Page 2 of False Heir

We sat, two men bound by bloodshed and the intricate dance of power. “It’s high time we had a proper talk, man-to-man,” Silvio declared, looking at me with an intensity that told me this conversation would shape the future of both our worlds.

I nodded, the weight of the moment settling on my shoulders like a leaden cloak. I took another sip of whiskey, feeling it fortify the battered ramparts of my resolve.

I took another slow drink, letting the heat of the whiskey spread through me, offering a fleeting distraction from the pain. “So, let’s get down to it then. What’s your play here?”

Silvio set his glass down with a soft clink, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that could cut through steel. “We end this tonight, Tristan. We find a way to coexist, or we burn it all down trying.”

“Easy words for a man who came in fighting,” I said. “Blood has been shed here tonight, and not because of my actions.”

“Which is why I want to talk,” Silvio said. “I never expected things to get this far.”

I went to get myself another drink. I took a deep breath and finally faced him, leaning back against the bar. The cool surface was a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through my chest from the whiskey. I took a slow sip, letting the burn slide down my throat before speaking.

“Your guarantee, Silvio. I need it to be ironclad.” My voice was steady, but inside, my heart was hammering against my ribs. “Every single person under this roof walks away unscathed. That’s the deal.”

Silvio met my gaze, the moonlight catching in his salt-and-pepper hair, giving him an almost ethereal look. He nodded once, sharply, the lines of his face set in determination.

“I give you my word, Tristan. No harm will come to them. Not by my hand, nor by any man who answers to me.”

“Right. And who answers to you?”

“That’s out of the scope of this conversation,” he replied.

“I think I’ll decide what’s in the scope,” I said.

He cocked his head. “I think you might not understand the situation you’re in here, Tristan,” he said. “I’m the one with the upperhand.”

I glared at him. “Are you? Because I’ve never attacked a person’s house when I feel like I’m the one with the upperhand.”

“Tristan,” he began, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “What happened tonight—“

“I won’t forget it.”

“I understand that. But it was necessary.”

“Necessary,” I repeated. It wasn’t really a question. I just couldn’t believe he was saying this shit to me. I was going to have to kill this man, no matter what. Whether he knew it or not, well, that was his problem.

He raised an eyebrow, acknowledging my interruption with a slight tilt of his head. “Necessary, yes. But it’s only the beginning. You know the stakes.”

“Better than most.” I met his gaze evenly, refusing to look away. “You need me, Silvio. And I need assurances.”

“What do I need you for?”

“If you hurt me, Adriana won’t ever forgive you,” I said simply. “And whatever legacy you have goes up in smoke with me.”

He grimaced, then took a sip of his whiskey and nodded. “Fine,” he said.

“I need those assurances,” I said.

“Assurances,” he echoed thoughtfully, as if tasting the word. “You have them. Your family, your people—they will be safe. That’s not just a promise; it’s a vow.”

“Vows can be broken,” I pointed out, the cynicism in my voice a reflection of the life I’ve lived.

“Not by me,” Silvio countered firmly. “Not when it comes to this.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the tension ebbing as mutual understanding took its place. He might be a kingpin, a ruthless killer even, but in his eyes, I saw something else—a glimmer of respect.

“Alright then,” I said finally. “Let’s figure out how we survive this mess.”

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