Page 6 of False Heir

“Give me a second,” he said, answering the call. His demeanor shifted almost instantly, the warmth draining from his face as he listened, his eyes narrowing. He held up a hand to silence me, but the gesture was unnecessary—I had already gone silent, watching him like a hawk.

“Trouble,” I repeated, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. Trouble was my constant companion, lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce at the first sign of weakness. I sighed deeply, knowing whatever awaited me would demand my immediate attention.

“Seems like we both have fires to put out,” I acknowledged, pushing myself up to stand despite the protest of my wounds. I looked down at my blood-soaked shirt, the red spreading like a grim badge of honor. “But this isn’t over, Sil. Not by a long shot. Can you get Killian and the Rossis out of here before you leave? Please? And next time, a phone call would do.”

Silvio’s expression hardened as he ended the call, his gaze pinning me in place. “A phone call would have saved you a lot of trouble when you decided not to honor your part of the deal,” he retorted, keeping his voice equally low. He stood up, the scraping of his chair against the floor echoing ominously in the room. “But it seems we’re beyond trusting each other with simple courtesy.”

I held my ground as he came closer, the scent of his cologne wafting in the air between us—clean and crisp like a freshly pressed suit. Despite the tension, a part of me relaxed seeing him stand. Sil was still strong despite his age, and that strength was a blessing and a curse.

“Get them out before I change my mind and have my men shoot them,” I told Silvio.

He grimaced, but he cocked his head. “We’re just getting started. And I’ll get them out, but I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m aware,” I replied.

“We’ll speak again tonight,” Silvio promised, striding toward the door. His steps echoed in an authoritative cadence across the polished floors of my office. “You can count on it, Tristan.”

I watched him leave the living room, his resolve sounding like a death knell in my mind. I leaned back against my desk, feeling the cold marble seeping through the blood-soaked fabric of my shirt. The pain was secondary now — a dull echo compared to the war being waged within me.

“She’s more than just an incubator...” I whispered to the empty room. I could still hear those harsh words ricocheting off the walls, their sting as potent as when they’d first left Silvio’s lips.

My hand reached for my pocket again, pulling out the phone I’d ignored earlier. Sean had left a message—it was urgent, so I called him back straightaway.

I fished the phone from the pocket of my jeans, its weight a reminder of the burdens it often bore. The screen lit up with Sean’s name, and my thumb pressed the call button before I had time to dread what I’d hear.

“Tristan,” his voice came through, strained with an undercurrent of fear I wasn’t used to hearing from one of my most trusted men. “We’ve got a situation at The Crooked Thorn.”

“Damn it.” My heart hammered against my ribcage, not in fear but in frustration. “Talk to me, Sean. What kind of situation?”

“Can’t explain over the phone. It’s bad, Tristan. Real bad. I would’ve called Kieran but—“

“But what?” I pressed, my patience running thin.

“He’s not picking up. No one is.”

Yeah, because we’d all been ambushed by Orsini, and fucking Killian was on their side now even though he was supposed to be the person my other men went to. This was so fucked.

“Sean,” I said, my voice steady despite the unease coiling in my gut, “everyone’s hands are full. You need to spill it now.”

There was a pause, the kind that told me he was weighing his words, deciding how much to say. “Boss, you’ve got to see it with your own eyes. I can’t lay this out over the phone.”

“Fine.” My reply was clipped, a reflection of the frustration gnawing at the edges of my patience. “Hold the fort.”

A heavy sigh came through the receiver. It was clear he knew the gravity of what he was asking. “Will do, but hurry. And…I don’t want to tell you what to do, but you might want to bring your brothers.”

The line went dead, and I was left with the echo of urgency in my ears. Looking down, I noticed the stark red blooming across my white shirt, a vivid reminder of the violence from earlier in the evening. I’d have to change before heading out—couldn’t show up to a mess looking like I’d brought one with me.

And I also had to make sure I wasn’t going to just drop dead.

So I might have to take care of that first…but before I did any of that, I needed to make sure Adriana was alright.

I just had to stay alive long enough to do it.

Chapter Four: Tristan

The blood loss hadn’t stopped. I was getting dizzy.

The blood was real, warm and wet as it soaked through the fabric of my white shirt—a stark reminder that I wasn’t invincible. I pressed the phone to my ear, Sean’s voice urgent on the other end, confirming what I already feared: The Crooked Thorn was under siege.

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