Chapter Thirty-Six Tristan
Ilooked at my brother, wondering if I should go through with it. If I should kill him.
The aroma of fried potatoes and over-processed sausage mingled with the scent of black coffee—strong and bitter, just how we needed it.
“So you aren’t going to beat the shit out of me?” Kieran asked.
“Not right now,” I said.
“Tristan, we can’t put this off much longer,” Kieran said, his voice low as he unwrapped a hash brown with meticulous care, his dark eyes meeting mine.
“Trust me. I would love to beat the shit out of you.”
“Ha-ha,” he said. “No, I meant, deal with everything that’s going on.”
“I know.” I took a bite of my Egg McMuffin, the flavors dull against my tongue. “But right now, Boston’s a powder keg, and we’re holding the match. We need to play this smart, or we’re both in the ground.”
Kieran nodded, taking a sip of his coffee, the silence stretching between us like the calm before a storm. “And the Rossis?” he asked, breaking the quiet.
I leaned back, feeling the weight of the world pressing on my shoulders. “The Rossis are trouble, and their buddy Silvio Orsini has it out for me. That’s not news. But we can’t let paranoia dictate our moves.” I watched him, gauging his reaction.
“Silvio’s vendetta is no secret. I was trying to convince him to back off, for what it’s worth,” Kieran replied, his gaze unwavering. “It’s not paranoia when they’ve got the means and the motive to take you out.”
“It isn’t worth much,” I said. “But this is exactly why we need to stay ahead of them. We’ll handle the Rossis, but it’s gotta be strategic. No more rash decisions. And you always keep me in the loop.”
“Since when did you become the voice of reason?” Kieran quirked an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips despite the gravity of our conversation.
“Since I had to keep your reckless ass alive,” I shot back, a half-smile tugging at my own mouth. It felt good to have a moment of levity, even if it was fleeting.
“Fair point.” Kieran finished his hash brown, tossing the empty wrapper onto the table. “So what’s the plan?”
“We meet, we talk, we find a way to keep this city from turning into a war zone.” I stood up, tossing my trash into the bin and feeling Kieran’s eyes on me. “And we do it without starting the war ourselves.”
“Sounds like a day at the office,” he said, standing to join me. His tone was light, but the concern in his eyes told me he understood the stakes.
“Another day in paradise.” The words left my lips dryly as I made my way to his kitchen sink, ready to wash my hands.
“Where do we hold this moot?” Kieran asked, his gaze scanning the street outside his window as if considering every shadowy alcove and silent alleyway.
“Somewhere neutral. Somewhere unexpected.” I felt the weight of leadership settle over my shoulders, a mantle I wore with reluctant necessity. “We need a place where we can talk without looking over our shoulders every second.”
“Like one of those abandoned warehouses down by the docks?” He suggested, but I could tell by his tone he wasn’t convinced.
“Too obvious,” I countered. “And too exposed. We’d be sitting ducks if someone wanted to take a shot at ending the Callahan line.”
Kieran washed his hands too, and I helped him clean up the mess in the kitchen while we spoke.
“Okay, so what about somewhere public then? Somewhere the cops would be patrolling regularly.” Kieran’s mind was already ticking through possibilities, his strategy as sharp as ever despite his casual demeanor as he finished wiping down his kitchen bench.
“Like where? The rare books room at the Boston Public Library?” I couldn’t help but chuckle at the image of gangsters nestled between ancient tomes and priceless manuscripts.
“Hey, don’t knock it. It’s quiet, it’s cultured...” He grinned, clearly enjoying the absurdity of the idea. “Imagine the look on the Rossis’ faces when they realize they’re walking into a history lesson.”
“Let’s not give them any more reasons to think we’ve gone soft,” I said, shaking my head in amusement. I opened his fridge to grab a cold fizzy water and handed one to him. “No, it has to be somewhere that says ‘Callahan’ without screaming it. Somewhere that’s ours but doesn’t belong to us.”
“An abandoned rooftop, then? We’ve got a few of those in our back pocket.” Kieran’s suggestion had merit; the cityscape could serve as a neutral backdrop for delicate negotiations.
“Could work. But we’d need to ensure it’s secure. No surprises.” I pondered the logistics, the gears in my brain grinding to churn out a plan that could keep us one step ahead of disaster.
“Let me handle that part,” Kieran offered, a steely resolve hardening his usually inscrutable features. “I’ll make sure it’s tighter than Fort Knox.”
“Alright,” I agreed, knowing that with Kieran on security detail, we’d have the best chance at a peaceful resolution. If I could trust him. If he was to be believed. I couldn’t deal with this too, not right now. “Set it up. I’ll start making calls.”
“Okay, so…”
“Actually, scratch that,” I said abruptly, the unease in my gut turning into a solid knot of conviction as I turned around and leaned against the countertop. “The rooftop won’t work. Too open, too exposed.”
Kieran’s brows knitted together, a silent question forming.
“Think about it,” I pressed on, the sense of urgency thick in my voice. “Open air means multiple access points, not just the stairs or elevator. And what if there’s a chopper? No, we need something more...contained. Something with one way in, one way out.”
“Like a labyrinth,” Kieran mused, tapping a finger against his lips—a sign he was deep in thought.
“Exactly,” I said, snapping my fingers as an idea struck me like lightning. “The catacombs at Granary Burying Ground. They’re old, they’re creepy, and nobody goes down there without a damn good reason.”
“Or a death wish,” Kieran quipped with a wry twist of his mouth. “But you’re right. It’s perfect. The dead don’t talk, and the living won’t dare to listen.”
“Set it up,” I said with a decisive nod, already feeling the weight of our choices settling on my shoulders. This meeting wasn’t just necessary; it was life or death for the Callahan Domain.
And for my children.
And my future wife.
“Will do,” Kieran replied, pulling out his phone to start making arrangements. His fingers paused over the screen, and he shot me a wary glance. “What about Liam?”
“Keep him out of it.” My words were clipped, final. Protecting Liam from this world had become my singular focus, a mission I couldn’t afford to fail. “He doesn’t need to be involved in this mess.”
“Tristan, he’s not going to like being left in the dark,” Kieran warned, but I could see in his eyes that he understood the necessity behind the command.
“Better in the dark than six feet under it,” I countered, my tone brooking no argument. “We do this for him, not despite him. Remember that.”
“Alright,” Kieran conceded, though the worry didn’t leave his eyes. He knew the stakes just as well as I did. “I’ll make sure he’s busy with other tasks. Far away from the catacombs.”
“Good.” A grim satisfaction settled in my chest. “Now let’s get to work. The sooner we have this meeting, the sooner we can end this bloodshed.”
Kieran nodded, and together we started our grim task, dialing numbers and rallying our forces with the hope that, by the end of this, we’d still have something left worth protecting.
“Are you sure about this decision?” Kieran’s voice cut through the silence that had settled in my apartment, a concerned edge lacing his words. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, phone in hand, but his gaze was fixed on me, searching for reassurance.
I could feel the weight of his question hanging in the air between us, heavy with unspoken fears. I straightened my shoulders, meeting his stare head-on. “Yes,” I said firmly. The certainty in my voice surprised even me. “It’s a risk, but it’s one we need to take.”
Kieran scrutinized me for a moment longer, as if assessing whether my confidence was genuine or just another facade to keep the chaos at bay. Finally, he nodded, accepting my resolve.
“Alright,” he replied, his voice steady, but I could see the tension in the set of his jaw. “Then let’s get it done.”
We returned to the task at hand, our phones pressed to our ears, our voices low and resolute as we coordinated with the trusted few who would stand with us. With every call, the plan took shape, a silent promise to protect what was ours, whatever the cost.
I tapped the screen of my phone, ending one call and initiating another with practiced ease. I didn’t have to glance at Kieran to know he was doing the same; we were a synchronized force when it came to matters of the family. Our network was vast, but only a select few held our complete trust—those were the calls we were making now.
“Rory, it’s Tristan,” I spoke into the receiver, my voice a low hum that filled the quiet of Kieran’s apartment. “We need you at the moot. Next week. No details over the phone, just be there.”
The replies were variations on a theme: immediate agreement, unwavering loyalty. These were the men and women who understood what was at stake, the ones who’d bleed for the Callahan Legacy without a second thought.
“Time’s not on our side,” I reminded Rory, the urgency clear in my tone. The words felt like a heavy weight in my chest, pressing down with the reality of our situation. We couldn’t afford hesitation or mistakes; lives depended on the swiftness of our actions.
“Understood,” came the reply, serious and to the point. Rory knew better than to ask questions now. When a Callahan said jump, you didn’t just ask how high—you were already in midair.
“Thanks.” I hung up and immediately dialed the next number, working through the list with a focus that left no room for doubt. There was a rhythm to it, the back-and-forth of confirmations and assurances, a cadence that propelled us toward an outcome we could only hope to control.
From across the kitchen island, Kieran met my gaze, his expression mirroring the resolve etched into my own features. This was family, blood calling to blood, and nothing would stand between us and the safety of our own.
“Everyone’s in,” Kieran said, as he ended his last call. His voice was a steady beat in the chorus of our preparations.
“Good. Fuck, that was horrible. I hate all of them.”
Kieran looked at me, and he started to laugh.