Page 28 of False Heir

Tristan put some bills down, grumbling. “Fucking can’t get any peace anywhere, can I?” he asked no one in particular. “Let’s take a walk.”

We strolled away from the café, our steps measured, but I could feel the acceleration of my heartbeat. The watcher was subtle, but not enough to escape my notice—a shadow detached itself from the building across the street, maintaining a discreet distance. Not someone I recognized. I could tell that it was a tall man, but not much other than that. From this distance, he didn’t look familiar.

“Rossi?” I ventured.

“Nah, I think that’s the police,” Kieran said softly, sticking his hand in his pocket.

“Now what could they want with us?” I asked, which I realized sounded ridiculous as soon as it came out of my mouth.

They looked at each other and burst into childish, uncontrollable laughter. My cheeks burned, but I deserved it.

“Right, what was I thinking?” I muttered, rolling my eyes at their antics. Their laughter subsided into chuckles as we continued down the sidewalk. The three of us bore an odd resemblance to a family on a leisurely stroll, save for the tense atmosphere that buzzed around us like a live wire.

We turned a corner and ducked into an alleyway, shaking off our pursuer. Tristan was on point, with me in the middle and Kieran taking up the rear. We kept our eyes peeled for any unusual movement, but everything remained eerily still.

“We should go to a safe house,” Tristan said.

I shook my head. “What’s the point of being in the city if we’re just going to hide?”

He glared at me. “I don’t know, Adriana. What’s the point of being in the city if we’re dead?”

Chapter Twelve: Tristan

I squinted against the midday glare, our pursuer disappearing in the rearview mirror as we pulled up to the safehouse near the Crooked Thorn. At least the man didn’t seem to have a car, but I wasn’t deluded enough to think we weren’t being watched at all times.

This was one of my favorite safehouses. From the outside, the place was a nondescript fortress masquerading as an upscale townhouse, blending seamlessly into Boston’s bricked elegance.

“Where’s Liam?” I asked Kieran as we spilled out of the car, stretching limbs cramped from the tense drive.

“Probably off gallivanting with that new girl he’s been seeing,” Kieran replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Some really dumb but smoking hot redhead from a nightclub.”

“Is he safe?” The concern in my voice was genuine; Liam had a knack for finding trouble, and with things the way they were…

“Don’t sweat it,” Kieran shot back, pulling out his phone. “I can track him. So can you, for that matter.”

I didn’t look at my phone. “Alright, just send me the link.”

We walked into the townhouse together after Kieran put the pin into the lock. I watched Adriana take in the opulence of one of our most ostentatious safehouses. Her eyes roamed over the heavy drapes and gilded edges, her short dark hair swaying slightly as she moved.

“What do you guys even do here?” she asked, her hands brushing along the velvet upholstery.

“Orgies, mostly,” Kieran quipped, a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Kieran,” I cautioned, then turned to Adriana. “We sometimes host adult activities. But this is primarily a way station for moving product.”

“Drugs?” She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Among other things.” My reply was casual, but I could tell she was probing for something deeper.

“Human trafficking?”

“Absolutely not,” I said sharply, the very idea running counter to whatever twisted code of honor we Callahans clung to. Adriana nodded, seemingly satisfied with my response for now, but still looking around.

“Right, I’m going to make myself scarce. You two have a lot to hash out.” Kieran motioned towards the kitchen, his lean frame moving with an ease that did nothing to betray the tension that always seemed to coil within him. “I need food in me if I’m expected to deal with whatever’s buried in that damn box we found.”

“Make sure it’s something that can feed all of us,” I called after him, but he was already gone, swallowed by the shadows of the corridor leading to the kitchen.

Adriana and I settled into the thick leather couches in what passed for the living room, our bodies sinking slightly into the cushions. The place felt like a fortress, with its heavy doors and windows that could withstand a grenade blast. It was more than just a hideaway; it was a statement of power.

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