Page 74 of False Heir

“How’s the Orsini girl holding up?” Owen Harper asked. “She’s…I mean, I hear congratulations are in order.”

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. The question was casual, but the implication wasn’t lost on me. They knew about Adriana’s pregnancy. News had a nasty habit of spreading fast, especially when it came to the lives of people like us.

“She’s doing well,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral. “And yes, we’re expecting twins.”

“Twins, huh?” Hank chimed in from the passenger seat, his gruff voice carrying over Owen’s lighter tones. “That’s quite the blessing. Family’s important.”

The mention of Adriana had angered me and I wanted to provoke him. “Heard your daughter was single, Owen,” I said. “If things don’t work out…”

For the first time since we had started talking, I saw Detective Owen Harper look genuinely angry. “My daughter is in high school,” he said. “If you even do so much as approach her, you’ll end up in a cell so deep, Tristan, they’ll have to pipe daylight to you.”

“Relax. I’m just fucking with you, and in any case, I’m very much taken. Adriana is the only woman I want,” I said, my voice carrying a warmth that stung against the cold. “She’s... exceptional. And we’re excited about our kids.”

“Cute,” Owen said. “You’re adorable.”

“Hey, someone is getting mad here and it’s not me. But it’s always good to know what triggers you, Owen. And by the way,” I added, my voice dropping an octave lower and my gaze hardening, “Adriana is not the ‘Orsini girl’ to me. She’s the woman I love. The woman carrying my children. She deserves respect. So when you speak of her,” I continued, taking a moment to let that sink in, “do it with the same level of decency you’d want for your own daughter.”

Yu cocked his head. “What do you say, Harper? Do we book him for disturbing the peace?”

“Hey, fuck you,” I replied.

They both looked at each other for a moment—and then they laughed.

Owen wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, his face red from laughter. “Callahan, you’re a real piece of work. You know that? Anyway, watch your language. We wouldn’t want your foul mouth to corrupt your kids.”

“Yeah, that’s the least of my worries,” I shot back, recognizing their attempt to get under my skin for what it was. A game, just another round of the same fucking shit.

“Anyway, how about we grab some drinks after—“ The thought was cut off by the sudden vibration in my pocket. I reached down and pulled out the phone, the screen lighting up with Ronan’s name.

“Excuse me,” I muttered, thumbing the answer button as I turned slightly away from the detectives. “What is it?”

“Tristan,” Ronan’s voice was low, urgent. “It’s Kieran. He’s meeting with Silvio tonight.”

“Silvio?” My stomach tightened at the mention of that name—Silvio Orsini, the man who could turn our world upside down with a flick of his wrist. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. I just got word. They’re at the old fishery near the docks.”

“Damn,” I hissed under my breath. What the fuck was Kieran playing at? A chill that had nothing to do with the Boston winter crept over me.

“Keep an eye on them. Let me know if anything changes,” I instructed, trying to keep the concern from seeping into my voice.

“Will do,” Ronan confirmed before ending the call.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, my mind racing. Kieran was smart, but if he was dabbling with Silvio, it meant trouble. Our father had left us a legacy built on honor in a dishonorable world, and Silvio... Silvio played by his own rules.

“Everything alright?” Owen’s question snapped me back to the present.

“Fine,” I lied smoothly, the mask of indifference slipping back into place. “Just family stuff.” It wasn’t entirely untrue. Kieran was family, after all, and this was definitely ‘stuff.’

“Family stuff” was the sort of line that usually worked like a charm, deflecting further inquiry with its vague allusion to personal matters. But as I looked into Detective Owen’s eyes, something passed between us—an unspoken understanding. He didn’t buy it, not entirely. And why would he? In my line of work, “family stuff” often meant digging a grave in the woods or making an inconvenient witness disappear.

“Of course,” Owen said, nodding slowly. “Take care of yourself, Tristan.”

“Always do,” I tossed back casually, even though my heart thrummed against my ribs like a caged bird desperate for escape. I wanted to be alone, away from prying eyes and loaded questions. “Thanks for the chat, detectives. Planning on tailing me?”

“Only if you give us cause to, Tristan,” Detective Owen Harper replied, his voice steady but not unkind. It was the same tone one might use to remind a kid about the rules of the playground—except this was no game, and I was far from a child.

As I pulled away, I caught a glimpse of them in the rearview mirror, their figures growing smaller but no less significant. They were part of this intricate dance, after all. Each step, each turn I made had to be precise. One misstep, one stumble, and I’d fall right into their waiting arms.

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