16. Chapter Sixteen Adriana
The wind from the sea howled, battering against the fragile windows of the beach house perched on stilts above the angry waves.
My head pounded.
I was only vaguely aware that I was, in fact, somewhere I’d never been before. I didn’t know how I had gotten there. I had no idea how I had gotten to this bed, which smelled of fresh lavender soap.
The room itself was gorgeous and clean, but the fact that I had gotten here at aIl made my stomach twist in knots.
I had never seen this place before, another hidden property of my father’s empire, yet there I was, waking up alone in its unfamiliar confines. The madness of the ocean mirrored my own disorientation, the frothy whitecaps a chaotic dance to the rhythm of my racing thoughts.
I padded barefoot across the cold wooden floor, an unsettling silence enveloping me like a shroud. The emptiness of the house gnawed at me; it was too quiet, too isolated. It felt as if the walls were waiting to exhale secrets they had swallowed, but for now, they held their breath and watched me move through the space that felt both prison and sanctuary.
I still wore my gown, which was damp with sweat and stuck to my skin like a shroud.
My stomach growled, betraying the fear with a reminder of more basic needs. In the small kitchenette, I found bread, eggs, and butter—staples left for me, no doubt, by Silvio’s careful planning. My hands worked mechanically to whip up some scrambled eggs, the sizzle of the pan a comforting sound in the otherwise silent beach house.
With each bite of the simple meal, clarity began to seep into my foggy mind, and with it, a sobering realization. I remembered the masquerade ball, the glint of masks, the whisper of silk—but after that, only fragments. He must have drugged me. There was no bruising, no soreness that would suggest a struggle. Just this void in my memory where the night should have been, and the cold truth that my father, Silvio Orsini, had orchestrated my blackout.
I clenched my jaw, anger simmering beneath the surface. How could he? Yet even as the question echoed in my head, I knew the answer. Protection. Control. That was always his way.
But he had never been like that with me.
He had always been a good father. Sure, protective, overprotective even. But kind. Sweet.
He loved my sister and I beyond measure. I knew that for sure.
So why in the world had he drugged me?
The father I knew would have never done this. He’d taken me to my first dentist appointments and held me when I was scared. He’d taken me ice skating in the city during the winter. When we’d gone to the Vatican, he’d stayed with me looking up at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel trying to dissect details long past the time my sister and my mother had gotten bored.
He was the reason I’d manage to become an actuary, not just because he’d paid for my career–and he had definitely done that–but also because he’d stay up well past what was supposed to be my bedtime and help me through complex mathematical problems I would do for fun–because I really was a fucking nerd–patiently guiding me through each step until I understood.
He would celebrate my achievements with genuine pride, his eyes sparkling with my accomplishments.
As I stood there, the taste of eggs turning to ash in my mouth, the sea continued its relentless assault on the shore, indifferent to the turmoil it mirrored inside the little beach house on stilts.
I set the plate aside, my appetite lost to the churning thoughts within me. I couldn’t stay here, a prisoner in a gilded cage, even if it was one of my father’s making. But as I stepped onto the balcony, the drop to the sandy beach below looked like a leap into oblivion. The house, perched on its lofty stilts, offered no easy escape. My heart raced with the thought of jumping, but sanity held me back—it was too high, too reckless, especially in my condition.
Even if I survived, who knew if my babies would? I put my hand protectively on my stomach as I turned away from the edge, feeling the cool ocean breeze tug at the loose strands of my hair. It was then that the silence was broken by the distinct click of a lock disengaging. I stiffened, every muscle tensing as the door swung open behind me.
“Adriana,” came the deep, resonant voice I knew all too well, laced with an emotion I couldn’t quite place—was it concern or just another facet of his control? Silvio Orsini, my father, stood there, and I prepared myself for whatever would come next.
It didn’t fucking matter.
Panic surged through me as the door creaked open and I instinctively backed up against the balcony railing, my bare feet scraping against the wood. My eyes darted around, searching for something, anything that could serve as a makeshift weapon. But there was nothing; no potted plants to hurl, no loose boards to wield—just the expansive sky above and the relentless sea below.
“Ade, baby,” my father’s voice broke through my frantic thoughts, a softness to it that felt as out of place as a dove in a lion’s den.
I turned, pressing my back against the cool metal of the railing, and found Silvio Orsini, the man who had instilled equal parts love and fear in my heart since childhood, standing there with a look that was all too unfamiliar on his face. Remorse. The morning sun caught the silver streaks in his hair, a deceptive halo for a man who made angels weep.
In his hands, he held a bouquet of flowers, their vibrant colors mocking the dreary predicament that bound us together. He moved towards me slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, and I suppressed the urge to flinch.
“Adriana, I...” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard, the lines around his eyes deepening with sincerity. “I should never have slapped you. That was...unforgivable.”
The flowers were now inches from me, and every muscle tensed as I fought the primal impulse to snatch them and hurl them into the abyss below. Instead, I locked my gaze with his, trying to decipher the truth in those dark, brooding eyes that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand sins.
“Words are easy, Dad,” I said, my own voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “It’s your actions that cut deep.”
He nodded, an unreadable emotion flickering across his face before he set the flowers down on a small table nearby, a silent offering left untouched between us. “I suppose that’s fair,” he said. “Let’s talk.”
“Daddy, what do you want from me?” I demanded, my voice betraying the weariness that had seeped into my bones. I hated how much I sounded like a child.
“Right now? Just to talk,” he replied, his tone softer than I’d ever heard it. He went back into the living room and I realized how cold it was out there on the balcony, so I had no choice but to follow him inside. My feet were freezing.
“Coffee,” he said, handing me a steaming cup from my favorite little coffee shop. “
“I brought you this. Let’s call it a truce, if you will.”
Suspicion pricked at my mind, yet the aroma of the coffee pulled at me, wrapping around my senses like a familiar embrace. It had been too long since I’d had something comforting. My body felt as fragile as the morning light filtering through the sheer curtains, and against my better judgment, I followed him to the living room as he beckoned me to sit down in front of him.
He had led me to a plush sofa in the living room, gesturing for me to sit. I sank into the cushions, still yearning for the balcony railing I’d just left behind, as if it could anchor me to some semblance of control.
“How did you get me up here?” I asked.
“I offered you water,” he said. “In the car, when you were upset.”
“You drugged me?” The realization was almost too horrible to think about.
“I thought trying to throw you over my shoulder while pregnant, and contending with slippery stairs, wasn’t the best way to approach this,” he replied matter-of-factly, taking a sip from his own coffee.
“So you gave me water that was laced with something,” I cut in sharply, the memory surfacing like oil on water. Anger flared within me, hot and raw. “Did you forget I’m carrying your grandchildren?”
“Of course not,” he answered quickly, his brow creasing with an emotion I couldn’t quite name. “That’s exactly why I consulted a doctor about how much I could...administer without harm.”
“Consulting a doctor on how to drug me doesn’t sound as noble as you think it does, Daddy,” I snapped back, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. “Did you drug the coffee too?”
He shook his head, looking a little hurt. I wanted to console him–because of course I fucking did–but I didn’t. “Do you want to swap?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No,” I said. “If you drugged me, it’s too late, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t drug you, baby,” he swapped our coffees despite my say so. “And last night was entirely out of necessity.”
“What the fuck,” I said under my breath.
“I suppose your response is expected,” he said. “Look, Adriana, there’s a lot I need to explain.”
“Then start explaining.” My words were clipped, a sharp contrast to the softness of the room.
“Protecting my family has always been my only goal,” he began, folding his hands together as if in prayer. “You and your sister, and now...” He glanced towards my midsection, acknowledging the life growing inside me, “...my grandchildren.”
“I know you’re not happy about it,” he continued, undeterred by my interruption. His eyes held mine, trying to bridge the gap of trust that had widened between us. “But right now, this is how I keep you safe—from Tristan and Nick Rossi.”
“Tristan?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief out of my voice. “Tristan wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Adriana,” he said, a touch of steel lining his gentle tone, “the Callahans are not the protectors you think they are. They’re a threat, especially to my daughters.”
“Malachy was a threat. Tristan is my future husband.”
“Tristan Callahan is a dangerous man, Adriana,” he said. “Not just for our legacy, but for you. For your children. Do you really not understand that?”
I shook my head, opening my mouth to defend him, but Dad stopped me from talking by showing me his outstretched palm.
“Your children’s father showed exactly who he was when he was too much of a coward to marry you in the first place,” he said. “He’s a threat.”
“Threat?” The word felt foreign on my tongue, especially linked to Tristan. He was…sure, he had done some fucked up things. But he wasn’t a threat. He was the reason I was alive. “I don’t understand. What does Tristan backing off from our engagement have to do with any of this?”
“Everything, Adriana,” Silvio answered, his gaze unyielding. “It all started then. And ever since then, I’ve done everything I can to keep you alive.”