Page 1 of False Heir

Chapter One: Tristan

I was pretty sure I was dying.

Blood seeped through the fabric of my shirt—a reminder of the evening’s violent turn—as Silvio Orsini, the man with a smile that belied his capacity for ruthlessness, stood in the midst of our shattered peace. The Callahan estate, once a stronghold of quiet authority, now echoed with the tension of betrayal and unexpected alliances.

I wanted to fuck him up, but I was too hurt to move.

“Tristan,” Silvio began, his voice steady despite the chaos he had orchestrated, “I didn’t come here to start a war. Things... they got out of hand. But we’ve got a lot to sort out.”

His eyes scanned the room, taking in Adriana’s unease, Carmen’s defiant stance, Kieran’s calculating silence, and Liam’s attempt to mask his nerves. Killian, the betrayer, stood amongst the Rossi brothers, his loyalties as clear as the cold steel of a gun barrel.

Fuck him too.

Jesus.

“Look,” Silvio continued, the timbre of his voice demanding attention, “we’re going to be adults about this, whether we like it or not. There are issues between our families, and they won’t get solved with bullets and bloodshed.”

“You’re the one who came in here like this,” I replied between gritted teeth.

“I know. But you don’t want to have a conversation.”

I resisted the urge to reach for my gun. Around us, the study held too many secrets, too much history. It was a place where decisions were made, where the fate of empires was often decided over a glass of whiskey and a handshake. I eyed Silvio, knowing that his words were laced with the kind of truth that could either bind us or break us completely.

And if talking to him was what I had to do to protect Adriana and our kids, well, fuck it. That was what I would do.

My hand instinctively brushed against my side, feeling the sticky warmth that had nothing to do with the night air. I knew I needed medical attention soon, but first, I had to navigate this conversation.

I thought about it. Even if it meant I died, maybe I would take him down with me…

Adrian’s voice cut through the air. “Tristan, stop!”

Her command halted me mid-motion, and I lowered my hand, my fingers brushing against the cold metal before letting it go. Pain radiated from my injured side, the world tilting dangerously as I fought to stay upright.

“He deserves it,” I said.

“He’s not worth it,” Adriana replied, looking right at her father as she said it.

I could tell he held back a wince, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he kept looking at me.

“Tristan,” Silvio prompted.

“Silvio,” I began, meeting his gaze squarely despite the throbbing pain in my side, “you know as well as I do that this... situation, it’s not just going to disappear with a simple chat.” My voice was steady, even if everything else wasn’t. “But you have to promise me—promise that Adriana stays out of the line of fire.”

“Tristan, you think I’d harm my own flesh and blood?” There was a weariness in his voice that hadn’t been there before, a father’s fatigue.

“Your track record ain’t exactly spotless, Silvio.” I leaned back, my eyes never leaving his. It was a gamble, calling him out on his past, but one I had to take for her sake. For Adriana, who stood up to her father, who dared to carve her path despite the shadows cast by our families.

“Fair enough,” he conceded after a heavy silence. “She won’t be harmed. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Good. So, let’s get down to it then. What’s your play here?”

“Let’s talk in private,” he said.

I nodded. “Let’s talk then.”

The rest of them all—my brothers, Adriana, Carmen, and those who had turned on us—remained behind as Silvio followed me to the living room. The space was lit by the moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor.

I reached for a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, poured myself a glass, and felt the familiar burn slide down my throat. I offered one to Silvio, who accepted with a nod. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective.

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