2. Chapter Two Adriana
Chapter Two: Adriana
I leaned into the crib, my belly heavy and tight. My hand splayed over the curve of it, feeling the life inside pulse like a secret promise in this pastel prison of a room. With every throbbing ache, I remembered that the babies weren't the only thing growing—so was the sham of a marriage that bound me to Tristan.
Except we weren’t married, because he’d chickened out enough times that I didn’t want to marry him anymore.
And now, in Delaware, we had to pretend to be a happy husband and wife. I was trying very hard to stay positive, but the birth of the twins was getting closer, and the isolation wore on me.
It was afternoon now. I supposed the pregnancy had made me more emotional than usual, but this felt too hard right now.
"Tristan," I said, turning to look at him as he sorted through baby clothes with meticulous care. His wheelchair was parked close to the dresser, his deft fingers folding tiny onesies as if each fold could iron out the wrinkles in our lives. "I can't do this anymore..."
My voice broke off, trailing into the silence of the evening. Beyond the window, the suburb lay quiet under a blanket of snow, its peacefulness mocking the storm always raging within the walls of our home. I let out a sigh, wishing for a simple life, yearning for the laughter of my mother and sister to fill the emptiness of this house.
"Can't do what, Ade?" Tristan asked, glancing up from the sea of cotton and pastel. His hands paused, leaving the unfinished task as though my words had snipped the thread of his concentration.
"Can't keep pretending," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "Every day, it's like we're tiptoeing around the truth that this... us... it was never real to begin with."
Tristan moved away from the dresser, wheeling himself closer to me. Even seated, he had a way of filling the room, his presence both a comfort and a reminder of all the ways we were trapped by his family's legacy and my own tangled past.
“You’re not pretending,” he said. “Whatever else might be happening in our lives, we love each other. It doesn’t matter how it happened, right?”
I swallowed. I guessed it didn’t, but it was getting harder and harder to get away from how we had first been brought together.
"Let's just get through tonight," he said, and I hated how reasonable he sounded, how he could make 'tonight' feel like a destination we could reach without losing ourselves along the way.
"Tonight, then," I agreed, knowing full well that the nights would keep coming, one after another, an endless parade marching us further into a future we never chose.
“Is something bothering you in particular?”
I turned from the window, the room's stillness a stark reminder of our seclusion. "I miss my mom. My sister, too. I wish they could be here."
Tristan halted, his attention shifting from the task at hand. His eyes, a clear blue that I couldn't quite describe as anything but his own, met mine. There was an understanding in them, a silent pact of mutual longing etched into the space between us. "Me too, Ade. Me too."
The words hung there, suspended in the air like the delicate mobile above the crib. We were two people caught in the web of the Callahan Domain, bound together by more than the child I carried.
"Are you worried about your brothers?” I asked, breaking the quiet with a question that seemed safer than the silence. It was tender ground we were treading, but the need to reach out, to try and understand, pushed past my caution.
He maneuvered his wheelchair, facing me fully now. "I don’t know. I hope they're managing," he said, though the tightness in his jaw told me there was much left unsaid. "Each day brings its own challenges." He looked away for a moment, lost in thoughts I could only guess at.
I nodded, acknowledging the weight of his words. In the world we lived in, 'managing' often meant surviving, and 'challenges' could mean life or death. But tonight, we had other things to face, and so we stood, him seated, both bracing for what lay beyond the nursery door.
"Family's complicated, isn't it?" I murmured, breaking our shared gaze to glance down at my swollen belly. "Liam...he's always pushing the limits?"
Tristan rolled his wheelchair a fraction closer, his voice carrying a note of exasperation that didn't quite mask the underlying concern. "Liam's trying to carve out his own path, but he's reckless. It worries me. One wrong move in this game and..." He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. We both knew the stakes.
"Kieran?" I prodded gently, aware that Tristan's relationship with his other brother was a thornier subject.
A shadow fell over Tristan's face, his strong jaw clenching as if to hold back the words. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured, each syllable heavy with unspoken emotion. "Kieran did what he thought necessary. But betrayal, even for the right reasons, leaves a scar."
"Kieran didn't betray you, Tristan," I said, the words tumbling out before I could catch them. "He saved your life."
Tristan looked at me, his piercing blue eyes clouded with something akin to regret. "He did both, Adriana. You can't cloak betrayal in noble intentions. A knife in the back is still a knife, no matter how it's wielded."
His words hung heavily in the silence that followed, both of us lost in our thoughts. The room filled with echoes of past decisions and regrets, our lives intertwined in ways neither of us had foreseen.
“Kieran loves you.”
“I know,” Tristan said. “But he’s reckless and his recklessness has consequences." He paused for a moment, sighing deeply. "We're all navigating through this mess together, Ade. None of us are saints in this."
I nodded, pressing a hand against my belly as one of the children within shifted. Its movements were muted thuds against my hand, each one a reminder of the life we were bringing into this convoluted world.
“But he chased us out of our home. He made it so the delivery of the twins is going to be less safe. I don’t know if I can forgive him for that,” Tristan continued.
“He saved your life. He saved our lives. Me and the twins. You have to give him credit for that,” I said.
Tristan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "He still had no right... no right to make that decision for us. He shouldn’t have fucking brought Bellamy into our lives at all.”
I knew then that we weren't just talking about Kieran anymore. These were wounds that time hadn't healed, deep-seated insecurities and fears intertwined with the complicated bond of brotherhood. Tristan was wrestling with more than just feelings of betrayal; this was about control, about having the power to shape your own fate.
"We didn't choose this life," I reminded him gently. "But we're here now, and we have to make the best of it... for our children. And hey, maybe this isn’t so bad. Delaware is nice.”
Tristan stared at me for a moment before chuckling, the tension visibly draining from his shoulders. "Delaware is nice," he echoed, shaking his head as if to clear it. "I never thought I'd hear that."
“Don’t get used to it.”
I watched him closely, recognizing the battle behind his eyes. The lines of his face seemed to deepen, etched with the weight of decisions that bore down on him like chains.
We locked eyes again, and something shifted. A subtle drop in our defenses, a silent admission of the raw, gnarled truths we each carried. In that prolonged look, I felt the flicker of something real passing between us, fragile and tentative, yet undeniable.
The stillness of the nursery enveloped us, a cocoon woven from whispers of innocence and the faint scent of lavender. For a moment, amidst the elegant cribs and plush toys, we found an unlikely haven, a pause in the relentless march of our lives dictated by the Callahan or the Orsini legacy.
"Adriana," Tristan began, but the sound of a knock on the door sliced through the tranquility like a blade. We both tensed, our fleeting connection severed by the intrusion. The knock wasn't loud, but in the silence of the nursery, it echoed with the force of a gunshot.
My heart kicked against my ribs, not just from the effort of standing but from the surge of adrenaline that flooded my veins. I knew, as did Tristan, that no contact from the outside world was ever without consequence. Each rap on the wood was a question mark, a portent of news that could either fortify or fracture the fragile peace we had built within these walls.
"Who is it?" Tristan called out, his voice steady despite the sudden alert in his eyes. There was no immediate answer, just another sequence of knocks, more insistent this time.
I placed a hand protectively over my stomach, acutely aware of the lives growing inside me—lives bound to inherit a legacy of blood and honor. It was a chilling reminder that in our world, even the act of bringing new life carried its own set of dangers.
"Stay behind me," Tristan said, maneuvering his wheelchair with practiced ease toward the door. It was surprising, considering he had only used this wheelchair for a week. His broad shoulders squared, a silent testament to his unwavering role as protector.
I nodded, trailing behind him, my resolve hardening with each step. We were a product of this life, bound by duty and shaped by the shadows of those who came before us. But as we approached the door, ready to face whatever lay beyond, I sensed the beginning of something powerful unfolding between us—a bond forged not just by circumstance, but by the shared acknowledgment of our intertwined fates.
Tristan reached the door, his fingers grazing the wood before resting on the handle. He glanced back at me, a silent question in his gaze, and I nodded once more. My heart hammered in my chest, but not from fear. It was anticipation, a strange excitement for what was to come because whatever it was, we would meet it together.
There was nobody there. A box from baby world addressed to “the current resident”.
"I'd feel better if you stepped back," Tristan said, reaching out to the box with the hesitant air of a bomb disposal expert. I retreated, understanding his caution, and watched as he cautiously opened the package. Inside were small, innocent reminders of a life we were about to welcome into a complicated world: colorful onesies, fluffy blankets, and a teddy bear with embroidered eyes.
Tristan looked back up at me, his face softening as he sifted through the items in the box. It was such a simple thing, but I could see how it affected him. Perhaps it wasn't just the reality of impending fatherhood that startled him, but also how sharply it contrasted with his upbringing in the Callahan empire.
“Who is this from?”
“I assume it’s from the only person who knows we’re here,” Tristan said. “Kieran.”
His words hung in the air, another pang of betrayal lacing his tone. Kieran. The name was a wound reopened, a reminder of the tumultuous path that had led us here - to the sanctuary of Delaware, preparing for the arrival of twins.
“Tristan,” I began, my voice softer than I intended. “He’s not the enemy. He’s your brother.”
“He’s not my brother. Well, he might not be my brother. If Bellamy wasn’t lying and he is my dad…then what does that make Kieran? My cousin? I mean, technically, he wouldn’t even be a blood relative. Right?”
I didn't have an answer for him. Blood ties were complicated enough in normal circumstances, let alone when infused with the convoluted nature of mafia entanglements and concealed paternity.
“Regardless of the bloodline, Tristan, he’s always been there for you," I said. "At least try to see things from his perspective."
“Why are you suddenly going to bat for Kieran? I thought you hated him.”
“I did, until he put a bullet in Ronan’s head instead of yours,” I said.
“That might not mean he’s my brother.”
“You know, there’s an easy way to figure that out, right?”
He looked up at me. “What?”
"A DNA test," I said, "it's simple, Tristan. If you're so entangled in this knot of doubt and betrayal...why not just unravel it?"
I watched his reaction closely, from the initial surprise that darted across his eyes to the contemplative furrow of his brows. A silence filled the room again, our soft whispers swallowed by the thick air. The idea seemed to bounce around in his mind, like a rubber ball ricocheting off the walls.
“Do you think Kieran would agree to it?” he asked, quietly.
“I don't know," I admitted, "but there's only one way to find out."