Page 87 of False Heir

“Good. Fuck, that was horrible. I hate all of them.”

Kieran looked at me, and he started to laugh.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Adriana

Things were still tense between us–but not so tense we didn’t need to look after the twins.

We shuffled into the apartment, the hum of the city fading behind us as the door clicked shut. My hand instinctively went to my belly, still in awe of the life—or rather, lives—stirring within. “What do you think about Alexander for him?” I mused, dropping onto the couch and sinking into its embrace.

“Alexander,” Tristan echoed, pulling off his shoes and joining me. His lips quirked up in amusement. “Catherine and Alexander. You’re going for a royal theme?”

“Maybe.” My laugh was light, but the fatigue of the morning clung to me like a second skin. It was hard to believe our twins would be here in less than five months. “I just want them to have strong names.”

“Strong, huh?” He leaned back, arm draped over the backrest, watching me with those eyes that always seemed to see right through me. “How about Callum? It’s Irish, means ‘dove.’ A symbol of peace and all that.”

“Callum,” I repeated, rolling it around on my tongue. It wasn’t bad. “What does Tristan mean?”

“Means hot as fuck,” he said, winking at me.

I couldn’t help but smirk at his response. Even in these uncertain times, his cocky confidence remained a constant. “You’re an idiot,” I muttered, swatting at him playfully. He caught my hand and drew it to his lips, the warmth of his kiss seeping into my skin.

He let go of me.

“Today was a lot, wasn’t it?” I sighed, my body feeling every bit of the exhaustive ultrasound appointment we’d just come from. I kicked off my shoes and leaned back.

Tristan’s gaze dropped to my feet, and he frowned at the sight of my swollen ankles. “Let me help with that,” he said softly, getting down on one knee before me. His large hands gently cradled my foot, thumbs pressing into the tender arches with just enough pressure to ease the ache without causing pain.

“Thank you,” I murmured, a small smile playing on my lips as I watched him. The way he knelt, so attentive and caring, it almost felt like he could propose all over again. I really hoped he wouldn’t.

Our conversation drifted, inevitably, to the upcoming gang moot. I knew how these meetings went, the undercurrents of power plays and veiled threats. Tristan said it was next week, and I could tell he was worried about it.

And as much as I wanted to shield our little family from it, I also understood it was part of who we were—especially for Tristan, the heir to a legacy he had not asked for but was born into.

“Tristan,” I started, the words heavy with all the unspoken fears that came with carrying our twins. “This moot... it’s not just another meeting. It’s dangerous, and you know it.” My voice trembled, betraying my worry.

He looked up at me, his hands still on my feet, and his touch was like a promise—an echo of the vows we’d taken. “I know, Ade, I do.” His voice was steady, but I saw something flicker in his blue eyes. “But this is my right. It’s what my father prepared me for.”

“Your father isn’t here, Tristan,” I said softly, my heart aching for him. “You’re going to be a dad now. Our babies...” I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. “They need you alive, not just carrying on a name.”

He let out a breath, a silent acknowledgment of the weight of my words. Then he kissed the top of my foot gently before rising to sit beside me. “I’m Malachy’s son in every way that counts. This empire, these streets - they’re mine to protect. And I’ve got to be there to ensure our future is secure.”

“Even if it means risking the present?” I countered, searching his face for some sign of doubt, some hope that he might choose us over the legacy.

“Especially then,” he replied, his jaw set. “Because without that security, what kind of future will our children have?”

I wanted to argue, to fight against the fatalism in his tone, but instead, I leaned into his embrace, seeking solace in the familiar strength of his arms. He held me close, and for a moment, the dangers lurking beyond the walls of The Callahan Domain seemed distant, like shadows at the edge of a dream. But they were all too real, and as much as I wished otherwise, I knew Tristan wouldn’t—couldn’t—walk away from them.

And that scared the shit out of me.

If there was no way of getting him out of it, I needed to be in it with him.

“Tristan,” I murmured into the quiet of the room, my voice laced with a plea. “I need to be at the moot. It’s not just about you; it’s our children too. Their safety, our future—it depends on the decisions made there.”

He tensed beside me, his body like a coiled spring, ready to unleash the full force of his authority if needed. His blue gaze, usually so calm and assured, flickered with something I couldn’t quite place—fear? No, Tristan Callahan didn’t do fear. Concern, then, for what he couldn’t control.

“Adriana,” he started, his tone low and even. “You know I would burn down the world before letting anything happen to you or the twins. But that moot is no place for you—the risk...”

“Risk?” I cut in sharply, pulling back to meet his eyes squarely. “Our lives are built on risk. I keep telling you, I’m not some damsel, Tristan. I’m an Orsini. And I can handle more than you think.”

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