Chapter Two Adriana
Blood didn’t usually make me sick…but I had never seen it like this before.
Blood spread like a crimson stain across the Callahan estate’s polished floor, seeping into the fine fibers of an expensive rug that would never see cleanliness again. Diamond’s lifeless form was sprawled out, his demise marking an end to the chaos he’d brought upon us. It was a gruesome sight, and my heart raced as I paced back and forth, unable to tear my eyes away from the man who had once held my fate in his hands.
“Jesus, someone needs to deal with this,” Carmen’s voice cut through the tension, her tone sharp and commanding as she eyed the men present.
I watched Kieran stand there, his dark hair a mess, frustration etching deep lines into his face. “I would,” he said, a touch of irritation lacing his words, “but…”
He didn’t have to say anything else; things were bad. Tristan wasn’t here, the Rossis were huddled in a corner clinging on to consciousness despite everything that had happened, and Killian stood next to them, his gun still in his hand.
“Nobody moves,” Killian repeated through gritted teeth. “Not until this is done.”
I had to wonder what the fuck this meant.
Kieran rubbed the bridge of his nose. His gaze fell on Diamond’s corpse briefly, a look of disgust flashing across his features before he turned away, as though distancing himself from the gravity of death in our midst. The Rossis’ presence loomed over us like a dark cloud, their silent judgment adding to the weight of the night.
“Can’t we just—“ I started, but my own voice sounded foreign, panic-stricken even to my own ears. I stopped mid-sentence, realizing I had no solution to offer, no way to untangle the mess we found ourselves in.
Carmen shot me a look that was equal parts sympathetic and exasperated. Her fiery red hair seemed to mirror the ferocity within her as she took a step toward Kieran, gesturing for him to figure something out.
“Kieran, you need to do something,” she insisted, her resolve unshakable even in the face of such an ordeal. “This can’t be good for Ade. This can’t be good for the twins.”
I felt the walls closing in on me, the reality of the situation too much to bear. I needed air, space, anything to take me away from the dead man bleeding out on the floor of the home I was supposed to feel safe in.
I staggered to the window, my hand trembling as I fumbled with the latch. The cool night breeze washed over me, but it brought no relief. My stomach churned violently, and before I could contain it, I was retching out into the darkness.
“Orsini, you can’t move from here,” Killian’s voice was firm, almost unyielding, but I could detect the underlying concern.
“Would you rather I throw up on your shoes?” I managed to say between heaves. His grunt was the only reply, a noncommittal sound that somehow conveyed both annoyance and acquiescence.
“Look, I’m not going anywhere, okay? I just need... air.” I pressed a hand to my abdomen, the other bracing against the window sill. Inside, a voice whispered that this sickness had become a little too familiar lately, stirring fears I wasn’t ready to face.
But there were more pressing matters; I couldn’t shake the urge to know what was happening between Tristan and my father. Their words, their decisions—they were carving out my future, and I needed to hear it, needed to understand.
“Fine,” Killian finally said, his vigilance unwavering even as he stepped back, allowing me the semblance of space I so desperately craved. His dark eyes watched me, always watching, as if he expected me to shatter at any moment. But I wouldn’t—not now, not yet. I had to be strong for the storm brewing on the horizon, for the clash of wills that was sure to come.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, and saw the slight nod from Carmen. Kieran stood a bit apart, his dark eyes scanning the room, always alert. Liam was fidgeting with something in his hand, probably looking for an excuse to escape into the night himself.
“Killian, you need to see this,” Kieran suddenly spoke up, holding out a phone with a message on the screen.
Killian’s gaze flickered to the phone and then back to me. “Don’t make me regret this,” he warned before stepping over to Kieran. But his attention was now divided, and that sliver of opportunity was all I needed.
I waited until they were all engrossed in whatever crisis Kieran had conjured up. My heart hammered against my ribs, urging me to act quickly. Silently, I edged away from the grim scene that had been Diamond’s last stand and towards the shadows cloaking the far side of the room.
The air was cooler here, away from the bodies and the tension. It took every ounce of willpower not to run, not to give away my intent with any sudden movements. Instead, I slid along the wall, my breaths shallow and controlled, until I reached the door leading to the back of the house.
With one last glance at the group, I slipped through the doorway, my hand steadying my growing belly. The cool night air brushed against my skin, offering a momentary relief from the nausea.
Silently, I moved along the exterior wall of the house, each step taking me closer to the truth I sought, to the conversation that would determine so much. The muffled voices of my father and Tristan were just ahead, their tones weaving through the night air like a dangerous melody.
This wasn’t just about spying; it was about survival—mine, and the lives growing inside me. As I found a spot just outside the window of the living room, I pressed my ear against the cool glass, straining to catch every word, every inflection.
“I love her, Silvio,” Tristan was saying. “I’m going to protect her from whatever you’ve conjured up, I—“
And then my dad was interrupting him so I had a second to process his words. The weight of them settled in my chest, a mixture of love and fear tangling together. He meant it, I knew he did, but the road ahead was fraught with peril. We were entwined in a world where love was both a shield and a potential weakness.
My dad seemed annoyed. “Adriana needed protection from you, Tristan. Now she’s tangled up in this mess because of you. I should’ve listened to my wife when she warned me against working with Malachy Callahan, but we had both lost so many people. I was so desperate to broker a peace deal that I bargained with the one thing I care about the most in the world; my baby girls. But you…I should’ve known there was no honor to you. All of you Callahans are the same.”
I let out a sigh, my breath fogging up the glass. It was a small comfort that their disagreement hadn’t turned physical, but I knew with men like Tristan and my father, words cut deeper and lasted longer than any bruise.
“Tristan,” my father’s voice was stern, though it carried an undertone of respect that few men ever earned from him. “I thought better of you. I thought you were a man of honor. Misguided at times, maybe, but I could see your heart is with my daughter and the kids.”
“I am,” Tristan said. “I’m going to protect them.”
“You don’t seem to understand that you’ve already exposed them to being more vulnerable than they ever have.”
I could picture Tristan’s jaw clenching, the way he always did when his pride wrestled with his intentions. He’d stand tall, no doubt, his hands probably balled into fists at his sides. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe,” he’d say, and he meant it—I knew he did.
My father considered this for a few seconds. “Except walk away.”
“I’m not abandoning my children, Silvio,” Tristan said, and it almost sounded like he wanted to laugh. “Or my future wife.”
A beat, then a sigh. “What if I paid you?”
“Bribery, Orsini? That’s beneath you,” Tristan scoffed. “Anyway, you couldn’t afford my price.”
Silence fell between them, heavy and filled with tension. I could almost feel it through the window, thick as a curtain of fog.
“I never thought it’d come to this,” my father finally said, sounding more tired than angry. His next words hung in the air like an unfulfilled promise. “I wish it hadn’t.”
“Me too,” Tristan murmured, his tone matching my father’s in its weariness.
There was another pause. The wind howled between the houses, rustling the leaves and sending a shiver down my spine.
“So, what’s next?” Tristan’s words cut through the silence like a knife, pulling me from my thoughts. “War?”
“Not if I can help it,” my father answered with steadfast resolve. “But you need to understand something, Callahan. My daughter is not a pawn in our games. She is not a bargaining chip or a means to an end.”
His words were punctuated by the cold night air creeping into my bones, forcing me to wrap my arms around myself for warmth. I felt a twinge in my belly, a gentle nudge from the lives I was carrying. The lives that were now at the center of a dangerous standoff.
“I never thought of her that way,” Tristan replied, his voice edged with frustration. “I love her, Silvio. And our children...they’re everything to me.”
There was no reply for a moment, casting an unsettling silence over the conversation.
“Love is not always enough,” my father finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. It was an old adage, one he often repeated to us when we were growing up. “And Malachy didn’t exactly give you a great roadmap for how to treat your wife.”
“Hey. Watch yourself,” Tristan said. “You worked this deal out. You wanted Adriana to marry me. If I’m so bad, maybe you shouldn’t have offered me your daughter on a platter, huh?”
“You’re missing the point, Tristan,” my father’s voice was rising now, the last of his patience dwindling. “It was supposed to be a marriage of convenience. A way to unite our families and end the feud that had cost us too many lives already. I never expected Adriana to fall in love with you. I made a mistake that gave you the ability to hurt my daughter more than anyone else in her entire life.”
“And yet she did,” Tristan said, a note of triumph in his voice. “She loves me, Silvio. And I’m not just talking about some infatuation or misguided affection. She knows my worst and chooses me anyway.”
“But at what cost?” my father asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer. “You’re not just some ordinary man she fell for, Tristan. You’re a Callahan—ruthless, just like your father.”
“Maybe,” Tristan said. “But you seem to forget that my father did this.”
I couldn’t see what he was pointing out, but it had to be the house; from what I knew, Malachy had come from Ireland with nothing when he was younger than Tristan was. He’d built an empire single-handedly, and now his sons were carrying on his legacy.
“But don’t forget,” my father countered, “that Malachy’s legacy was also one of violence, of bloodshed and crime.”
“Right. And what about yours, Orsini?” Tristan said. “Because your deals are just as sketchy as my dad’s were.”
“You’re right,” my father replied after a pause, his voice soft. “My hands are just as dirty. But I’ve always tried to protect my family and I would never lay a finger on my wife.”
“And you think I’d harm Adriana?” Tristan’s voice was dangerously low, a quiet storm brewing beneath his words. “Is that what you’re implying?”
“No,” my father said after a pause. “Not intentionally. But Tristan, your family history speaks for itself. Your father may have built an empire but at the cost of… “
“Don’t.” Tristan warned, his voice like ice.
And just as he was about to say something else, another wave of nausea hit me, and I had to stop listening to them.