25. Chapter Twenty-Five Tristan
Iscraped the last bits of sour cream and cheese from the inside of my jacket potato, the silence between us stretching out a little too long. Adriana watched me, her fork paused mid-air, waiting for me to continue.
“Look, I’ve never wanted to dig into this mess, but with everything that’s happening…”
“I mean, I did ask.”
“Right,” I sighed, pushing away the plate, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. “It’s all been secondhand stories, whispers in dark corners. But they’re starting to make sense now.”
She nodded, her dark eyes locked on mine, urging me to go on without saying a word.
“Malachy...after Brenda, you know, was murdered. After he murdered her,” I stumbled over the words, hating the taste of them on my tongue, “it didn’t end there. Kieran’s mom, Angela, she started pushing his buttons. Wanted more than the shadows she was living in. She demanded to be legitimized as one of his wives.”
“Like a public claim?” Adriana’s voice was quiet, but sharp like a blade, cutting through the layers of implications.
“Yeah,” I confirmed, feeling the weight of years of secrets pressing down on me. “She was no longer content being the secret—the mistress. And Malachy, he couldn’t have that. His control, his reputation...it was all at stake. And like I said, he loved my mum.”
“So what did he do?”
“Malachy was a man who solved problems one way—permanently.” My voice hardened with the cold truth. “He had Angela killed. Made it seem like an accident or something unconnected. But it left Kieran without a mother and cemented my dad’s reputation as someone not to cross.”
I could see the horror reflected in Adriana’s eyes, the realization of how deep the rot in my family went. “That’s ruthless,” she murmured, squeezing my hand tight, as if trying to hold me together with her touch.
“I mean, that was my dad,” I replied.
“Does that mean…”
“Yeah,” I said. “He killed my mum too.”
Adriana’s eyes met mine, urging me to go on.
“Mom and Malachy, they were like fire and ice, bound to destroy each other. She hated what he did, who he had become. They fought like hellfire, Adriana. And one day, one of those fights...” I trailed off, my throat tight.
“Tristan...” she whispered, her gaze never leaving my face.
“Malachy’s temper, it got the best of him. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but in a fit of rage...” My voice broke as I finally said it aloud, “He killed her. Told everyone it was an accident. But I knew. I knew even then. I tried to tell myself I didn’t because he was my dad. I was just deluding myself, Ade. And still...I couldn’t do anything about it.”
“God, Tristan.” Adriana’s voice was a soft echo of pain that matched my own.
“Kieran, Liam, and I...we lost more than just our mum that day.” The memories of my mum flooded back—her laughter, her fierce protectiveness, the way she could make even the darkest corners of our world seem bright. “She might not have been related by blood to them, but she was their mum in all the ways that mattered.”
“Tristan, come here.” Adriana’s arms opened, and without hesitation, I moved into her embrace. Her hug was tight, enveloping.
When we were kids, my mum had been the glue that held us together. Her death left a chasm that none of us knew how to bridge. With her gone, the fear of forging bonds that could so easily be ripped apart haunted me. It was a betrayal of the worst kind—one that festered deep in our bones, casting long shadows over any semblance of trust or love we might dare to hold onto.
And I’d had to step up. Because if my dad could kill my mum, it meant he could kill my brothers too.
“Thank you, Ade,” I murmured into her shoulder, “for being here—for listening.”
“Always,” she replied firmly, her breath warm against my ear.
I zoned out for a second. The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow over us in the quiet room. It was midday in Boston, and somewhere outside, life buzzed with its usual intensity. But here, inside, it was as though time had paused, allowing me to gather the scattered pieces of my thoughts.
“Tristan?” Ade’s voice was soft, her gaze locked onto mine, searching.
I exhaled, looking down at our entwined hands. “Dusty once told me something about my father—something that chilled me to the bone.” I hesitated, the words heavy on my tongue. “He said Dad killed all his wives. I didn’t... I couldn’t believe it.”
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t speak. She waited, patient and steady.
“Looking back now, the signs were there,” I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. “The fear in their eyes, their sudden disappearances...It makes sense. It always made sense. I just didn’t want to believe it because it scared the hell out of me.”
“Tristan...”
“Back when I fought against marrying you, it wasn’t because I didn’t want you. God, Ade, it was the opposite. I was terrified you’d end up like Brenda, Angela, or Catherine. I thought by staying away, I could save you from my father’s legacy.”
There was a moment of silence, filled with unspoken understanding. Then, Ade reached out, her touch gentle as she cupped my cheek.
“Tristan Callahan, you are nothing like your father.” Her conviction was a lifeline thrown into the turbulent sea of my doubts. “You’ve proven that time and time again. You’re the most loving, caring man I’ve ever known.”
“You’re a good liar,” I said.
“I mean it,” she replied.
I felt the tension in my body ease slightly at her words. A faint smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, gratitude swelling within me.
“Thank you, Ade,” I murmured, leaning into her touch.
She gave me a soft smile, then shifted her position, sitting astride me with a grace that always seemed second nature to her. “And you’re going to be an incredible father to our children.”
“What are you doing?”
“You’re really sexy when you’re being all vulnerable about stuff,” she said.
I laughed, but a surge of desire washed over me as Ade’s fingers danced along my abdomen, finding their way to the zipper of my pants. Her hands were steady, determined, as she freed me from the confines of fabric. I matched her urgency, sliding my hand beneath her skirt, pushing aside the barrier of her panties.
Our breaths mingled, heavy with need, as I entered her slowly. The control was hers; I could only watch, mesmerized, as she set the pace, her movements deliberate and sure. She held my gaze, her dark eyes alight with an intensity that seared through me.
“Tristan,” she whispered, and the sound of my name on her lips, laced with such raw passion, nearly undid me.
“God, Ade,” I grunted in response, my hands aching to pull her closer.
She kissed me then, a kiss that spoke of shared secrets and promises kept. It was a connection that ran deeper than flesh; it was soulful, binding us together in ways words could never express. As she moved above me, I slung an arm around her waist, drawing her down to me.
I kissed the column of her neck, breathing in her scent, which clung to the air between us—a mixture of sweat and perfume that became the most intoxicating fragrance. My mouth found the softness of her breasts, taking her nipple between my lips, eliciting from her a moan that fueled the fire within me.
I drove into her. She arched, a gasp escaping her lips as I hit deep. Our rhythm was frenzied, desperate, the world beyond the door forgotten in the heat of the moment. Her hand tangled in my hair, pulling slightly in a way that shot sparks through my veins. The sight of her, bathed in midday light, ravenous and unashamed—it was a sight that would forever be seared into my memory.
“Look at me,” I murmured against her skin. She obliged, her gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that stole my breath away.
“Faster,” she urged, her voice a raspy moan that sent shivers up my spine. The rhythm between us increased, our bodies melding together in an intoxicating dance of desire and lust.
“Adriana,” I breathed out, my voice strained with the intensity of our connection. My eyes were locked onto hers, capturing the raw emotion spread across her beautiful face. She was breathtaking, her hair spilling over her shoulders as she moved above me and tilted her head back.
Her nails traced lines down my chest, a sensual exploration that had me gritting my teeth against the electrifying sensation. “Tristan,” she whimpered, her hips moving in time with mine, driving me further into madness.
“Look at me,” I repeated.
She did, her deep brown eyes meeting mine. I let go of one of her hands, my own threading through her dark hair, holding her steady as she moved against me.
“Tristan,” she whispered my name like a prayer, and the sound of it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. Her rhythm faltered, her body stiffening as her climax approached. “Tristan -”
I met each thrust with my own, feeling the tremors run through her as she came with a soft cry. The sight and feel of her in that moment pushed me over the edge, and I followed after her with a groan.
I held her close as we both came down from our highs, our breaths mingling in the air between us.
“Ade,” I murmured against her neck, pressing a kiss to her damp skin.
“Hmm?” She hummed lazily in response, stretching like a contented cat atop of me.
“I love you,” I said quietly, my words heavy with a lifetime of emotions. Her breath hitched in surprise, but a grin slowly spread across her face.
“I love you too, Tristan.” She replied, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity.
“I’m sorry I have to kill your dad.”
She sighed, her breath trembling. “Yeah, me too,” she said. “Tell me how I can help.”