False Heir

Chapter One Tristan

Iwas pretty sure I was dying.

Blood seeped through the fabric of my shirt—a reminder of the evening’s violent turn—as Silvio Orsini, the man with a smile that belied his capacity for ruthlessness, stood in the midst of our shattered peace. The Callahan estate, once a stronghold of quiet authority, now echoed with the tension of betrayal and unexpected alliances.

I wanted to fuck him up, but I was too hurt to move.

“Tristan,” Silvio began, his voice steady despite the chaos he had orchestrated, “I didn’t come here to start a war. Things... they got out of hand. But we’ve got a lot to sort out.”

His eyes scanned the room, taking in Adriana’s unease, Carmen’s defiant stance, Kieran’s calculating silence, and Liam’s attempt to mask his nerves. Killian, the betrayer, stood amongst the Rossi brothers, his loyalties as clear as the cold steel of a gun barrel.

Fuck him too.

Jesus.

“Look,” Silvio continued, the timbre of his voice demanding attention, “we’re going to be adults about this, whether we like it or not. There are issues between our families, and they won’t get solved with bullets and bloodshed.”

“You’re the one who came in here like this,” I replied between gritted teeth.

“I know. But you don’t want to have a conversation.”

I resisted the urge to reach for my gun. Around us, the study held too many secrets, too much history. It was a place where decisions were made, where the fate of empires was often decided over a glass of whiskey and a handshake. I eyed Silvio, knowing that his words were laced with the kind of truth that could either bind us or break us completely.

And if talking to him was what I had to do to protect Adriana and our kids, well, fuck it. That was what I would do.

My hand instinctively brushed against my side, feeling the sticky warmth that had nothing to do with the night air. I knew I needed medical attention soon, but first, I had to navigate this conversation.

I thought about it. Even if it meant I died, maybe I would take him down with me…

Adrian’s voice cut through the air. “Tristan, stop!”

Her command halted me mid-motion, and I lowered my hand, my fingers brushing against the cold metal before letting it go. Pain radiated from my injured side, the world tilting dangerously as I fought to stay upright.

“He deserves it,” I said.

“He’s not worth it,” Adriana replied, looking right at her father as she said it.

I could tell he held back a wince, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he kept looking at me.

“Tristan,” Silvio prompted.

“Silvio,” I began, meeting his gaze squarely despite the throbbing pain in my side, “you know as well as I do that this... situation, it’s not just going to disappear with a simple chat.” My voice was steady, even if everything else wasn’t. “But you have to promise me—promise that Adriana stays out of the line of fire.”

“Tristan, you think I’d harm my own flesh and blood?” There was a weariness in his voice that hadn’t been there before, a father’s fatigue.

“Your track record ain’t exactly spotless, Silvio.” I leaned back, my eyes never leaving his. It was a gamble, calling him out on his past, but one I had to take for her sake. For Adriana, who stood up to her father, who dared to carve her path despite the shadows cast by our families.

“Fair enough,” he conceded after a heavy silence. “She won’t be harmed. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Good. So, let’s get down to it then. What’s your play here?”

“Let’s talk in private,” he said.

I nodded. “Let’s talk then.”

The rest of them all—my brothers, Adriana, Carmen, and those who had turned on us—remained behind as Silvio followed me to the living room. The space was lit by the moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor.

I reached for a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, poured myself a glass, and felt the familiar burn slide down my throat. I offered one to Silvio, who accepted with a nod. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective.

We sat, two men bound by bloodshed and the intricate dance of power. “It’s high time we had a proper talk, man-to-man,” Silvio declared, looking at me with an intensity that told me this conversation would shape the future of both our worlds.

I nodded, the weight of the moment settling on my shoulders like a leaden cloak. I took another sip of whiskey, feeling it fortify the battered ramparts of my resolve.

I took another slow drink, letting the heat of the whiskey spread through me, offering a fleeting distraction from the pain. “So, let’s get down to it then. What’s your play here?”

Silvio set his glass down with a soft clink, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that could cut through steel. “We end this tonight, Tristan. We find a way to coexist, or we burn it all down trying.”

“Easy words for a man who came in fighting,” I said. “Blood has been shed here tonight, and not because of my actions.”

“Which is why I want to talk,” Silvio said. “I never expected things to get this far.”

I went to get myself another drink. I took a deep breath and finally faced him, leaning back against the bar. The cool surface was a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through my chest from the whiskey. I took a slow sip, letting the burn slide down my throat before speaking.

“Your guarantee, Silvio. I need it to be ironclad.” My voice was steady, but inside, my heart was hammering against my ribs. “Every single person under this roof walks away unscathed. That’s the deal.”

Silvio met my gaze, the moonlight catching in his salt-and-pepper hair, giving him an almost ethereal look. He nodded once, sharply, the lines of his face set in determination.

“I give you my word, Tristan. No harm will come to them. Not by my hand, nor by any man who answers to me.”

“Right. And who answers to you?”

“That’s out of the scope of this conversation,” he replied.

“I think I’ll decide what’s in the scope,” I said.

He cocked his head. “I think you might not understand the situation you’re in here, Tristan,” he said. “I’m the one with the upperhand.”

I glared at him. “Are you? Because I’ve never attacked a person’s house when I feel like I’m the one with the upperhand.”

“Tristan,” he began, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “What happened tonight—“

“I won’t forget it.”

“I understand that. But it was necessary.”

“Necessary,” I repeated. It wasn’t really a question. I just couldn’t believe he was saying this shit to me. I was going to have to kill this man, no matter what. Whether he knew it or not, well, that was his problem.

He raised an eyebrow, acknowledging my interruption with a slight tilt of his head. “Necessary, yes. But it’s only the beginning. You know the stakes.”

“Better than most.” I met his gaze evenly, refusing to look away. “You need me, Silvio. And I need assurances.”

“What do I need you for?”

“If you hurt me, Adriana won’t ever forgive you,” I said simply. “And whatever legacy you have goes up in smoke with me.”

He grimaced, then took a sip of his whiskey and nodded. “Fine,” he said.

“I need those assurances,” I said.

“Assurances,” he echoed thoughtfully, as if tasting the word. “You have them. Your family, your people—they will be safe. That’s not just a promise; it’s a vow.”

“Vows can be broken,” I pointed out, the cynicism in my voice a reflection of the life I’ve lived.

“Not by me,” Silvio countered firmly. “Not when it comes to this.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the tension ebbing as mutual understanding took its place. He might be a kingpin, a ruthless killer even, but in his eyes, I saw something else—a glimmer of respect.

“Alright then,” I said finally. “Let’s figure out how we survive this mess.”

He didn’t know it yet, but I was definitely not talking about him.