39. Thirty-Nine #3
His hand shot out, wrapping around my throat again, but this time with a gentleness that was almost worse than violence. His thumb traced my jawline. “I’m not that delusional.”
I leaned into his touch. “Yet here we are, in a sex club, where you just fucked me against a window to prove a point.”
“What point would that be?”
“That I’m yours. That everyone should know it.” I gestured to the A around my neck. “Isn’t that what this is all about? Branding me before the wedding so everyone knows who I belong to?”
He laughed. “You’re wearing my initial around your neck, but I’m the one who can’t walk away.” His eyes held mine, something raw and unfamiliar flickering behind them. “You’ve branded me just as thoroughly as I’ve marked you.”
The confession hung between us, unexpected and dangerous.
I didn’t know how to respond to this version of Arrow—the one who admitted weakness, who acknowledged the hold I had on him.
It was more intimate than the sex, more unnerving somehow than his possessiveness.
And here I was, a woman who’d just been fucked against a window by a man who’d kill for her as easily as he’d die for her.
“We should get back,” I said, reaching for my clutch on the velvet chair where I’d dropped it. My voice sounded strange to my own ears, softer than I intended, and less sharp around the edges.
Arrow watched me collect myself, his expression unreadable. When I was as put together as I could be, hair finger-combed, and lipstick reapplied, he stepped forward and straightened the A at my throat, his fingers lingering against my collarbone.
He unlocked the door, and just before we stepped out into the corridor, I caught his arm. “The woman she mentioned . . . the one who ended up in pieces. Was that true?”
A shadow passed over his face. “Yes.”
“Did you kill her?”
His eyes met mine, unflinching. “No. But I didn’t save her either.”
His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes darkened. “She was my father’s assistant. Got too close, learned too much. My father had her killed to send a message.”
I absorbed this, feeling the weight of his words settle between us. “And Irina?”
“Survived by being useful.” He adjusted his cufflinks with practiced precision. “And by knowing exactly when to disappear.”
We walked back through the corridor in silence. When we reached the main floor, Orion materialized from the crowd, eyebrow raised in silent question.
“Everything good?” he asked, eyes flicking between us.
“Perfect,” Arrow replied smoothly. “Any developments?”
“Meeting’s wrapping up. They’re getting antsy without you there to finalize.”
When we reached the mezzanine level again, I could feel the shift in energy.
The men were still there, but their postures had changed—more alert, more wary.
I slid into the booth beside Arrow, feeling their eyes assess my slightly disheveled appearance, the fresh mark blooming on my neck, the way Arrow's hand settled possessively on my thigh.
“Good of you to rejoin us,” Vasily drawled, his accent thicker after what I assumed were several more drinks. “We were beginning to think you’d abandoned us for more . . . pleasurable pursuits.”
“I’m sure Mr. Romanov had important business to attend to,” I replied coolly, crossing my legs and feeling Arrow’s cum slide between my thighs. The sensation was a filthy reminder of what we’d just done, a secret written on my skin that only we knew.
Marco’s eyes narrowed, his gaze lingering on the fresh mark on my neck. “Indeed. The Romanov definition of ‘business’ has always been flexible.”
Arrow’s hand tightened on my thigh, but his face remained impassive. “The security arrangements are settled then?” he asked, seamlessly redirecting the conversation.
Vasily nodded, sliding a folder across the table. “Everything as discussed. My men will coordinate with Frank on the perimeter details.”
The meeting concluded quickly after that—territories agreed upon, security details finalized, temporary truces established.
I watched Arrow operate in his natural habitat, the casual way he commanded respect.
His words carried weight not because he raised his voice, but because everyone knew what he was capable of.
“The meeting’s concluded,” Arrow announced, rising to his feet. The others followed suit, handshakes exchanged with the ritualistic formality of men who trusted each other just enough not to kill one another in public.
Marco lingered, his eyes finding mine. “Miss Virelli,” he said, voice dripping with false courtesy. “Your father sends his regards.”
I froze, feeling Arrow tense beside me. “You’ve spoken with him recently?”
“Just yesterday.” Marco’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s quite interested in the arrangements for your upcoming nuptials.”
“I’m sure he is,” I replied coolly. “Tell him I’m looking forward to seeing him walk me down the aisle. It’ll be the first time he’s walked me anywhere.”
Marco laughed. “I’ll pass along the sentiment. He’ll be so pleased to hear his daughter hasn’t lost her spirit.”
* My little viper
* Your father is nothing!
* Fuck me.