Page 73 of False Heir

“Talk?” she asked, one eyebrow arching in that way that told me she was ready to peel away layers of any excuse or evasion.

“Yeah,” I replied, standing up and fishing the phone from my pocket with a sigh. “Sean’s got a report on Ronan’s dealings. I need to hear it straight from him.”

“Yeah,” I replied, standing up and fishing the phone from my pocket with a sigh. “Sean’s got a report on Ronan’s dealings. I need to hear it straight from him.”

“Right now, Ade, I’m suspicious of everyone.” The words left a bitter taste in my mouth, souring the charged atmosphere between us. I got dressed as I spoke. It wasn’t what I wanted to say to her, not now, but…

“Even me?” Her question was quiet, almost lost in the growing darkness of the room.

“Never you,” I answered quickly, fiercely, because it was true. In a world where shadows clung to every corner and loyalty was as fickle as the flickering streetlights outside, my faith in her remained unshaken. That was the kind of truth that didn’t need light to be seen.

“Good.” Adriana nodded, her dark hair catching the last strips of daylight that dared to stretch into the room. “Because I’m staying, not for your peace of mind, but because this is where I want to be.”

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips even as I pocketed the phone and moved toward the door. Her resolve was a force all its own, and it bolstered me more than she might realize.

“Lock up behind me,” I said, pausing at the threshold. “And don’t answer if anyone comes knocking, okay? Only open up for me.”

“Tristan.” She stood, crossing the few steps between us with purpose. “Come back to me in one piece. That’s non-negotiable.”

“Of course,” I said. “Wouldn’t dream of anything less.”

Chapter Thirty-One: Tristan

I didn’t need the law watching me.

Again.

I zipped up my jacket, the taste of Adriana’s last kiss still lingering on my lips as I stepped out of the safehouse apartment near Boston Marina. The early evening chill bit at my neck, but it wasn’t the cold that raised the hairs there—it was the sight of an unmarked police car parked across the street. Even without the standard issue Ford Crown Victoria or Chevy Impala, I knew law when I saw it.

“Damn,” I muttered under my breath, squinting through the winter dusk. Shadows stretched long over the icy pavement, but nothing could hide the glint of a badge or the idle thrum of authority from a car trying too hard not to be noticed.

A mix of suspicion and curiosity rattled around in my head like loose bullets. I should’ve just driven away, put some distance between me and whatever game they were playing at. But if there was one thing I’d learned from dear old dad, it was never to let them think you’re running scared.

“Let’s see what this is about,” I said to no one, my breath forming clouds as I approached my own car. It was a sleek beast that purred its readiness to leave these cops in the dust. Yet, I chose another route. I pulled my car over to the side of the road, the headlights bathing the detectives’ vehicle in a harsh, unforgiving light.

“Evening, gentlemen,” I called out as I rolled down my window, locking eyes with the two figures inside. Their gazes gave away nothing, but I wasn’t looking for tells—I was telling them. Telling them I knew they were there, I saw them. And I wasn’t afraid to ask why.

“Callahan,” the youngest one said.

“Owen, Hank,” I greeted them as if we were old pals catching up, not adversaries on opposite sides of a never-ending chess game. My voice was even, betraying none of the annoyance at their dogged presence in my life. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Detective Harper, Owen to those who knew him outside the badge, rolled down his window even further, with that same amiable smile he always offered me, like we weren’t just playing nice for the sake of appearances. “Tristan, how’ve you been? Must be tough, taking the reins after Malachy’s passing.”

I leaned an arm against the door, feigning ease. “You know how it is—big shoes to fill,” I replied, careful to keep my tone light, despite the heavy implication of his words. It was clear they hadn’t let off investigating since Dad died, their eyes still prying into the legacy he left behind.

“Wouldn’t know,” Owen said with a chuckle that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Never had a pair of shoes that big.”

“Guess you’re lucky then,” I shot back, allowing a half-smile to play on my lips. The frosty air bit at my cheeks, but I didn’t shiver. Couldn’t afford to show any weakness, not even against the cold. “How are you two enjoying your stake out? Did someone buy you donuts yet?”

“Are you going to?” Yu asked.

“I didn’t think about it. I thought I’d have a bit of peace,” I mused aloud, “but it seems my shadow’s grown wheels and a badge.

Owen’s chuckle cut through the chill of the early evening air, his breath forming clouds. “Comes with the territory, Tristan. You know that better than anyone.” His eyes held mine, a flicker of something like respect—or was it pity?—lacing his words.

I shrugged, brushing off the unspoken acknowledgement of my ties to the Callahan name and all its burdens. “Yeah, well. It’s a price you pay.”

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

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