Page 85 of False Heir

The aroma of fried potatoes and over-processed sausage mingled with the scent of black coffee—strong and bitter, just how we needed it.

“So you aren’t going to beat the shit out of me?” Kieran asked.

“Not right now,” I said.

“Tristan, we can’t put this off much longer,” Kieran said, his voice low as he unwrapped a hash brown with meticulous care, his dark eyes meeting mine.

“Trust me. I would love to beat the shit out of you.”

“Ha-ha,” he said. “No, I meant, deal with everything that’s going on.”

“I know.” I took a bite of my Egg McMuffin, the flavors dull against my tongue. “But right now, Boston’s a powder keg, and we’re holding the match. We need to play this smart, or we’re both in the ground.”

Kieran nodded, taking a sip of his coffee, the silence stretching between us like the calm before a storm. “And the Rossis?” he asked, breaking the quiet.

I leaned back, feeling the weight of the world pressing on my shoulders. “The Rossis are trouble, and their buddy Silvio Orsini has it out for me. That’s not news. But we can’t let paranoia dictate our moves.” I watched him, gauging his reaction.

“Silvio’s vendetta is no secret. I was trying to convince him to back off, for what it’s worth,” Kieran replied, his gaze unwavering. “It’s not paranoia when they’ve got the means and the motive to take you out.”

“It isn’t worth much,” I said. “But this is exactly why we need to stay ahead of them. We’ll handle the Rossis, but it’s gotta be strategic. No more rash decisions. And you always keep me in the loop.”

“Since when did you become the voice of reason?” Kieran quirked an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips despite the gravity of our conversation.

“Since I had to keep your reckless ass alive,” I shot back, a half-smile tugging at my own mouth. It felt good to have a moment of levity, even if it was fleeting.

“Fair point.” Kieran finished his hash brown, tossing the empty wrapper onto the table. “So what’s the plan?”

“We meet, we talk, we find a way to keep this city from turning into a war zone.” I stood up, tossing my trash into the bin and feeling Kieran’s eyes on me. “And we do it without starting the war ourselves.”

“Sounds like a day at the office,” he said, standing to join me. His tone was light, but the concern in his eyes told me he understood the stakes.

“Another day in paradise.” The words left my lips dryly as I made my way to his kitchen sink, ready to wash my hands.

“Where do we hold this moot?” Kieran asked, his gaze scanning the street outside his window as if considering every shadowy alcove and silent alleyway.

“Somewhere neutral. Somewhere unexpected.” I felt the weight of leadership settle over my shoulders, a mantle I wore with reluctant necessity. “We need a place where we can talk without looking over our shoulders every second.”

“Like one of those abandoned warehouses down by the docks?” He suggested, but I could tell by his tone he wasn’t convinced.

“Too obvious,” I countered. “And too exposed. We’d be sitting ducks if someone wanted to take a shot at ending the Callahan line.”

Kieran washed his hands too, and I helped him clean up the mess in the kitchen while we spoke.

“Okay, so what about somewhere public then? Somewhere the cops would be patrolling regularly.” Kieran’s mind was already ticking through possibilities, his strategy as sharp as ever despite his casual demeanor as he finished wiping down his kitchen bench.

“Like where? The rare books room at the Boston Public Library?” I couldn’t help but chuckle at the image of gangsters nestled between ancient tomes and priceless manuscripts.

“Hey, don’t knock it. It’s quiet, it’s cultured...” He grinned, clearly enjoying the absurdity of the idea. “Imagine the look on the Rossis’ faces when they realize they’re walking into a history lesson.”

“Let’s not give them any more reasons to think we’ve gone soft,” I said, shaking my head in amusement. I opened his fridge to grab a cold fizzy water and handed one to him. “No, it has to be somewhere that says ‘Callahan’ without screaming it. Somewhere that’s ours but doesn’t belong to us.”

“An abandoned rooftop, then? We’ve got a few of those in our back pocket.” Kieran’s suggestion had merit; the cityscape could serve as a neutral backdrop for delicate negotiations.

“Could work. But we’d need to ensure it’s secure. No surprises.” I pondered the logistics, the gears in my brain grinding to churn out a plan that could keep us one step ahead of disaster.

“Let me handle that part,” Kieran offered, a steely resolve hardening his usually inscrutable features. “I’ll make sure it’s tighter than Fort Knox.”

“Alright,” I agreed, knowing that with Kieran on security detail, we’d have the best chance at a peaceful resolution. If I could trust him. If he was to be believed. I couldn’t deal with this too, not right now. “Set it up. I’ll start making calls.”

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