Page 78 of False Heir

“Okay,” I repeated, softer this time. I turned away from him, feeling the distance grow with each step he took towards the door. I took off my clothes, and slipping under the sheets of the oversized bed, I curled into a ball, seeking solace in the nest of blankets. The sounds of the city outside became a distant hum as I closed my eyes, allowing sleep to claim me while Tristan disappeared into the night.

I woke to the silence of the apartment, a stillness that seemed too absolute for comfort. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, casting a muted golden glow over the luxurious space. The other side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool and undisturbed. Tristan wasn’t here.

He hadn’t come home.

I texted him to make sure he was alive and focused on what needed to be done. Today wasn’t about my family, not his. And if he had allowed me in, I would have happily talked to him about it, but he hadn’t, so I needed to handle my dad myself.

I showered quickly, letting the hot water sluice away the remnants of unease clinging to my skin. Dressing with purpose, I chose leggings and a black top that allowed freedom of movement without sacrificing a sense of command. The image staring back at me from the mirror was that of Adriana Orsini—capable, determined, and ready to face whatever lay ahead.

And very pregnant. Jeez, when had I started showing this much?

With one last glance at the silent bedroom, I grabbed my keys and left the apartment behind. My steps were purposeful and determined, echoing through the empty hallway as I made my way towards the garage. I got a taxi back to my apartment because I wanted to be driving my dad’s Mustang when I saw him; I wasn’t sure why, but I thought it might help if I showed up with the car and I did need to return it.

His apartment wasn’t far from mine, and my dad’s car was parked in the garage. I sent another text to Tristan to tell him I was going to run some errands if he arrived before that and strode with purpose toward the Mustang.

I approached the vehicle, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders like a cloak. My fingers traced the smooth lines of the car’s bodywork, feeling the subtle vibrations of dormant power beneath the surface. This was about more than just returning a car; it was about proving to myself, to my father, and perhaps even to Tristan, that I could handle the consequences of my actions.

I slid into the driver’s seat, the leather embracing me like a second skin. The key turned in the ignition with a satisfying click, and the engine roared to life, a symphony of mechanical precision that spoke of open roads and possibilities. For a moment, I let myself savor the sound, the sense of control it gave me.

But time was ticking, and there were things that needed to be done, explanations I needed. Carmen texted me, asking me if I was on my way, and I replied with a simple yes. With a deep breath, I put the car into gear and drove out of the garage, my mind focused on the task at hand.

The drive to my childhood home was one I could navigate in my sleep, each turn etched into my memory with the precision of a well-practiced dance. As I passed the landmarks of my youth—the old arcade where I first learned to bluff, the ice cream shop where I’d tasted the sting of betrayal—each sight stirred up ghosts that nipped at my heels, urging me forward. My father’s estate loomed ahead, the gates standing like silent sentinels guarding the world I left behind. I could almost see Silvio now, his salt-and-pepper hair an emblem of wisdom and deception, those eyes that could read my soul and still reveal nothing.

As I drove through the open gates, a shiver ran down my spine—not from fear, but from the electric thrill of stepping back into the lion’s den. This time, however, I was not the scared little girl he once knew. I was Adriana fucking Orsini, and my will refused to bend.

The estate swallowed Dad’s car whole, the grand edifice a stark reminder of the power that ran through its veins. I parked near the entrance, taking a moment to collect myself before facing what awaits inside. The decision to come here wasn’t easy, but it was necessary, and I would be damned if I let fear dictate my choices now.

“Alright, Ade,” I said in the quiet of the car. “Come on. Let’s go. You’ve done scarier things.”

But even as I killed the engine, I just didn’t know if that was true.

Chapter Thirty-Three: Tristan

I needed to figure out what the fuck my brother was up to.

I rapped on the door to Kieran’s apartment, harder than I probably should have. The dull thud of my knuckles against wood echoed down the empty hallway. No shuffling feet, no muffled curses of being woken up—nothing. “Kieran,” I called out, pressing my ear to the cold surface, but it was like talking to a void.

I pulled out my phone next, hitting the familiar contact card and waiting for the sound of his voice. Instead, I was met with the mechanical indifference of his voicemail. My thumb hovered over the end call button before I pressed it with more force than necessary, the frustration building inside me.

“Damn it, Kieran,” I muttered under my breath, slipping my phone back into my pocket. I knew I wouldn’t find him at home; Kieran was as predictable as he was enigmatic when it came to his disappearing acts, and if he’d met up with Silvio…fuck, I just really hoped he was alive.

I could have called my capos, but I didn’t want them to know I couldn’t find Kieran. If they sensed any discord, and we were dealing with a rat, they would jump on that quickly.

I would have to look for himself myself.

The Crooked Thorn pub was just a stone’s throw away from his place, nestled between a shuttered pawn shop and a neon-lit laundromat. Its sign creaked in the winter wind as I pushed through the worn wooden door, the noise inside slamming against me like a wave. The place was crowded, the air thick with chatter and the smell of stale beer.

“Tristan Callahan, as I live and breathe,” Madison drawled from behind the bar, her red lipstick a slash of defiance against the drab backdrop. “How does it feel to be the boss?”

“Bad,” I said, too quickly, then smiled at her as if I’d just told her the world’s funniest joke. “Sorry, Madison. Not here for that. Have you seen Kieran?”

“Oh, you’re looking for him?” she asked sweetly. “That makes two of us, Tristan.”

“I take it you haven’t seen him tonight?” I asked, scanning the sea of faces for any that belonged to Kieran.

She shook her head, strands of her blonde hair falling over one eye. “Haven’t seen Kieran. But tell him to call me back, will ya?”

“Sure, if I find him.” I replied, the lie easy on my tongue. Madison smirked, no doubt aware of the unlikelihood of Kieran returning her calls, even at my behest.

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