Page 4 of False Heir

My dad seemed annoyed. “Adriana needed protection from you, Tristan. Now she’s tangled up in this mess because of you. I should’ve listened to my wife when she warned me against working with Malachy Callahan, but we had both lost so many people. I was so desperate to broker a peace deal that I bargained with the one thing I care about the most in the world; my baby girls. But you…I should’ve known there was no honor to you. All of you Callahans are the same.”

I let out a sigh, my breath fogging up the glass. It was a small comfort that their disagreement hadn’t turned physical, but I knew with men like Tristan and my father, words cut deeper and lasted longer than any bruise.

“Tristan,” my father’s voice was stern, though it carried an undertone of respect that few men ever earned from him. “I thought better of you. I thought you were a man of honor. Misguided at times, maybe, but I could see your heart is with my daughter and the kids.”

“I am,” Tristan said. “I’m going to protect them.”

“You don’t seem to understand that you’ve already exposed them to being more vulnerable than they ever have.”

I could picture Tristan’s jaw clenching, the way he always did when his pride wrestled with his intentions. He’d stand tall, no doubt, his hands probably balled into fists at his sides. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe,” he’d say, and he meant it—I knew he did.

My father considered this for a few seconds. “Except walk away.”

“I’m not abandoning my children, Silvio,” Tristan said, and it almost sounded like he wanted to laugh. “Or my future wife.”

A beat, then a sigh. “What if I paid you?”

“Bribery, Orsini? That’s beneath you,” Tristan scoffed. “Anyway, you couldn’t afford my price.”

Silence fell between them, heavy and filled with tension. I could almost feel it through the window, thick as a curtain of fog.

“I never thought it’d come to this,” my father finally said, sounding more tired than angry. His next words hung in the air like an unfulfilled promise. “I wish it hadn’t.”

“Me too,” Tristan murmured, his tone matching my father’s in its weariness.

There was another pause. The wind howled between the houses, rustling the leaves and sending a shiver down my spine.

“So, what’s next?” Tristan’s words cut through the silence like a knife, pulling me from my thoughts. “War?”

“Not if I can help it,” my father answered with steadfast resolve. “But you need to understand something, Callahan. My daughter is not a pawn in our games. She is not a bargaining chip or a means to an end.”

His words were punctuated by the cold night air creeping into my bones, forcing me to wrap my arms around myself for warmth. I felt a twinge in my belly, a gentle nudge from the lives I was carrying. The lives that were now at the center of a dangerous standoff.

“I never thought of her that way,” Tristan replied, his voice edged with frustration. “I love her, Silvio. And our children...they’re everything to me.”

There was no reply for a moment, casting an unsettling silence over the conversation.

“Love is not always enough,” my father finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. It was an old adage, one he often repeated to us when we were growing up. “And Malachy didn’t exactly give you a great roadmap for how to treat your wife.”

“Hey. Watch yourself,” Tristan said. “You worked this deal out. You wanted Adriana to marry me. If I’m so bad, maybe you shouldn’t have offered me your daughter on a platter, huh?”

“You’re missing the point, Tristan,” my father’s voice was rising now, the last of his patience dwindling. “It was supposed to be a marriage of convenience. A way to unite our families and end the feud that had cost us too many lives already. I never expected Adriana to fall in love with you. I made a mistake that gave you the ability to hurt my daughter more than anyone else in her entire life.”

“And yet she did,” Tristan said, a note of triumph in his voice. “She loves me, Silvio. And I’m not just talking about some infatuation or misguided affection. She knows my worst and chooses me anyway.”

“But at what cost?” my father asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer. “You’re not just some ordinary man she fell for, Tristan. You’re a Callahan—ruthless, just like your father.”

“Maybe,” Tristan said. “But you seem to forget that my father did this.”

I couldn’t see what he was pointing out, but it had to be the house; from what I knew, Malachy had come from Ireland with nothing when he was younger than Tristan was. He’d built an empire single-handedly, and now his sons were carrying on his legacy.

“But don’t forget,” my father countered, “that Malachy’s legacy was also one of violence, of bloodshed and crime.”

“Right. And what about yours, Orsini?” Tristan said. “Because your deals are just as sketchy as my dad’s were.”

“You’re right,” my father replied after a pause, his voice soft. “My hands are just as dirty. But I’ve always tried to protect my family and I would never lay a finger on my wife.”

“And you think I’d harm Adriana?” Tristan’s voice was dangerously low, a quiet storm brewing beneath his words. “Is that what you’re implying?”

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