Page 32 of False Heir

“Killian,” I found myself muttering grimly, the name tasting like bile. “I mean, he’s already betrayed us. We…”

“No, something new,” Kieran said. “Something worse.”

I swallowed hard against the sour sting of suspicion. “Okay. Let’s talk,” I said. “Get up whenever, Ade. I’ll make sure you have some breakfast ready.”

“You’re the best,” Adriana said, pulling the duvet over her head again.

Kieran laughed softly, but his expression schooled as soon as he saw me. Leaving the bedroom, I busied myself with the ritual of breakfast prep, slicing bread and frying eggs with robotic precision. Each crack of the eggshell was another crack in the foundation we’d built.

Kieran leaned against the counter, watching me work the stove. Details were scant, but the message clear: we were standing on a landmine of disloyalty, every step liable to be our last.

“Set up a meeting,” I said as I watched him make the coffee. “The core security team. All of us.”

“Not Killian, though.”

“Are you stupid?”

Kieran’s eyes widened. “Right, I got it. Ronan, Sean and Ray.”

“Aye, there you go,” I said, feeling a little bad for snapping.

Kieran nodded and left, his footsteps echoing down the hall. I turned off the stove and plated the eggs. Adriana should eat before the storm hit.

“Tristan,” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep as she wrapped her arms around my waist from behind. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” I lied, turning to press a kiss to her forehead. “Just some business.”

“Be careful,” she whispered, her dark eyes searching mine.

“I will,” I promised, though we both knew this was a promise that could shatter at any moment.

***

Night had fallen by the time my boys gathered in the pub. The tension was thick, a silent storm brewing among us. I sat at the head of the table, deliberately projecting calm I didn’t feel. Ronan was here, along with Sean and Ray. Killian’s absence was a shadow none of us could ignore.

We made conversation for a bit, talking about the attack on the Crooked Thorn. Luckily, all their families were unharmed, and the attack had only shaken them. I’d gotten some much needed clarity from Sean: someone had shot into the pub, shattering a few windows. Then another person–a punter, someone we didn’t know–had ordered drink after drink while rattling off important names to our mostly uninvolved bartender; wives, siblings, mistresses, children.

Then he had left, saying that the next time, they wouldn’t be shooting at the pub.

Xander, our bartender, had told Sean in a hurry, but by that time, the punter had already sped away on a motorcycle. He had paid in cash and was extremely inconspicuous. Definitely Irish-American; tall, white, blond, middle aged, handsome but not too handsome.

So Xander’s input was useless, but the punter had mentioned Xander’s husband’s name, so he was understandably shaken too. Sean had given him a few days off after everything had happened, and now one of the other bartenders was covering all his shifts.

But all of that didn’t matter. We weren’t there to talk about that. “Why isn’t Killian here?” Ray finally asked after taking a long sip of his beer.

I rubbed my temple. Kieran looked at me, then I watched his gaze follow someone inside.

“Liam is here,” Kieran said. “With the redhead.”

“Good for him,” I said, barely looking up at our little brother. “Lads, I’m sorry to say this, but Killian’s gone over to Silvio Orsini.”

It was like throwing a match into dry kindling, waiting to see which way the fire would spread.

“What?” Ray spat, his fists clenching on the table.

“Breached our defenses. I guess Silvio needed someone on the inside on his side so he could break into our house. He had…well, let’s just say he was very interested in talking. And things turned a little violent.” I continued, keeping my gaze fixed on each man in turn. Ronan’s face remained impassive, but his eyes...his eyes flickered just enough to prick at my alertness.

“Are we going to let this slide?” Sean asked, his voice taut with barely contained rage.

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