Chapter Seventeen Tristan
Adriana might have been alive...but I had to come to terms with the fact that I probably wouldn’t make her happy.
The pounding in my head matched the rhythm of my heart—each throb a grim reminder of last night’s excess, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw Killian falling to the floor of the warehouse like he was made of lead.
I blinked against the morning light streaming through the windows of the townhouse, fragments of memories floating like debris after a storm. What had I done? I could barely piece together the events, but the weight of my actions—or potential lack thereof—sat heavy on my chest.
“Find anything?” Adriana’s voice cut through the haze of my hangover as she sifted through a pile of letters strewn across the dining table.
We had gone back to the fucking box, but it felt more pointless than ever.
I dragged my hand down my face, trying to shake off the remnants of alcohol clouding my thoughts. “Not yet,” I murmured, my gaze drifting over the box’s contents scattered between us—photos from a past that seemed both distant and dangerously close.
Adriana, with her short, dark hair falling messily around her face, looked up from a faded photograph, the corners of her mouth downturned in concentration. She was all sharp edges this morning, her athletic frame wrapped in a plush white robe that did little to soften the intensity of her scrutiny.
We sat there, surrounded by echoes of a family history that refused to stay buried, each item a potential clue to unraveling the attack on the Callahan estate. The gravity of our search wasn’t lost on me, nor was the fact that Adriana was here, with me, despite everything.
“Tristan?” Her voice pulled me back, and I caught the flicker of concern in her eyes. “You’re a million miles away. Talk to me.”
“Sorry,” I said, pushing away the unease that clung to me like a second skin. I forced a smile, though I knew it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Just trying to make sense of it all.”
Her nod was curt, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil that simmered beneath the surface of our task. We were two people caught in a web of secrets and lies, our relationship right then felt like the only thing more complex than the tangled history we were attempting to unravel.
As much as I wanted to bury myself in the work, to lose myself in the hunt for answers, all I could think about was the chilling fear of my father’s influence—the one thing I’d spent my life running from. Adriana was right; it might have already seeped into the very fabric of who I was.
“Let’s just keep looking,” I suggested, my voice barely above a whisper as I reached for another letter, desperate to find something, anything, that could lead us out of this darkness.
I glanced at her, admiring her resilience. She picked up a letter, her movements deliberate, eyes scanning the handwritten lines for any clue about who had attacked my family’s estate. This woman—sharp and unyielding—was slowly becoming my anchor in a storm I no longer understood.
“Tristan,” Adriana said, breaking the silence, “you think this means anything?” She pointed to a cryptic sentence–not because of its contents, because I couldn’t read the fucking handwriting–but before I could lean over to see, the door swung open.
“Look at you two, all cozy and domestic.” Kieran’s voice sliced through the tension like a knife. He strolled in, his lean form dressed casually in shorts and a long-sleeved white shirt that seemed almost too pristine for someone like him. His messy dark hair gave him a carefree look that belied the intensity of his gaze.
“Jesus, you’re so loud,” I said. “Don’t you have a headache?”
He shook his head. “The trick is to drink water before you go to sleep. C’mon, man. You taught me that.”
I scowled at him, rubbing my temples. He was right, of course, but that didn’t stop the wave of irritation I felt. “What do you want, Kieran?”
“I smelled breakfast,” he said. He shrugged nonchalantly, pulling out a chair and sitting across from us at the table. “Just thought I’d see how the little investigation was going.”
Adriana glanced at me, a mixture of annoyance and concern in her eyes. I could tell she wasn’t thrilled about Kieran barging into our makeshift war room, but he was part of this too.
Kieran leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His gaze moved between us, his lips curving into a slight smirk. “Find anything juicy?”
Adriana shrugged. “Nothing we can make sense of.”
“Clearly, you’ve spent a lot of time together. Fucking, I presume?” His eyebrow arched in mock curiosity, but there was a hardness behind his words that couldn’t be ignored.
“Kieran,” I warned, my patience wearing thin. “Not now.”
“Easy, big brother,” he said, reaching for his cup of coffee. “Just calling it like I see it.”
Adriana shot me a sidelong glance, her expression unreadable. I knew she was skilled at maintaining her composure, but even she couldn’t hide the faint blush that crept up her cheeks at Kieran’s insinuation. “Does he ever stop?”
“It’s almost been thirty years and he hasn’t yet,” I said between gritted teeth.
“Are you going to help us or just sitting there making comments?” she challenged, her tone cool yet not unfriendly.
“Maybe a bit of both,” Kieran quipped. “So, what’s the deal with these letters?”
“We’re trying to find anything that might point to who’s responsible for the attack,” I explained, pushing aside the discomfort of his earlier remark. “It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“How’s this old box of random shit related to the attacks?” Kieran said.
“Because it’s not just ‘random shit’, Kieran,” Adriana retorted. “These letters are from people who had deep connections to our families. People who could have held longstanding grudges.”
Kieran shrugged, his gaze flicking between us before focussing on the scattered papers littering the table. “And you think this is going to lead you to our attacker? Seems like a long shot.”
“It was a longshot that we found this random box, and yet…” Adriana said, trailing off.
Kieran considered this. “Yes,” he said. “You’re right.”
“Who is ‘John’ anyway?” Kieran broke the silence, nodding toward a letter signed with the mysterious name. “Another ghost from the Callahan closet?”
Adriana glanced up, her forehead creased in concentration. “I don’t know much about him. He could be anyone.”
“Or maybe Bellamy just hated his own name enough to sign off as John,” Kieran mused with a crooked smile, as if amused by his own joke.
“Bellamy…our uncle?” Tristan asked.
“Who knows? I barely remember Uncle Bellamy, let alone his eccentricities,” Kieran admitted, his eyes not leaving the papers. “I mean, it was his middle name. Nana did a number on them calling them Malachy and Bellamy.”
“So you think it was him?” Adriana asked.
“If your first name was Bellamy, wouldn’t you go by your middle name? In any case, signing off as ‘John’ does add a certain...mystery, doesn’t it?”
There was something about the way he said it, a glint in his eye that stirred a mix of suspicion and curiosity within me. It was no secret that Kieran often knew more than he let on, his words laced with double meanings and hidden truths.
“Maybe,” I conceded, folding my arms across my chest as I watched them both—Kieran with his cryptic remarks and Adriana with her relentless search for answers. The gap between what we knew and what we needed to uncover felt as wide as the chasm that had opened up between Adriana and me.
“Let’s keep looking,” I said after a moment, my voice firm, trying to shake off the unease. “We need to find out who’s behind this, regardless of whatever games they’re playing with their signatures.”
“Kieran might be right,” Adriana said, putting the letters down. “My dad…something is going on. It’s like he’s losing control.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the fabric of my sweats doing nothing to ease the restlessness that gnawed at me. This wasn’t about Silvio Orsini’s mental state; it was about the weight of guilt pressing down on me, the memory of how I had pushed Adriana too far until her slap brought reality crashing back.
“Tristan?” Adriana’s voice sliced through the fog of my regrets, her dark eyes searching mine. “Did you hear me?”
“Sorry, I...” I trailed off, grappling for words that wouldn’t come. How could I confess that the thought of marrying her sent waves of panic through me? That maybe we were better off apart? That last night had essentially proved that?
That she was right to compare me to my father?
“Silvio’s becoming a real threat,” Kieran interjected, unaware of the tumult inside me. “If he loses control, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
Adriana nodded gravely. “We need to be prepared for anything. My father... he’s not himself anymore.”
Her admission hung in the air, stark, undeniable. I should’ve been thinking about protecting her, us, the twins, from the potential danger her father posed. Instead, my mind raced with thoughts of escape, of breaking the engagement, of sparing her further disappointment. But how could I abandon her when she needed me the most? How could I admit that I was just as flawed as the man spiraling into madness?
“Tristan?” Adriana pressed, her voice laced with concern. “You’re quiet. What’s going on in your head?”
“Nothing. Just can’t shake this headache,” I lied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Just thinking about what we need to do next.”
My words felt hollow, even to me. As the dawn light filtered through the windows, casting a soft glow over the cabin, I realized the truth: I was trapped in a war with myself, torn between the desire to run and the duty to stay. And somewhere in the depths of my conflicted heart, I feared that my father’s influence might be more ingrained in me than I ever dared to imagine.
“Alright,” Kieran suddenly got up, his chair scraping against the polished wood floor. He stretched, yawning lavishly as he put his finished cup of coffee down. “I think I’ve had my fill of family history for the day.”
Adriana and I looked up, both of us wearing expressions of surprise. His announcement was unexpected, his demeanor oddly light considering the serious nature of our task.
“Wait, you’re just leaving?” Adriana asked. Her voice carried a note of protest that I wasn’t sure was due to his abrupt departure or the looming task of sorting through more letters alone with me.
Kieran shrugged his lean shoulders casually. “I don’t think my input here is necessary anymore. Besides,” he glanced at me and winked, “somebody’s gotta go out there and make sure we’re not being watched. And I think I’m going to check in on Liam. Make sure he’s alive. Bring him a McDonald’s breakfast or something.”
His words were meant to lighten the mood, but they barely scratched the surface of the tension that settled between Adriana and me. I could feel her eyes on me, studying me, trying to decipher the puzzle that was my mind. But how could she, when I didn’t have the answers myself?
Adriana and I exchanged glances but said nothing as Kieran exited the room, leaving behind the faint smell of coffee and an aura of unease. The door shut with a soft click, and we were alone again.
Adriana and I exchanged glances but said nothing as Kieran exited the room, leaving behind the faint smell of coffee and an aura of unease. The door shut with a soft click, and we were alone again.
The silence was almost deafening. A stack of unexplored letters remained between us on the table, the scrawl of various handwritings taunting us with their secrets.
“So are we going to talk about it?” Adriana asked, turning slightly toward me.
“Talk about what?” I replied, my throat dry. I took a sip of my coffee as Adriana watched me.
Adriana leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her sharp eyes scanning my face. “You’re a terrible liar, Tristan. Talk to me.”
“Look, Ade,” I began, pausing to sigh. “I’m just...worried about all of this. It’s not exactly how we pictured things going, is it?”
I should have started with an apology, but I didn’t even know what I would be apologizing for.
“Understatement of the year,” she quipped, but her smile was tight, forced. “We knew there would be challenges, but this...”
“Is a mess,” I finished for her. We sat in silence, the distance between us growing more profound than the space of the kitchen table.
“Tristan, if you have doubts...” Adriana’s voice trailed off as she fidgeted with the hem of her robe.
“About us?” I interjected, sharper than intended. “No, that’s not it.”
“Then what? You can tell me.” There was a plea in her voice that tugged at my conscience.
“Let’s just focus on today,” I deflected, rising from my seat. “We need to stay sharp, keep an eye out for any moves my father might make.”
“Always deflecting,” she murmured, more to herself than to me as she stood to clear the table. Her movements were mechanical, her usual grace replaced by tension that stiffened her shoulders and pressed her lips into a thin line.
“Adriana—“ I started, but the words lodged in my throat, heavy with unvoiced fears.
“Save it, Tristan,” she cut me off, keeping her back to me. “We have bigger problems than whatever cold feet you’re having.”
“Adriana, come on,” I pleaded, taking a step toward her. “Don’t do this—don’t push me away.”
She turned then, her dark eyes meeting mine, and I saw the hurt she tried to mask. “I’m not pushing you away. You’re already halfway out the door, aren’t you?” she said. “You always are whenever…whenever things don’t go your way.”
“That’s not fucking fair and you know it.”
She flinched as if I had physically struck her. Gritting her teeth, she looked away from me, a silent tear sliding down her cheek. “Maybe it’s not...but it feels like the truth.”
We stood there, frozen in the middle of the kitchen, a million words hanging between us yet none found their way out. The silence was harsh, cutting into our already frayed nerves.
“Adriana,” I finally whispered, reaching out to her.
“No,” she shook her head and stepped back, avoiding my touch. “We need to focus on the situation at hand. Your father, my father...we’ll deal with us later.”
Her words were a punch in my gut, but she was right. We needed to stay focused, stay united. Our personal issues had no place in this war that was threatening to engulf our lives.
Our children’s lives.
“I love you, Adriana,” I said softly.
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me. “Okay. And?”