Page 61 of Captive Bride

“I guess so.”

“And then you told me you ran into her at the hospital and she was wearing scrubs, so…I mean, I guess there’s a part of me that always knew they were stalking us, but I didn’t want to thinkabout it like that. But they had a chance to take us out there, right? When we were in the hospital or even when we were making our way to the car.”

I tensed in Tristan's lap, my mind racing. "You're right," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut. "They had multiple opportunities to take us out. So why didn't they?"

“Because they wanted to wait for the twins to be born. Because Bellamy wants them.”

My blood ran cold. The world seemed to tilt on its axis as Tristan's words sank in. I gripped his arms tighter, anchoring myself against the tide of fear threatening to overwhelm me.

"The twins?" I choked out, my voice barely above a whisper. "Bellamy wants our children?"

Tristan's arms tightened around me, his breath warm against my neck. "I think so," he said softly. "It's the only explanation that makes sense."

I closed my eyes, fighting back the nausea that rose in my throat. Our babies, barely a month old, already targets in this brutal world we inhabited. The thought was almost too much to bear.

"Why?" I managed to ask, though part of me didn't want to know the answer.

Tristan's chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. "Power," he said simply. "The next generation of Callahan and Orsini blood combined? They're a goldmine of potential influence."

“And if he kills us…”

I couldn't finish the thought. The horror of it choked me.

Tristan's arms tightened around me. "If he kills us, he could raise them as his own. Mold them into his perfect little soldiers. Rule Boston as long as he lives…and incidentally, take revenge on his brother.”

A sob caught in my throat. I turned in Tristan's lap, burying my face in his neck. His familiar scent grounded me as my mind reeled.

"We can't let that happen," I whispered fiercely.

"We won't," Tristan promised, his voice steel. "I'll die before I let Bellamy touch our children."

“So what do we do?”

I felt Tristan's chest rise and fall with a deep breath. His arms tightened around me protectively.

"We stay vigilant," he said quietly. "We don't let the twins out of our sight. And we prepare for the worst."

I pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. "And my father?"

Tristan's jaw clenched. "Adriana, if we tell Silvio, he'll go on the warpath. It could escalate things before we're ready."

"But if Bellamy's really after the twins, don't we need all the help we can get?" I argued.

"Your father's help comes with strings attached," Tristan countered. "You know that better than anyone.”

I did know. Growing up as Silvio Orsini's daughter had taught me that lesson all too well. But this was different. This was about our children.

"So what then?" I asked, frustration creeping into my voice. "We just sit here and wait for Bellamy to make his move?"

Tristan opened his mouth to answer me, but a distant siren wailed somewhere beyond the manicured lawns, and the sound sent a shiver down my spine—not one born of fear but of anticipation. The kind of primal alertness that comes from knowing danger is imminent but unseen.

“It’s okay,” Tristan said. “It's just an ambulance.”

What came next wasn’t.

The sound was like the earth itself splitting—a dull, distant roar that tore through the stillness of the late afternoon air. Tristan and I froze, our argument hanging suspended between us, unfinished and suddenly unimportant.

"Was that—?" I didn’t need to finish the question; the horror in Tristan's eyes said everything.

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