completely?” I replied.
His pupils dilated, and for a moment, I thought he might take me right there on the marble counter, with strangers just beyond the door.
Instead, he gripped my wrist and pulled me from the bathroom, his stride purposeful as he cut through the club.
We bypassed the meeting room entirely, heading down a corridor I hadn't seen before.
“Where are we going?” I asked, struggling to keep up in my heels.
“Somewhere private.” His voice was clipped, controlled fury vibrating beneath the surface.
He swiped a keycard at a door with a snake on it, then pulled me inside. The room was small but luxurious—black walls, red velvet furniture, and a massive bed that dominated the space. One-way mirrors lined one wall, offering a view of the main floor below while keeping us hidden from prying eyes.
Arrow locked the door behind us, then turned to face me. The controlled rage in his expression made my skin prickle with anticipation.
“You think this is a game, moya malen’kaya gadyuka?”* he asked, closing the distance between us. “Testing me in front of those men? Talking to Irina?”
I lifted my chin. “Everything’s a game in this world. I thought you knew the rules.”
His hand shot out, gripping my throat—not squeezing, just holding, his thumb pressed against my pulse point.
“Those men down there? They’d skin you alive just to hear the sound.
And you walk in there as if you own them, like your father’s name is enough to keep you safe.
Tvoy otets nichto!”* His grip tightened fractionally.
“Nothing keeps you safe here except me.”
“I don’t need your protection. I need your respect.”
Something flickered in his eyes—not anger, but something deeper, more complex.
His hand slid from my throat to cup my face, thumb brushing across my lower lip.
He backed me against the one-way mirror, the glass cold against my overheated skin.
Below us, the club pulsed with bodies and music, but up here, we existed in our own violent universe.
“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?
” he growled against my mouth. “Pushing me, testing limits, seeing how far you can go before I snap?” His hand slid up my thigh, fingers digging into my flesh as he pushed the fabric up around my hips.
“You have what you wanted—you’re here, in the middle of everything. What more are you trying to prove?”
“That I’m not just your trophy,” I whispered against his mouth. “That I’m not just another possession for you to lock away.”
“You think I see you as a possession?”
“Don’t you?” I challenged, arching into his touch. “Your mark on my neck, your bruises on my skin. What else would you call it?”
He growled, low in his throat, then spun me around to face the one-way mirror. His chest pressed against my back as he forced me to look at our reflection.
“Look,” he commanded, one hand splayed across my stomach, the other tilting my chin up. “Tell me what you see.”
Below us, the club continued its debauchery—bodies writhing, deals being made in dark corners, pleasure and pain intertwining in a symphony of flesh.
But in our reflection, I saw something else—a woman who wasn’t cowering, wasn’t subdued, wasn’t broken.
I saw myself, eyes bright with defiance even as Arrow held me against the glass.
“I see a woman who belongs to no one,” I said, my voice steady despite the heat pooling between my thighs. “I see a woman who knows exactly what she wants.”
His fingers tightened on my jaw, forcing my gaze to remain on our reflection. “And what do you want, Harlowe?”
I met his eyes in the mirror. “Everything. Power. Freedom. You.”
He made a sound between a growl and a laugh, his free hand sliding down to cup me through my underwear. “You already have me,” he said, his voice rough against my ear. “The question is whether that’s enough.”
Below us, a woman screamed in ecstasy, the sound floating up through the glass like a ghost. His fingers pushed aside the thin fabric, finding me already wet for him. His satisfied grunt vibrated against my back.
“Trakhni menya.* This pussy is always ready,” he murmured, sliding two fingers inside me without preamble. “Even when you’re testing me.”
I gasped, my hips bucking against his hand. “Maybe that’s why I test you.”
He pumped his fingers slowly, deliberately, his thumb circling my clit. Through the glass, I could see Irina watching the crowd below, her eyes scanning as if searching for someone. For us, perhaps.
“She was my father’s mistress,” Arrow said suddenly, following my gaze.
“And his informant. She told him everything—who was loyal, who was plotting against him. She was his eyes when he couldn’t be everywhere at once.
” His fingers curled inside me, finding that spot that made my knees buckle.
“She was there the night he killed my mother.”
I gasped, both from his revelation and the way his thumb worked my clit in tight circles. “Why is she still alive, then?”
“Because killing her would be too merciful.” His teeth grazed my earlobe. “And because she’s useful. She still collects secrets, only now she sells them to me.” He twisted his fingers, making me moan. “She wants you because she thinks you’re my weakness.”
“Am I?” I challenged, grinding against his hand.
He laughed, dark and dangerous. “You’re many things, Harlowe Virelli. A weakness isn’t one of them.”
His free hand moved to unbuckle his belt, the sound of metal and leather obscenely loud in our private sanctuary. I heard his zipper, then felt the hot, hard length of him pressing against my ass. He withdrew his fingers from inside me, bringing them to my mouth.
“Taste yourself,” he commanded. “Taste how wet you get for me when you’re being difficult.”