26. Chapter Twenty-Six Adriana
Chapter Twenty-Six: Adriana
T ristan wheeled himself up to me, stilling me with his hand on my arm.
We stood outside the Orsini household, our shadows stretching long in the late afternoon sun, a private storm brewing between us. Tension crackled like static around Tristan and me, his voice a low rumble.
"Adriana, we can't risk telling Silvio," he said, jaw clenching as if bracing against my inevitable pushback.
"Tristan, we're talking about Bellamy here," I shot back, my heart thudding in my chest. "He's not just some two-bit thug; he's a genuine threat to us—"
"Which is exactly why we shouldn't involve your father," he interrupted, his eyes flitting around nervously, as if the mere mention of Bellamy might summon him from the shadows.
I took a step closer, our bodies almost touching, and lowered my voice to a fierce whisper. "Look, I know Dad hasn't been...model parent material, but he doesn't deserve a death sentence. Not informing him could be just that."
"Ade, you know as well as I do that dragging your dad into this will only escalate things." The blue of his eyes darkened, a clear sign of the unease churning beneath his calm facade.
"Maybe," I admitted, shaking my head slightly, feeling the weight of my responsibility. "But it's his right to know, isn't it? We're a family, and families protect each other, even when it's hard."
“And you think pissing Silvio off is going to do that?”
"Tristan, this isn't a game. It's our lives."
He took a step closer, his broad shoulders blocking the sunlight. "I know that better than anyone," he said firmly. "But involving Silvio? That's lighting a fuse on a powder keg. We can protect the family ourselves; we don't need to drag him into the crossfire."
"Can we, though?" I arched an eyebrow, the familiar unsettled feeling creeping over me. This wasn't just Tristan being overly confident; it was more personal, more desperate. He was keeping something from me—I could feel it in the tightness of his posture, the way his eyes darted away before meeting mine again.
"Tristan," I reached out, touching his arm lightly, feeling the muscle tense under my fingers. "What aren't you telling me?"
His jaw ticked, that telltale sign of his anxiety. The guarded look in his eyes was a fortress I knew all too well. "Adriana, it's not that simple—"
"Save it. You're not just worried about starting a war; there's something else you're not sharing." My intuition was like a live wire, sparking against the cool facade I maintained. "Is Bellamy targeting us personally? Is that it?"
He shifted uncomfortably, his broad frame somehow seeming smaller under the weight of my scrutiny. "It's complicated," he muttered, but even as he said it, I knew it was a deflection.
“Don’t do that. We have children together. If there’s something going on, you need to onboard me.”
He sighed, his shoulders slumping, his entire body slumping in his wheelchair. “Come here,” he said. “Sit on my lap. I want you, and only you, to hear this.”
I hesitated for a moment, then moved to sit on Tristan's lap. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. I could feel the tension in his body, the rapid beat of his heart against my back.
“Look,” he said. “David and Amber Miller could’ve easily killed us that first time they walked into our house. We didn’t have defenses, we didn’t have anyone else there, the chances of them winning was higher. Yes?”
“I guess so.”
“And then you told me you ran into her at the hospital and she was wearing scrubs, so…I mean, I guess there’s a part of me that always knew they were stalking us, but I didn’t want to think about it like that. But they had a chance to take us out there, right? When we were in the hospital or even when we were making our way to the car.”
I tensed in Tristan's lap, my mind racing. "You're right," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut. "They had multiple opportunities to take us out. So why didn't they?"
“Because they wanted to wait for the twins to be born. Because Bellamy wants them.”
My blood ran cold. The world seemed to tilt on its axis as Tristan's words sank in. I gripped his arms tighter, anchoring myself against the tide of fear threatening to overwhelm me.
"The twins?" I choked out, my voice barely above a whisper. "Bellamy wants our children?"
Tristan's arms tightened around me, his breath warm against my neck. "I think so," he said softly. "It's the only explanation that makes sense."
I closed my eyes, fighting back the nausea that rose in my throat. Our babies, barely a month old, already targets in this brutal world we inhabited. The thought was almost too much to bear.
"Why?" I managed to ask, though part of me didn't want to know the answer.
Tristan's chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. "Power," he said simply. "The next generation of Callahan and Orsini blood combined? They're a goldmine of potential influence."
“And if he kills us…”
I couldn't finish the thought. The horror of it choked me.
Tristan's arms tightened around me. "If he kills us, he could raise them as his own. Mold them into his perfect little soldiers. Rule Boston as long as he lives…and incidentally, take revenge on his brother.”
A sob caught in my throat. I turned in Tristan's lap, burying my face in his neck. His familiar scent grounded me as my mind reeled.
"We can't let that happen," I whispered fiercely.
"We won't," Tristan promised, his voice steel. "I'll die before I let Bellamy touch our children."
“So what do we do?”
I felt Tristan's chest rise and fall with a deep breath. His arms tightened around me protectively.
"We stay vigilant," he said quietly. "We don't let the twins out of our sight. And we prepare for the worst."
I pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. "And my father?"
Tristan's jaw clenched. "Adriana, if we tell Silvio, he'll go on the warpath. It could escalate things before we're ready."
"But if Bellamy's really after the twins, don't we need all the help we can get?" I argued.
"Your father's help comes with strings attached," Tristan countered. "You know that better than anyone.”
I did know. Growing up as Silvio Orsini's daughter had taught me that lesson all too well. But this was different. This was about our children.
"So what then?" I asked, frustration creeping into my voice. "We just sit here and wait for Bellamy to make his move?"
Tristan opened his mouth to answer me, but a distant siren wailed somewhere beyond the manicured lawns, and the sound sent a shiver down my spine—not one born of fear but of anticipation. The kind of primal alertness that comes from knowing danger is imminent but unseen.
“It’s okay,” Tristan said. “It's just an ambulance.”
What came next wasn’t.
The sound was like the earth itself splitting—a dull, distant roar that tore through the stillness of the late afternoon air. Tristan and I froze, our argument hanging suspended between us, unfinished and suddenly unimportant.
"Was that—?" I didn’t need to finish the question; the horror in Tristan's eyes said everything.
"An explosion," he confirmed, his voice low, rough with the sudden shift from heated debate to cold dread. We both knew what this meant: Bellamy wasn't just threatening; he was acting.
Instinct took over. We turned as one, sprinting toward the house, our hearts pounding a frantic rhythm against our ribs. The plush carpets of my childhood home muffled our desperate steps as we raced through the halls, echoes of the blast still reverberating in my mind.
"Matteo! Catherine!" My voice was sharp with fear as we burst into the nursery. There they were, our newborns, Matteo's tiny fists balled in sleep, Catherine's wide-eyed gaze turning towards us. Relief flooded through me, raw and overwhelming.
My parents were there, watching over them.
Tristan swept Matteo into his arms, cradling him close, while I scooped up Catherine, her warmth a stark reminder of what was at stake. For a moment, the chaos outside faded, replaced by the fierce need to protect these innocent lives we had created together.
“Everything okay?” My dad asked.
“Yes, Mr. Orsini,” Tristan said. “We were just startled by the, uh, sound.”
“There’s construction across the street,” my mom said. “Scheduled demolition.”
I nodded, trying to keep my face neutral despite the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. "Right, of course. The demolition."
But as I locked eyes with Tristan, I knew we were both thinking the same thing. That was no scheduled demolition. The timing was too perfect, the sound too ominous. This was Bellamy, sending us a message.
"Right," I said, forcing a smile. "Of course. We should have known that."
Tristan's eyes met mine, and I saw my own unease reflected there. We both knew this wasn't over.
"Why don't we take the twins for a walk?" Tristan suggested, his voice casual but his grip on Matteo tightening almost imperceptibly. "Get some fresh air?"
I nodded, understanding the unspoken message. We needed to get out, to assess the situation without alarming my parents.
"That sounds lovely," I agreed, adjusting Catherine in my arms. "Mom, Dad, we'll be back in a bit."
As we stepped outside, the late afternoon sun felt harsh and unforgiving. The air was thick with tension, a stark contrast to the peaceful suburban scene around us. I clutched Catherine closer to my chest, her tiny warmth a lifeline in the sea of uncertainty we now found ourselves in.
Tristan wheeled beside me, Matteo secure in his lap. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning for any sign of danger. We moved down the street in tense silence, both hyper-aware of our surroundings.
"We need to talk about this," I said under my breath, keeping my voice low.
"Not here," Tristan replied, his jaw clenched tight. "We don't know who might be watching."
I nodded, understanding his caution. We continued our walk, maintaining the facade of a normal family outing. But with every step, every rustle of leaves, every distant car engine, my nerves frayed further.
As we rounded a corner, Tristan suddenly stiffened. "Don't react," he murmured, "but there's a black SUV parked across the street. It wasn't there earlier."
“So what do we do?”
“We go back to my place,” he said. “My building is a fortress. And then…I don’t know, we can decide what happens after that.”