Chapter Fifteen Tristan
Ray was right. I was going to do something about Killian.
I just didn’t have any reason to involve any of my capos when they could’ve been plotting against me behind the scenes.
The city lay quiet as a crypt, the night’s embrace tight around Boston’s sleeping streets. Kieran and I were still outside, chatting as my mind raced with thoughts dark as the shadows that clung to the alleyways. Killian’s treachery gnawed at me like a rat to a wire, his betrayal not just a cut but a wound that threatened the lifeblood of my family—Adriana and our unborn twins.
“Tristan, you sure ’bout this?” Kieran leaned against the brick wall, his voice laced with whiskey and skepticism. His dark hair was tousled, a stark contrast against the pale glow of the streetlight that bathed half his face in an eerie light.
“Sure as death,” I murmured, standing upright and trying to ignore the nausea from the sudden movement. The night air nipped at my skin, carrying the scent of rain-soaked asphalt. “And just as final. You’re sure of his location?”
“Yeah, I have–” Kieran waved his phone in the air sloppily. “I’ve been tracking him for days. I assumed we were going to do something.”
He was right. At the beginning of the night, I thought it would be something more analytical than this, but now, I was just letting the liquor take over.
The lads were right: we couldn’t just let Killian get away with this, and my brothers were already here…maybe while they spied on each other, my brothers and I could take care of the Killian situation tonight.
I didn’t wait for him; I knew he’d follow. He always did. We found Liam inside the pub, his laughter booming over the din of drunken revelry. He had that flush to his cheeks, eyes bright with the thrill of the night.
“Time to go, little brother.” I clapped a hand on Liam’s back, feeling the solidness of his frame beneath my palm.
“Already? But the party’s just getting started!” Liam protested, though he allowed himself to be steered toward the exit. His easy grin never faltered, even as we left the warmth of the bar behind.
“You said you were in,” I said as we stepped out into the night. “I will pay for you to go to college.”
He sighed. “No, it’s fine,” he said. “I want to–just let me text Ali, I don’t want her to think I left her alone for no reason.”
I watched him fish his phone out of his pocket. When he was done, he looked at me.
“Killian won’t be expecting us,” I said, my voice low and firm. We strode through the darkened streets, my brothers flanking me like the loyal guards they were. “He thinks he’s safe. Thinks we’re too fractured to come after him.”
“United front, huh?” Liam chuckled, but there was a hard edge to it now. “Let’s give him a show.”
“Exactly,” I agreed, glancing at Kieran, who nodded once, sharply.
“Killian needs to see what happens when you cross the Callahan bloodline,” I continued, our destination drawing nearer with every step. “He needs to understand the strength he betrayed. And there’s no…we can’t just sit around and do nothing.”
As we moved through the night, I felt the weight of leadership heavy on my shoulders. It was a mantle borne of necessity, woven from threads of love and duty. Tonight, I would remind Killian—and anyone else who dared forget—that the Callahan legacy was not one to be trifled with.
The car we called pulled up, its headlights briefly illuminating the broken pavement near the Irish Rover. We climbed into the backseat, and as the car began to move, silence settled over us, heavy and expectant.
“Remember,” I said quietly, breaking the stillness, “no matter what Killian’s reasons were, he chose his path. We’re just here to remind him of the consequences.”
“Always the diplomat, Tristan,” Kieran murmured, his tone almost mocking.
Liam leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. “He’s not going to talk his way out of this one, right?”
“Talk or not,” I replied, “his fate’s in his own hands now.”
The drive there was slow. The cabbie didn’t talk to us at all, but then the car turned a corner, the industrial skeletons of buildings looming ahead. This was where loyalty was tested, where truths were laid bare.
As we neared our destination, the driver, knowing better than to ask questions, dropped us off without a word. We watched the taillights fade before gearing up. Kieran checked his weapon with practiced ease, his movements precise and unhurried. Liam rolled his shoulders. I supposed he was more ready than I wanted to give him credit for. And me? I felt the familiar cold calm settle in my chest.
“Let’s end this tonight,” I stated, a quiet command that brooked no argument.
“End it we will,” Kieran agreed. There was no humor in his voice now.
“About damn time,” Liam added, a hard grin flashing across his face.
We set out for the warehouse where Kieran told me Killian was hiding. Each step took us deeper into the belly of Boston’s underbelly, a place where even the streetlights seemed to hesitate. But hesitation wasn’t something the Callahan brothers could afford—not with so much at stake.
The warehouse stood tall and imposing in the dead of night, its darkened windows casting an eerie glow. We entered with practiced stealth, our movements fluid and calculated as we made our way through the abandoned halls.
Inside, the vast space was littered with remnants of a forgotten past - discarded machinery and broken pallets scattered about. And there, standing amidst the debris, was Killian. Despite the dim lighting, I could see that he had made this place his home, with makeshift living quarters set up in one corner.
“Welcome, boys,” he greeted us with a sly smile, gesturing to a makeshift bar stocked with bottles of liquor. “Care for a drink?” It was clear that Killian was prepared for our arrival, but it was also evident that he knew he was no match for us.
“This isn’t a social call,” I said.
“I know,” he replied, pouring himself a drink. “Don’t mind if I do.”
He poured himself a shot of vodka. Drank it. Then another one.
“Didn’t think you’d come alone,” he said, though his voice carried the weight of a man who knew he was outmatched.
“I’m not alone,” I said.
His gaze darted between me and my brothers. “Don’t be smart, Tristan. You know what I mean.”
“Wouldn’t matter if we brought an army, Killian,” Kieran interjected, his voice laced with a cold edge. “Outcome would still be the same.”
My eyes never left Killian as I nodded in agreement. “Let’s not waste words, Killian,” I told him, my tone matching Kieran’s. “You know why we’re here.”
He shrugged nonchalantly, pouring himself another drink. “Thought it might be for a friendly chat. Maybe catch up on old times.”
The room was heavy with tension; his words echoing off the cold, concrete walls. Liam fidgeted next to me, clearly itching for action.
God, he was so drunk. I had no idea how he was standing.
I tried not to think about that, focusing on Killian instead.
“I could execute you, but I’m going to let you talk first,” I said. “And then, depending on what you say, I’m going to put a bullet in your head.”
“Orsini made me an offer,” Killian began, the defensive set of his shoulders betraying his attempt at bravado. His gaze darted between us, looking for an out he wouldn’t find.
“Could’ve paid you more,” I said, letting a dry chuckle escape. Money had never been the issue. Not really.
“It wasn’t about the money, Tristan,” Killian spat, the bitterness evident. “It’s about respect. Being seen.”
“Respected?” I laughed, the sound echoing against metal and concrete. “By Silvio Orsini? You can’t be serious. That shark played you, Killian.”
His eyes shifted away, unable to meet mine, and something inside me twisted. This was the ugly side of our world, where the desperate and the power-hungry collided, leaving destruction in their wake.
“Well, it’s more than you gave me,” Killian muttered.
“And now you’re what–hiding in a warehouse, waiting for one of us to kill you? Or one of his men? I guess at least you didn’t go to the feds, and I should be grateful for that.”
“I would never go to the police,” Killian said, his speech slurred, clearly offended.
“Killian,” I began, my voice steady despite the churn of emotions roiling beneath the surface. “You’ve been with us for how long? And not once did you come to me with your concerns?”
Killian’s eyes met mine, a tumult of defiance and resignation swirling in their depths. “I know, Tristan, I know. But you don’t understand. When Malachy...” He trailed off, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard swallow.
“Malachy was a lot of things, but he wasn’t the end-all,” I said, my annoyance clear as glass. “You think I didn’t have plans for you?”
“Plans?” Killian scoffed, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “Look around, Tristan. Plans change. People get left behind.”
“Left behind?” I echoed, incredulous. “After everything we’ve been through, you really believe that?”
“Believe it?” He laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of any real humor. “It’s not about belief. It’s survival, Tristan. You can’t promise me that. No one can.”
“Survival,” I mused, letting the word hang between us like a verdict. “And yet here you are, having gambled away your trust on a man who’d throw you to the wolves without a second thought.”
Killian’s shoulders sagged, his momentary fire extinguishing. “Yeah, well, fear makes you do stupid things.”
“Stupidity isn’t an excuse.” I stepped closer, locking eyes with him.
“If you hadn’t been scared of marrying Adriana Orsini, your father would be alive,” he said simply.
The statement hung in the air, a punch to the gut. I felt the sting of it reverberate through my veins, reigniting old wounds that never fully healed. My fingers curled into fists at my sides. “That’s a low blow, Killian.”
“And yet it’s true.” His gaze held mine, defiant despite his evident fear.
“No,” I said after a moment, my voice steady. “What’s true is you betrayed us. Used our trust for your gain.”
Killian flinched as if I’d actually struck him. Then he was quiet, staring at me with something akin to despair within his eyes.
“I didn’t... I didn’t mean to,” he stammered out, the defiance fading to give way to regret. “I thought...”
“You thought what?” Kieran snapped from my side, clearly losing patience with Killian’s excuses. “That aligning yourself with Orsini would give you a better standing? That he’d treat you any better than someone who considered you a brother did?”
Killian swallowed, rolling his shoulders back, the overhead bulb flicking from above him.
He looked like he was about to come back with another excuse, but I held up a hand, silencing him. “Enough,” I said quietly.
“I thought it was my only option,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze shifted between us, desperation clawing its way onto his features.
“Killian,” I began, pinching the bridge of my nose as I prepared for the inevitable. “You know there’s no way out of this.”
His eyes widened at my words, and he took a shaky step backwards, colliding with the grungy wall behind him. He seemed to shrink in on himself, looking smaller than I’ve ever seen him before.
“I know,” he choked out, his voice cracked and broken. He was silent for a moment before adding softly, “I’m sorry.”
His apology hung in the air, a bitter melody playing on the strings of old loyalties. I watched him then, this man who’d once been a trusted part of our family, now reduced to a pathetic figure trembling in the harsh light of his betrayal.
“Sorry.” The word tasted sour on my tongue. “You’re sorry.”
He nodded, a desperate affirmation that did nothing to ease the tension coiled tightly within the room. “I am...Tristan, I really am.”
Kieran scoffed from beside me, his impatience with Killian’s remorse clear as day. “Your apologies can’t save you now.”
And he was right.
Killian’s gaze flickered towards me, a plea for understanding in his watery eyes. But all I felt was a profound emptiness where warmth and camaraderie used to reside. He’d made his choice. Chose Silvio Orsini over us. Chose Silvio Orsini over my future wife.
Chose Silvio Orsini over my children.
“Will you take care of Maia, please?” he asked. “She doesn’t…she’s probably been worried sick about me since this all went down, and I can’t go home and…”
I grabbed my gun, pointed it at him. “Yeah. Nothing will happen to your wife,” I said.
“And Morgan?” Killian asked, his voice choked and strained. The raw fear in his eyes struck a chord within me, a reminder of the reasons behind my own loyalties.
I nodded, my gun still pointed at him. “Your kid will be taken care of. That much I can promise.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“Yeah, don’t mention it,” I replied.
And then I pulled the trigger.