Page 75 of False Heir

So now I didn’t just have to worry about my fucking brother. If he even was that.

I had to worry about the law.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Tristan

I didn’t like to admit it to myself, and I hadn’t given myself a lot of time to think about it, but I was worried.

The city lights blurred past my window as I drove through Boston’s streets, a silent witness to my growing unease. The leather steering wheel beneath my palms felt too smooth, too detached from the messy tangle of thoughts about Kieran’s risky parlay with Silvio. Old fishing docks had a way of harboring more than just boats—they were perfect for secrets to unfold or blood to spill.

What the fuck was he doing? And why did I feel the need to protect him when I couldn’t wrap my head around how he had betrayed me?

“Should I be there?” I muttered to myself, a nagging voice in the back of my mind insisting on attendance at The Crooked Thorn. It was tempting to charge into the fray, to stand shoulder to shoulder with Kieran, but what would that solve? My fingers drummed against the dashboard rhythmically, betraying my anxiety.

I let out a slow exhale, trying to quell the storm inside. Sean’s words echoed in my head, always the voice of reason. “You can’t show up to every fight, Tristan. You’re the boss, not a brawler.”

He was right. My presence would only escalate things, might even twist a knife in an already delicate situation. And I couldn’t just…stalk around, listen to what they were saying.

Pulling to the curb, I yanked the phone from my coat pocket and dialed quickly. “Sean, it’s me.”

“Boss,” came his immediate acknowledgment, brisk and no-nonsense as ever.

“Keep your eyes open at The Crooked Thorn tonight. I won’t be there.”

A beat. “Tristan, we need to talk.”

“I know, but I can’t tonight.”

“Understood. Anything else?”

“If Kieran is there, tell him…just tell him to play it smart.” My grip tightened on the phone, the weight of leadership squeezing the air from my chest.

“Always does,” Sean replied, his confidence in my brother a small comfort.

“Alright. Keep me posted.” Ending the call, I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and merged back into the flow of traffic. The early evening haze settled over Boston like a shroud, matching the heaviness in my heart.

Kieran could handle this. He had to. As for me, I’d do what I did best—keep us one step ahead, in the shadows where I belonged.

I steered my thoughts away from the looming threats and focused on a more immediate mission. Adriana. A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I parked outside the ice cream shop, its neon sign a beacon in the growing dusk. The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside, and I was greeted by the familiar sweet scent of waffle cones and sugary delights.

“Triple chocolate, two scoops,” I ordered, the server’s eyebrows raised in recognition. It wasn’t my usual request, but Adriana’s. Her favorite. On impulse, I grabbed a bag of pretzel twists from the adjacent shelf—salty to balance the sweet, just how she liked it.

“Anything else for you?” the server asked as he handed over the cone, already starting to melt around the edges.

“That’ll do it.” I paid with cash, leaving a generous tip before striding back to the car.

The drive to the safehouse apartment was quick, the streets quieter than usual. Every red light seemed to last an eternity, every turn felt too slow. When I finally pulled into the nondescript parking garage and killed the engine, the silence was deafening. I gathered the ice cream and snacks, my heart thudding against my ribs as I made my way to the apartment.

Adriana was there, her silhouette framed by the dim glow of a single lamp. She turned as I entered, her face softening when she saw what I’d brought. Her hair was wet and she was only wearing her underwear.

“You remembered,” she said quietly.

“Of course, I did.” My voice sounded rougher than I intended as I handed her the cone and watched her take the first, careful lick. The sight was such a stark reminder of normalcy that it momentarily stunned me.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her hand coming up to rest against my cheek. Her touch was grounding, pulling me back from the edge of a precipice I’d been toeing all day.

“Better now,” I admitted, though the lie tasted bitter on my tongue. I had returned to her, yes, but danger still danced on the horizon, waiting for an invitation to strike.

“You didn’t get any ice cream for yourself?”

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