Page 25 of False Heir

“Right. So we need to make it clear that we’re far from weak,” Kieran continued, his authoritative voice reverberating through the phone speaker.

“I’d rather not start a war over this,” I interjected, my fingers tapping anxiously against the old wooden table.

“And we won’t,” Kieran assured me. “We’ll just… remind them of our strength.”

Adriana sighed, rubbing her temples with her delicate fingers. She was clearly tired, and her patience seemed to be running thin.

“And how do you suggest we do that?” she asked, trying to keep the edge from her voice.

“Not sure,” Kieran said. “But I don’t want to have this conversation over the phone. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I think the law might be watching us.”

“That would be a surprise,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. The idea was ridiculous, but only because it was so familiar. We were always watched. It wasn’t paranoia if they really were out to get you.

“Should we meet up somewhere?” Adriana asked, her voice steady, her expression unreadable.

“Aye. Neutral territory,” Kieran suggested.

“The pub?” Adriana asked. “Not the Crooked Throne, the other one.”

“No,” I interjected, shaking my head even though Kieran couldn’t see me. “We need somewhere less...predictable.”

“Box thing?” Kieran questioned, curiosity lacing his voice. I could almost picture him furrowing his brow, that single question pulling his focus from the Rossis and back to us.

“Well,” Adriana started, glancing at me. Our eyes locked for a second before she continued. “We found a box full of letters and photos buried in the ground of your mom’s cabin. Sorry, not your mom. Uh–I don’t really know how to talk about–”

Kieran laughed. It made Adriana visibly relax. “Don’t worry,” he started. “For all intents and purposes, Catherine was my mum too. But the box?”

“Yeah, we don’t know who it belonged to. But some of the letters...they’re signed by a man named John,” Adriana explained, her gaze shifting between me and the phone. “Does that name ring any bells?”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a heartbeat, then two. I could almost see Kieran’s mind racing, turning over memories and faces in search of a connection.

“John? No idea,” Kieran finally admitted, his voice laced with confusion. “Definitely not family.”

Adriana frowned at his response but nodded nonetheless. “Still, it’s something we should look into.”

“There’s a lot we need to look into,” I added, my gaze drifting towards the window, beyond which lay the sprawling darkness of our city untouched by dawn. The Rossis attacking us, this box full of undecipherable letters, the fact that they were still coming after us after everything had happened, Silvio Orsini himself…everything was intertwined like knotted threads waiting to be unraveled. “Send us a pin and we’ll meet you back in the city tomorrow.”

Kieran cleared his throat on the other end of the line, a sure sign he was trying to mask his unease. “Sure, will do.” He paused, and I could almost hear the gears turning in his head half a city away. “Tristan,” he finally said, very quietly, almost like an afterthought.

“Yeah?” I asked, my eyebrows furrowing at his sudden shift in tone.

“Watch your back,” he warned, before hanging up without another word.

Chapter Eleven: Adriana

The chill of the early morning nipped at my skin as I folded another sweater into the suitcase. Our time in the countryside had been a stolen breath, a brief respite, but now the real world with its cold demands crept back in. I zipped up the bag with a decisive tug, apprehension and determination wrestling within me.

“Make sure they understand the importance of discretion,” Tristan’s voice cut through the stillness of the cabin, his Irish lilt more pronounced when he was tense. Back to the city meant back to the fight for his birthright, the Callahan estate that now hung in limbo.

I moved to my list on the table, double-checking each item against what I’d packed. Clothes, food, prenatal vitamins. The mundane details grounded me, even as my mind raced with the implications of our return.

“Swift action, that’s what we need,” he continued, pacing by the window, the phone pressed to his ear. His shadow stretched long and distorted across the oak floor, a silent partner to his agitation.

I watched him for a moment, this man who carried the weight of his legacy like a crown of thorns—his inheritance rights a burden he shouldered alone. With each firm directive he gave, I felt it too, the pang of concern for him, for us, for the tiny lives I now carried.

“Everything’s packed,” I said when he finally hung up, my voice steady though my hands were not. “We’re ready.”

He nodded, his blue eyes—sharp as the frost outside—meeting mine. We’d left the chaos behind once, but it was time to face it again, together. And as we stepped out into the crisp dawn, the city awaited, with all its shadows and light, ready to test the strength of our unity.

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