Chapter Twenty-Three Adriana
Iwanted to tell her that I wanted more for my children.
But I didn’t say anything. I took a sip of my tea, looking around the room.
As the sunlight bathed Carmen’s living room in a soft glow, I found a brief haven from the storm of my life. I curled up on her plush couch, letting the warmth seep into my bones, a sharp contrast to the chill that had settled in my heart. It was then, in this rare moment of peace, that my gaze caught on something out of place—a withered flower pot where vibrant blooms should have been, and beyond the glass, a newspaper dancing a lonely waltz on the porch.
I opened my mouth to ask her about it when I found her staring at me. “I thought you were so excited for the wedding.”
“I am excited,” I said.
“But…”
“Tristan...he’s so scared of turning into Malachy, it’s like he’s preemptively sabotaging himself.” My chest tightened at the thought. “He’s nothing like his father, I don’t think, but the fear—it’s making him act out, lash out, in ways I can’t predict.”
Carmen listened, her eyes never leaving mine, her silence an invitation for me to unburden my soul. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t judge; she just waited, understanding that sometimes the best support was simply to be there, to listen.
And as I talked, as I laid bare the raw edges of my relationship with Tristan, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe in this beautiful, flawed sanctuary, with my sister by my side, I could find the strength to face whatever came next.
“Fuck, man. It sounds like a lot.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Remember when we used to sneak out to the vineyard when we went to California?” Carmen’s question cut through the remnants of my confession, her voice laced with mischief. She was pulling me back from the edge, as she always did.
I chuckled, a genuine burst of amusement escaping despite the shadow in my heart. “And you dared me to eat a bunch of sour grapes, claiming they were a rare delicacy?”
“The face you made!” Carmen threw her head back, laughter spilling from her like a melody. The sound was infectious, and for a moment, our childhood escapades eclipsed the looming threats of mafia entanglements.
“Or that summer you convinced me the garden statues came to life at night,” I added, the corners of my mouth lifting in spite of myself. “I spent weeks on ghost patrol.”
“Hey, I was doing you a favor,” she teased, bumping her shoulder against mine. “You were the bravest eight-year-old in the entire Orsini Domain.”
“I kept praying to the Virgin Mary statue Mom kept outside not to come to life. I told her I didn’t want any miracles, thank you,” I said.
“Did it work?” Carmen asked, smirking.
“Oh, yeah. No miracles here,” I said. “And I only did it because I thought my big sister would protect me from the stone monsters.”
My laugh mingled with hers.
“Always,” Carmen said softly, squeezing my hand. Her assurance wrapped around me like a blanket.
But as quickly as it came, the lightness faded. Carmen’s smile slipped away, replaced by the solemnity befitting the elder Orsini daughter. She leaned closer, her gaze sharpening with intent.
“There’s something you should know,” she said, her voice a low thrum of urgency.
My heart skipped, bracing for impact. Whatever followed this somber interlude, it wouldn’t be good. It never was. But with Carmen beside me, I felt ready to face it, whatever ‘it’ was.
“Ade,” Carmen began, her voice carrying a weight that immediately put me on edge. I turned to face her, noting the way her hands had stilled, the playful light in her eyes now extinguished. “There’s been an attack on the lake house.”
A shiver coursed through me, not from fear but from the sudden drop in temperature as my blood ran cold. My mother was always there on the weekend, without fail, unless we already had plans.
“Mom?” The word came out strangled, barely making it past the lump forming in my throat.
“She wasn’t there, thank God. She changed her mind last minute, decided to stay in the city.” Carmen’s eyes searched mine, looking for signs of comprehension or collapse.
“Thank God,” I echoed, relief flooding my veins so fiercely it almost hurt. “But who would dare...?” I couldn’t finish the sentence; the implications were too vast, too terrifying.
“Exactly.” Carmen’s lips were a tight line. “The audacity to strike there, of all places. It’s a message, Adriana. They’re telling us nowhere is safe, not even—“
“Our childhood sanctuary,” I finished for her, a sense of violation settling over me like a shroud.
“Exactly,” she said, her voice shaky.
I stood up abruptly, the room suddenly feeling too small, its opulence a mockery. “This has to stop,” I declared, my voice choked with a mix of fear and anger. I paced the length of the room, my footsteps muted by the plush carpet. “They can’t keep doing this. Putting Mom at risk, threatening everything we hold dear—it’s unconscionable.”
“Adriana.” Carmen’s tone was a warning. She knew me too well, saw the reckless glint in my eye before it fully formed. “We need to think this through.”
“Think it through?” I spun to face her, my hands balled into fists. “While we sit here planning, they’re out there plotting the next move!” I was shouting now, my composure shattered. The idea that someone would target our mother, the matriarch of the Orsini family, was more than I could bear.
“Ade, sit down,” Carmen said.
I sat down, rubbing my temple. “Look, I’ve been thinking,” I began again, my voice steadier as I found my resolve. “We need to meet with Dad again.”
Carmen’s expression shifted from concern to incredulity. “You can’t be serious.” Her gaze locked onto mine, searching for signs of a joke that wasn’t there. “After everything that–”
“Dead serious,” I replied, meeting her stare without flinching. “He listens to me. Or at least, he used to. Maybe I can get through to him—remind him who we are, what the Orsini name stands for.”
She paused, considering, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest. “Adriana, Dad’s not the man he once was. This... obsession of his—it’s changing him.”
“Which is exactly why we can’t just sit back and do nothing!” My hands spread wide in exasperation. “Someone has to show him reason.”
“Are you sure this is wise?” Carmen’s voice was low, weighted with a fear she rarely showed. “Dad is becoming more unpredictable. If he sees your move as a challenge...”
“Then I’ll deal with it,” I said with more bravado than I felt. “I have to try, Carmen. For our family.”
She let out a long breath. “All right. But we’re not going into this blind. We need a solid plan, something foolproof.”
“Right. Okay, let’s get to planning,” I said.
We moved to the living room after a bit.
Carmen’s dining room, usually a haven of laughter and too many glasses of wine, fell ominously silent as we huddled over her polished mahogany table. I traced the intricate grain with my fingertip, grounding myself in the reality of what we were about to do.
“First thing,” Carmen began, her strategist mind kicking into gear, “we need to pick neutral territory. Somewhere public but discreet.”
“Somewhere he can’t ignore us or make a scene.” I pondered for a moment. “The old café on Fifth? It’s quiet this time of day.”
“Good.” She scribbled it down on a notepad, her handwriting sharp and decisive. “We also need to consider timing. Catching him after a deal might put him in a more... amenable mood.”
“Or more volatile,” I countered, acutely aware that our father’s moods swung like a pendulum these days.
“True. We’ll aim for morning then, before he gets tied up in his...business.” She met my gaze squarely.
“Okay. And if he refuses to listen?” My voice was steady, but inside, my twins seemed to sense my anxiety, fluttering nervously.
“Then we remind him of the consequences. The Orsini Domain isn’t the sanctuary it once was,” Carmen said, her tone hardening. “If he doesn’t step back, he risks everything. Including the next generation.” She glanced pointedly at my bump, her expression softening just a touch.
“Right,” I agreed, feeling a surge of protectiveness for my unborn children. “He has to see reason.”
“We should prepare for the worst, though.” Carmen’s eyes darkened with the gravity of our situation. “Just in case.”
“Security measures,” I nodded, understanding. “But nothing too obvious. We don’t want to escalate things before we even start talking.”
“Subtlety is key,” she affirmed. “I know a guy who can be there, out of sight but within reach if things go south.”
“Someone who’ll defy Dad?”
“Someone who’ll be paid for their work,” Carmen said, looking down at the notepad.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” I murmured, though part of me knew better than to hope for a peaceful resolution in our world.
“Hope,” Carmen sighed, “but always plan for war, right?”
“Yep,” I said.
I didn’t need a mirror to know my face was as pale as the pristine walls of Carmen’s kitchen, the heart of her too-gorgeous house that now felt more like a war room. My fingers, normally steady from years of navigating the perilous waters of our family’s legacy, trembled slightly as they clutched the phone. This device, so innocuous on any other day, had become the conduit for our potential salvation or doom.
“Deep breaths,” Carmen murmured from where she stood, leaning against the granite countertop, her eyes tracking my every move with sisterly concern.
“Right,” I whispered, forcing air into my lungs. I punched in the numbers, each beep echoing ominously in the high-ceilinged room.
The ringing started, a sound that seemed to slice through the stillness of late morning. Once, twice...With each ring, my heart thudded harder against my ribcage, a relentless drumbeat signaling the approach of a decisive moment.
“Come on,” I muttered under my breath. The waiting was a silent agony, seconds stretching into what felt like hours. Carmen’s gaze never left me, her own breathing measured and controlled—a stark contrast to the erratic pattern of my own.
“Pick up, damn it,” I urged, not sure if I was ready for him to answer or praying he’d just let it go to voicemail.
“Adriana,” Carmen said softly, a gentle reprimand in her tone, reminding me that losing my cool before the battle even began was not an option.
“Right,” I repeated, a mantra to ground myself.
My thumb hovered over the ‘End Call’ button, the temptation to postpone this confrontation almost overwhelming. But no, the die was cast; the call was made. It was time to face whatever came next, for better or worse.
“Baby?” My dad answered the phone. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I took a quick breath, glancing at Carmen for a flicker of silent support before diving in. “I want to see you. Just us. You, me, Carmen, and Mom.”
There was a pause on the line, long enough for doubt to creep in. Had I overstepped? Pushed too hard, too fast?
“Tristan and the Callahans—none of that,” I rushed to clarify. “Just... Orsinis. That’s all.”
“Is that so?” His voice carried an edge of confusion, as if the very idea of a family meeting sans any Callahan mafia entanglements was foreign to him. Which, frankly, it probably was.
“Yes,” I affirmed, pushing back against the hesitation threatening to choke my resolve. “I think we need it.”
“Alright.” Another pause, then a soft exhale that I imagined ruffled those distinguished salt-and-pepper strands of his. “Alright, Ade. Let’s have a meal, then. Just family.”
“Thank you,” I said, a weight lifting off my shoulders. I ended the call with a click, my fingers trembling slightly from the adrenaline that still coursed through my veins.
“Done,” I announced to Carmen, who had watched the entire exchange with bated breath. Her eyes held a mix of pride and worry—a mirror to my own feelings.
“Hopefully, this is a start,” she murmured, coming over to wrap an arm around my shoulders.
“Yeah,” I said.
And hopefully, he didn’t kill Tristan before we made up. But I couldn’t exactly say that, could I?