Page 83 of False Heir

"Tristan," he finally said, his voice carrying an edge of desperation that made me listen despite myself. "You have to understand—I did it for us. For the family."

“You did what for us?” I asked, cautiously.

“All of it,” he said, shaking his head and then grabbing it. “Fuck.”

"By going behind my back?" My frustration mounted with each word. "By getting involved in whatever mess you've dragged us into?"

"Trust me,” he said.

“I can’t,” I said. “Not after you’ve been this sketchy. Convince me.”

Kieran nodded slowly, his eyes meeting mine with a resolve that told me he was ready to bring everything into the light. Whatever came next, I braced myself, knowing our lives were about to shift beneath our feet once more.

"Alright, here it is," Kieran began, his voice steady but his hands betraying him as they fidgeted with the silverware on the table. "I've been in contact with Bellamy."

Bellamy Callahan. Our estranged uncle's name hit me like a sucker punch. "Bellamy?" I repeated, disbelief painting my tone. "Why go to him? He's been out of the game for years. I mean, he lives in Dublin…”

I trailed off. Kieran fidgeted with the wrapped of the hash browns.

"Because," Kieran said, pausing as if weighing each word before letting it escape, "he knows things about our past that have been buried. Things that could change everything."

"Like what?" My curiosity piqued, but the undercurrent of dread was quick to follow.

"About Dad. About your dad. About how he might be…anyway, it doesn’t matter right now." His eyes didn't waver from mine, and something about the way he said 'your dad' sent a cold lance through my chest. "Our conversations...they made me question if Malachy really is your biological father."

The room spun for a second, and I had to grip the back of a chair to keep myself steady. "You're telling me that our uncle, who hasn't been around for over a decade, has suddenly decided to drop a bombshell about my paternity? And you’ve been keeping it hidden from me?”

“No,” Kieran said. “I planted the box when I installed the security system. I figured you’d figure it out.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. And you couldn’t just tell me?”

"Tristan, I—" Kieran started, but I held up a hand to stop him.

"No," I said firmly, my head shaking as I tried to reject the very notion. "Malachy raised me. He's my father. Blood doesn't change that."

"Blood might not," Kieran admitted softly, "but truth can. And we both know how much truths can cost in our line of work."

"Damn it, Kieran!" I exploded, slamming my fist against the table, making the paper fast food containers rattle. "Why stir up old ghosts? Why now?"

"Because," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "sometimes the past refuses to stay dead. And sometimes...we need to face it head-on to survive what's coming."

"Survive what?" My voice was a snarl, a lifetime of loyalty to the Callahan name writhing inside me like a cornered animal. "What's coming, Kieran?"

He looked at me, his usual composure fraying at the edges. "The chaos, Tristan. The city's a powder keg, and our family's right in the middle of it. You needed to know—who you are, where you come from—before everything comes crashing down."

"Are you saying this mess with the other gangs...Bellamy coming from Dublin to Boston...is all because of me?" I couldn't keep the incredulity from my tone. The idea was ludicrous, offensive even.

“No, it’s obviously because of Dad,” Kieran said.

“But it has to do with me.”

“Yeah,” he said. "It's not because of you, but it concerns you more than anyone else. And I didn't realize talking to Bellamy would set off this chain reaction."

"Great," I said sarcastically, "just great. So now we've got an Irish mobster on our doorstep because you had a chit-chat?"

Kieran didn't answer immediately, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting mine again. "I didn't think—he wasn't supposed to come here. But when he heard about Dad dying, well…And then there were the rumors…”

"Rumors that you confirmed for him?" My heart pounded against my ribcage, fury and something much worse—fear—laced every word.

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