Chapter Thirty-Three Adriana
The door to Tristan’s apartment closed shut behind us, the sound a definitive marker of our entry into his private world. I stepped further in, my boots clicking against the hardwood floor, an odd counterpoint to the silence that hung over the place like a heavy curtain.
Our footsteps were the only sound—a duet of trepidation and exhaustion—as we moved through the expanse of his domain.
“Over here,” Tristan said, his voice pulling me from the stillness. It was a casual invitation, but the distraction laced through his tone was anything but. He motioned toward a door that stood slightly ajar, leading to what I assumed would be the twins’ room.
I followed him, watching as he ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, the gesture betraying the burden that seemed to perpetually hover just above him, threatening to crush him with its weight. He didn’t look at me as he spoke, his gaze fixed on some unseen point in the middle distance. “We won’t keep moving, Ade. You’re right, it’s too dangerous–and hell, we’re here now, right? So they’ll bunk here together for now,” he murmured, pushing the door open wider.
The room beyond was spare, unadorned—a far cry from the opulence of The Callahan Domain. But it was safe, and for the moment, that was enough. I knew well the responsibilities gnawing at him and I didn’t want to make it worse, but I found my patience wearing thin.
“Twins need their own space, Tristan,” I said, hoping to snap him back to the present. “Fraternal twins can’t bunk together forever.” My words, tinged with a mix of frustration and concern, bounced off the high ceilings of his lavish apartment. He needed to focus, but all I saw was a man adrift on the vast sea of his thoughts.
Tristan’s hand paused mid-air, halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, as if my voice had somehow reached him across the void. “Right,” he replied, the word hollow, absentminded. His gaze never met mine. “I’ll buy something bigger, better for their room.”
But the promise fell flat, his conviction as absent as his attention.
“Listen…” I tried again, this time my voice sharper, more insistent. “What’s going on with you? You’re everywhere but here, and I can’t stand it anymore.” My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “We need to talk about what happened with the historian and these whispers about Malachy not being your dad. You can’t just keep shutting me out.”
He finally turned to face me, the lines of his face drawn tight. “I’m not shutting you out. I’m processing, okay?” The words were curt, spoken by a man on the brink of something he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—face. “This isn’t the time.”
“Then when, Tristan? When is it ever the right time with you?”
His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought I had pushed him too far. But then his posture shifted, resignation seeping through the cracks of his armored exterior. “I couldn’t make it to The Crooked Thorn tonight. You know as well as I do that there is something off with Kieran. I need to check on it.”
“Be careful, Tristan,” I said, my voice softening despite my resolve. The worry for him was genuine, tightening my chest with an uncomfortable squeeze. “Can I come with you?” I asked, hating the vulnerability that crept into my tone. I needed to be there, to help, to understand—to be part of the world that kept pulling him away from me.
Tristan’s gaze softened for just a split second before he shuttered his emotions once more. “No, Ade,” he replied, firm yet not unkind. “Stay here. It’s better this way.”
“But I need to—“ I began, my voice quivering with the weight of unspoken confessions and suppressed desires.
“Adriana,” he cut me off, his voice not harsh, but resolute. “I won’t let you come with me or go back to your family. It’s not safe.” He stepped closer to me. “Your job is to stay alive and well, for yourself and for the twins. Okay?”
“Okay,” I murmured, the disappointment heavy on my tongue. I had known what his answer would be before I even asked the question, yet hope was a stubborn thing. Sighing, I resigned myself to his refusal. “Will you be back tonight?” There was a part of me—the part that still believed in fairy tales—that wished he would simply say yes, wrap me in his arms, and promise that everything would be alright.
He paused by the door, hand resting on the cool metal of the handle. “I don’t know,” Tristan said softly. “Try to rest, okay?”
“Okay,” I repeated, softer this time. I turned away from him, feeling the distance grow with each step he took towards the door. I took off my clothes, and slipping under the sheets of the oversized bed, I curled into a ball, seeking solace in the nest of blankets. The sounds of the city outside became a distant hum as I closed my eyes, allowing sleep to claim me while Tristan disappeared into the night.
I woke to the silence of the apartment, a stillness that seemed too absolute for comfort. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, casting a muted golden glow over the luxurious space. The other side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool and undisturbed. Tristan wasn’t here.
He hadn’t come home.
I texted him to make sure he was alive and focused on what needed to be done. Today wasn’t about my family, not his. And if he had allowed me in, I would have happily talked to him about it, but he hadn’t, so I needed to handle my dad myself.
I showered quickly, letting the hot water sluice away the remnants of unease clinging to my skin. Dressing with purpose, I chose leggings and a black top that allowed freedom of movement without sacrificing a sense of command. The image staring back at me from the mirror was that of Adriana Orsini—capable, determined, and ready to face whatever lay ahead.
And very pregnant. Jeez, when had I started showing this much?
With one last glance at the silent bedroom, I grabbed my keys and left the apartment behind. My steps were purposeful and determined, echoing through the empty hallway as I made my way towards the garage. I got a taxi back to my apartment because I wanted to be driving my dad’s Mustang when I saw him; I wasn’t sure why, but I thought it might help if I showed up with the car and I did need to return it.
His apartment wasn’t far from mine, and my dad’s car was parked in the garage. I sent another text to Tristan to tell him I was going to run some errands if he arrived before that and strode with purpose toward the Mustang.
I approached the vehicle, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders like a cloak. My fingers traced the smooth lines of the car’s bodywork, feeling the subtle vibrations of dormant power beneath the surface. This was about more than just returning a car; it was about proving to myself, to my father, and perhaps even to Tristan, that I could handle the consequences of my actions.
I slid into the driver’s seat, the leather embracing me like a second skin. The key turned in the ignition with a satisfying click, and the engine roared to life, a symphony of mechanical precision that spoke of open roads and possibilities. For a moment, I let myself savor the sound, the sense of control it gave me.
But time was ticking, and there were things that needed to be done, explanations I needed. Carmen texted me, asking me if I was on my way, and I replied with a simple yes. With a deep breath, I put the car into gear and drove out of the garage, my mind focused on the task at hand.
The drive to my childhood home was one I could navigate in my sleep, each turn etched into my memory with the precision of a well-practiced dance. As I passed the landmarks of my youth—the old arcade where I first learned to bluff, the ice cream shop where I’d tasted the sting of betrayal—each sight stirred up ghosts that nipped at my heels, urging me forward. My father’s estate loomed ahead, the gates standing like silent sentinels guarding the world I left behind. I could almost see Silvio now, his salt-and-pepper hair an emblem of wisdom and deception, those eyes that could read my soul and still reveal nothing.
As I drove through the open gates, a shiver ran down my spine—not from fear, but from the electric thrill of stepping back into the lion’s den. This time, however, I was not the scared little girl he once knew. I was Adriana fucking Orsini, and my will refused to bend.
The estate swallowed Dad’s car whole, the grand edifice a stark reminder of the power that ran through its veins. I parked near the entrance, taking a moment to collect myself before facing what awaits inside. The decision to come here wasn’t easy, but it was necessary, and I would be damned if I let fear dictate my choices now.
“Alright, Ade,” I said in the quiet of the car. “Come on. Let’s go. You’ve done scarier things.”
But even as I killed the engine, I just didn’t know if that was true.