2. Chapter Two Adriana
“Your mother is here,” Tristan said, his voice strangled. He turned to look at me. “It’s like four in the morning. Why is your mother here?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, panic quickly setting in. My mind was still reeling from our intimate encounter, and the abrupt shift to this new crisis was jarring. I pulled on the tattered remains of my gown, trying to maintain some semblance of modesty. “I’ll handle this.”
“Okay, because…”
“I know. My mom can’t see us like this, she can’t know about...the body,” I stammered, pulling Tristan’s discarded shirt over my head. It fell around me like a tent, the hem brushing my thighs. But at least I was covered.
Tristan straightened up his clothes. “Alright, we need a plan,” he said, running a hand through his tousled hair in frustration. “I’ll take care of the body.” His gaze met mine, holding it steady even as his expression remained impassive. “Keep your mother distracted.”
The knocking on the door echoed down the corridor, disturbing the silence that had fallen over us. I could see Tristan flinch at the sound, his instincts screaming at him to take action. But it was my mother on the other side of that door. My responsibility.
“I’ve got this,” I assured him, forcing a smile onto my face as I reached for the doorknob. “Just...do what you need to.”
He nodded, his eyes grave as he watched me walk away. I could feel his worry for me, tangibly heavy in the air. It was a concern that ran deep, a fear for my safety that intermingled with his own sense of duty and obligation.
I grabbed my coat from the coat hanger next to the door, slung it over my shoulders, and buttoned up the first two buttons. I opened the door then headed out to meet my mother, ignoring the cold winter air seeping into my bones.
“Adriana!” my mom exclaimed as she got out of the car. She swept me into a tight hug, then pulled away from me, looking me up and down. “Are you okay?”
“Of course, Mama,” I replied with a forced laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I had your father set up an alarm link for the Callahan security system,” she replied. “I got a text message that said it had been breached.”
I cocked my head. I needed to call her out on that, but not quite yet. “And you couldn’t, I don’t know, call?”
She pursed her lips, her eyes scanning the dimly lit yard. “I tried your phone, Adriana. You didn’t pick up.”
“I was...sleeping, Mama,” I explained, my mind racing for an excuse. “And Tristan was making sure everything was fine. It must have been a false alarm.”
She frowned then, concern written all over her face. “I hope so,” she muttered, glancing at the house with unease. “This life...it’s dangerous Adriana. I hate that you’re a part of it.”
A part of me longed to tell her everything that had just happened, to drop the fa?ade of a normal night’s sleep interrupted by a surprise visit from my mother. But I couldn’t. For her safety and mine.
“Why don’t we go inside to the garage?” I suggested, trying to steer her gaze away from the house, away from the dark secrets it kept. “It’s freezing out here.”
“I would prefer a hot drink if—“
“It’s your lucky day, Mama,” I cut her off, plastering on a bright smile. “I was just about to make some hot cocoa when you knocked.”
She shot me an appraising look. “You’re up to something Adriana Orsini.”
“Absolutely not,” I said, hoping my voice carried a convincing note of innocence. “Just can’t sleep since I got pregnant. Let’s go in through the garage, I—“
But it was pointless. My mom knew something was up and she was walking past me and in the door. I turned around to follow her, but she was already practically sprinting down toward the living room, where the carnage was.
Tristan wouldn’t have had a chance to hide the evidence of the attack quite yet.
“My god, Mama, would you please slow down? You’re going to—“ I faltered as I followed her into the living room.
My heart pounded in my chest as I raced after her, praying that Tristan had managed to at least partially conceal the grisly scene. In the span of seconds, I was able to take in the disarray of the room–scattered cushions, overturned furniture, and a large dark stain on our polished wooden floorboards. And there, just slightly out of sight behind the grand piano, a shrouded mound under a hastily thrown blanket.
The breath hitched in my throat at the sight, but I forced my feet forward. My mother was standing stock-still in the middle of the chaos, her eyes wide with shock and fear. The words stuck in my throat as I tried to form a plausible explanation for the chaos.
Her gaze snapped to me then, and I witnessed a myriad of emotions flash through her eyes: confusion, fear, realization. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Mama,” I said.
Tristan, whose face was smeared with blood and I had only just realized, stepped out from the kitchen with a black plastic bag in hand. “Mrs. Orsini,” he said, stopping in his tracks. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Her gaze flew to Tristan, her shock deepening at the sight of him. Her eyes flickered to the bag in his hand, then quickly away. I saw realization dawn on her face and felt a pang of guilt. I might have grown up in this world, but I knew my mother.
She had tried to talk me into going far away to go to college. She wanted me out of this life.
This was not a world my mother wanted me to be part of, and yet here I stood, right in the middle of it.
“Tristan,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. Silence hung heavy between us all, so thick I could almost taste it.
“Mom,” I began, intending to explain everything from our perspective, but her gaze silenced me. An understanding had passed between us, one that didn’t need words to express.
“All things considered, Tristan, you can probably call me Alessia,” she said.
Tristan’s eyes widened at the informality before he nodded slowly, glancing between me and my mother. “Alright, Alessia it is then.”
His voice held a hint of unease that only served to heighten my own anxiety. Shoving my hands in the oversized pockets of the coat, I tried to appear casual, even as my heart pounded against my rib cage.
“I suppose there is no point in asking what happened here,” she started, her hand gesturing vaguely around the ruined room.
“Mama—“ I began, but she held up a hand to silence me.
“You don’t have to explain, Adriana. I may not like this world you’ve chosen to be part of, but I am not na?ve about what it involves.”
I wanted to say that was rich coming from her, but I knew it would probably earn me a slap.
Tristan glanced at me, the faintest hint of a smile curving his lips. It was a weary smile, one that didn’t quite reach his piercing blue eyes. He met my gaze, his stare full of questions, and I gave him a slight nod, signaling that it was okay.
“Let’s clean up,” Alessia said finally, rolling up the sleeves of her coat and eyeing the black bag in Tristan’s hand. The commanding tone of her voice was familiar, reminiscent of the countless times she’d dealt with crises at our home growing up. She may not have liked the violent side of our family’s business, but she had never shied away from the messy aftermath.
I swallowed hard, an unexpected lump forming in my throat as I watched her take charge. There was a certain comfort in seeing her take control, even in the midst of chaos. Her confidence seemed to infuse me with a sense of calm that I hadn’t felt since…fuck, since when? It seemed like forever ago.
“Alright,” I replied, forcing a small smile. But it felt wrong on my face, a mask I could barely maintain.
As we set about cleaning the room, I was struck by the surreal nature of what was happening. Here we were, bustling around the room like any ordinary family would after a dinner party - only instead of washing dishes and sweeping up crumbs, we were scrubbing away blood stains and disposing of a body.
Tristan, with his strong and steady hands, worked with a quiet determination. His brows were furrowed in deep thought. Whether he was thinking about how to handle this particular mess or how to protect our family from future ones, I couldn’t tell. But as I watched him, I felt a surge of love for him that almost brought tears to my eyes.
“Adriana, darling, do me a favor and put on a pot of coffee,” she instructed, her tone steady despite the chaos around us. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“Yes, Mama,” I replied automatically, tearing my gaze away from her. The sight of my mother here, in our damaged home amidst the aftermath of our deadliest threat yet...it was disorienting. Shaking off a fresh wave of worry, I made my way to the kitchen.
The clatter of dishes and trickle of water from the kitchen tap felt oddly comforting as I busied myself making coffee. Normalcy in a night that was anything but. As I moved around the familiar kitchen of the Callahan estate, Tristan’s voice drifted over the hum of the tap water, his tone low and measured as he spoke to my mother. I strained to hear their conversation but could only pick out snippets, enough to understand that my mom was offering him advice on how to handle the current crisis.
“…always protect family…” I heard my mother’s voice say, her tone unwavering.
Tristan’s reply was lost in the buzz of the coffee maker. I squinted through the open doorway, watching as my maybe-soon-to-be husband nodded while wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
Despite the situation, a brief wave of warmth washed over me. It was a stark reminder of our shared lives - their intensity and their danger. But such thoughts were a luxury I couldn’t afford at the moment.
“Make it strong, Adriana,” I could hear my mother calling from the living room. “We need all the clarity we can get.”
“Yes, Mama,” I responded, adding a few more scoops of coffee to the machine.
Turning back to the coffee maker, I forced my attention on the mundane task at hand, welcoming its normalcy in an otherwise chaotic evening. The aroma of coffee filled the air, grounding me to reality as I watched the dark liquid stream into the pot. At least something was working as it should tonight. I glanced over to the clock on the wall, its hands declaring that it was nearly five in the morning.
I could feel the heaviness in my chest as I looked around the kitchen—the one place in this house that still felt like a safe haven. The one place where the violent world outside could not penetrate...until now.
I poured cream into a ceramic pitcher and set out three mugs, each with its own story. Mine was chipped at the edge from when I’d dropped it during an argument with Tristan; his was oversized and dark blue, just like his eyes; and the one I chose for my mother was an elegant porcelain piece, with a delicate rose painted near the rim. She’d given it to me when I moved in with Tristan, a reminder, she’d said, that no matter where I was, a part of her would always be with me.
The irony of it wasn’t lost on me.
“Ade?” Tristan’s voice broke through my thoughts, his heavy footsteps growing louder as he approached the kitchen.
“Yes,” I called out, working to keep my voice steady. He appeared in the doorway, his once crisp white shirt now stained with specks of red that refused to fade.
“Need a hand?” he asked.
I turned to look at him, noticing the way the morning light streaming in through the kitchen window highlighted the weariness in his eyes. There was a drawn quality to his face that tugged at my heart.
“No, I got it,” I replied, forcing a smile as I turned to face him. His eyes, those deep blue gems, scanned my face for any sign of distress. God, even in the midst of all this, he was still worried about me.
“Are you sure?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was locked on mine, with so much concern it made my heart ache.
“I’m sure,” I said firmly. But as he lingered in the doorway, I felt my walls crumbling. “Actually...” I murmured, hesitating for a moment before finally stepping aside to let him help.
“Thank you,” he mumbled as he joined me by the counter. The tension eased somewhat and we worked in companionable silence for a few minutes.
“Your mother is a lot,” he said.
“Absolutely. Sorry about that,” I replied. “But she’s very good at cleaning.”
“I noticed that,” he said.
As he chuckled, I watched his shoulders slump slightly as if a small weight had been lifted off them. His laughter was brittle, short-lived, but it was there. And despite the situation we found ourselves in, I found solace in it. Tristan, my Tristan, still had the capability to laugh in the face of adversity. That thought alone helped me continue with our macabre task.
After finishing up in the kitchen, we joined my mother back in the living room. The sight that met us was drastically different from when we left just a few minutes ago. What had once been a crime scene was now just another room. The blood stains were gone, replaced by the faint scent of bleach and lemon, and the eerie silence was punctuated only by the hum of the vacuum cleaner my mother was currently handling.
She turned the vacuum cleaner off before she spoke to Tristan. “You’ll need to handle the body,” she said. “For now, I put a tarp under him so he doesn’t keep bleeding on your floor”
Tristan nodded, his eyes hardening at her words. He looked away for a moment before glancing back to me. I could see the fear etched in his features, but he was doing his best to mask it. For a moment we just stood there, our gazes locked, before he finally broke away, turning back to my mother.
“Mama,” I began hesitantly, “We need to talk.”
Her sharp gaze was on me instantly. She crossed her arms over her chest, an indication she was preparing for a serious conversation.
I swallowed hard, casting a quick glance at Tristan who was now focused on his hands. His silence during this moment wasn’t helping. My mind raced as I tried to piece together what I wanted to say.
“You didn’t have to come here,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her eyes softened slightly at my words, but she remained quiet, waiting for me to continue.
“You’re my daughter, Adriana,” her voice choked with emotion. “And Tristan...” she glanced next to me where he sat, still silent but listening attentively, “he’s practically my son-in-law. This is our fight too. This was my fight well before the two of you got together. There’s a reason I’m married to your father, love.”
“Mama, we don’t want you to get hurt,” I blurted out, my frustration bleeding into my words. “This is our mess, let us handle it.”
The room fell silent as my words hung heavily in the air. Tristan’s eyes found mine and he tried for a smile.
My mother simply studied me for a moment, her cool gaze never wavering. Finally, she let out a long sigh and unfolded her arms, her shoulders slumping slightly in defeat.
“I know what you’re trying to do, Adriana,” she said, her tone soft but firm. “But understand this - your father and I were in this business long before you were born. We’ve seen things that would turn your blood cold.” Her gaze flickered over to Tristan briefly before returning to me. “We are not as fragile as you think.”
My throat tightened at her words, the hard truth of them stabbing at me like a knife.
“Yes, Mama,” I managed to reply, a knot forming in my throat. I knew she was right - they were not fragile. They were hardened by years of dealing with the ruthless world of the Mafia. But they were also my parents, and the thought of them getting hurt because of our mistakes was a burden too heavy to bear.
Tristan finally found his voice again, “We just don’t want you to bear our burdens, Alessia.”
“The moment you two told me you were giving me grandchildren, your burdens became mine,” she said simply.
“And we’re trying to protect them too, Alessia,” Tristan added, finally stepping forward. His voice was quiet, but firm. “This is our problem and we will handle it.”
His words hung in the air for a moment, and an eerie silence descended upon the room again. Finally, my mother sighed and nodded, her gaze softening considerably.
“I understand,” she said quietly, giving Tristan a weak smile. “But just remember—we’re here if you need us. Let me finish cleaning this up.”
With that, she turned back to her task. Tristan and I exchanged a glance, his hand finding its way to mine. The moment his fingers enveloped mine, the knot in my stomach loosened slightly. Watching my mother clean up our mess was hard, but knowing that Tristan stood by me made it bearable.
Once the room was cleaned to her satisfaction, my mother finally deemed it fit for occupation. She set the vacuum cleaner aside and dusted off her hands. “You’re right,” she sighed, “this is your fight. But never forget that you have people who will stand with you through thick and thin.”
I nodded, my throat dry.
“I’ll handle the body,” Tristan suddenly said, breaking the silence that had fallen over us. His voice had an edge to it, indicating he was ready to press on, to move forward, to shoulder the weight that came with our reality.
Wordlessly, I gave his hand a tight squeeze, trying to silently convey all the things I couldn’t put into words: that I was here for him, that we were in this together, and most importantly, that I loved him.
As Tristan left the room to attend to the grim task at hand and I heard him grab his keys from the hook next to the front door, my mother and I sat in silence. It felt strange, like everything had shifted somehow. The line between parent and child seemed blurred. For the first time, I felt like my mother was seeing me not just as her daughter, but as an adult capable of making difficult decisions and taking responsibility for my own actions.
“Adriana,” my mother finally broke the silence. Her tone was gentle, cautious. She took a deep sigh before continuing, “I want you to know that whatever happens next... your father and I will always be here for you.”
I stared at her for a long time. “I wish you would let me take care of things myself.”
“I would,” she replied. “If I wasn’t worried that doing that would put you and my grandchildren in danger.”
Silence enveloped us again, filling the room like a dense fog. My heart pounded painfully against my chest as I digested her words. I knew she was right, that our family was involved in a dangerous business—one that didn’t discriminate between innocent and guilty. But it didn’t make it any easier to accept.
“Mom,” I started, but she raised a hand to stop me.
“I know what you’re going to say,” she said pointedly. “And I understand. But our family...our world, it doesn’t work like that. We can’t just step aside and let the younger generation handle things on their own. It’s not about stepping on your toes, Adriana. It’s about ensuring safety and survival. We’ve been in this business far too long to not know how dangerous it is. Tristan is now the head of one of the biggest families in Boston, and while the two of you make a powerful union, you’ve also painted a target on your back.”
As her words sunk in, a chill ran down my spine. She was right. The world we lived in didn’t follow the normal rules of society. It was a constant struggle for power and control and, despite my best attempts, I couldn’t protect everyone I cared about.
“I just want you to be safe,” I murmured, looking down at my hands.
“And we want the same for you,” she replied softly. Her hand reached out, gently squeezing mine in reassurance. “We are here for you, Adriana.”
I nodded, unable to trust my voice. We sat there in silence for what felt like forever until Tristan returned, his face pale but determined, his shoes dirty with mud.
“It’s done,” he said simply, his cheeks red from the cold.
I nodded. “Now what?”
“Now,” Tristan said. “We get ready for the next threat.”