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There was a hint of humor at the end there, but maybe she wasn’t wrong.
Maybe I was devastated.
“Sure, I’ll be there.” The line went dead, and I stared at my phone, feeling a wave of anger wash over me.
No…he couldn’t just do this.
Toss me away like trash? I was Adriana Orsini, daughter of one of the most powerful criminal enterprises in Boston’s history.
He would see what happened to the Orsinis’ enemies.
I dialed Tristan’s number, my fingers trembling. Whatever had happened, I needed to hear it from him. After several rings, an automated message spoke to me, the robot voice annoyingly chipper.
“This number can’t be reached because the number you’re calling from has been blocked.”
What the fuck? It felt like a punch to the gut. How could he do this without even talking to me?
“Damn you, Tristan!” I muttered under my breath, my frustration boiling over.
As much as I wanted to confront him, I knew it would only lead to more trouble. Instead, I turned my attention to meeting Carmen, hoping we could find a way to salvage the situation. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to change, and not for the better.
The Callahans thought the war had been bad before.
The Callahans had never directly pissed off my dad.
It didn’t take me long to get dressed and ready. The drive to my childhood home passed by in a blur. My heart still pounded in my chest as I arrived at our parents’ house, the stately manor looming large before me. The pristine gardens and imposing facade did little to ease my anxiety, even though our childhood home, a grand mansion adorned with marble and intricate woodwork, was a place of refuge for us during turbulent times. I didn’t just need the comforts of home; I needed to talk to someone who would understand my frustration and offer guidance.
“Mom?” I called out, stepping into the grand foyer. My voice echoed off the marble floors and high ceilings, making me feel small and vulnerable. “Are you here?”
“Adriana?” Her voice drifted down the winding staircase, and soon she appeared, her warm smile a reassuring sight. Her long blonde hair was pinned up in a tight bun and she was wearing a flowing black silk robe over white trousers and a rose gold top. “Is everything okay, love?”
She kissed me on the cheek as she ushered me inside.
“Can we talk?” I asked, feeling the weight of my emotions bearing down upon me. She nodded, her concern etched into the lines of her face, and led me into the sitting room.
We settled on the plush sofa, the familiar scent of my mother’s perfume enveloping me like a comforting embrace. “What’s bothering you, Adriana?” she asked gently, placing a hand on my knee.
“Tristan,” I began, my anger simmering beneath the surface, “he’s backing out of the deal after I…agreed, and he won’t even give me an explanation. He blocked my number, Mom. What kind of person does that?”
My mother frowned, disappointment tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I wish I could tell you, baby. People can be unpredictable sometimes.”
“But it’s not just that,” I continued, my voice cracking with emotion. I couldn’t really tell her I’d slept with him–we were Catholics after all–but I was sure she knew. “I’ve trusted him, let him into my life, and now he’s just...throwing it all away. How am I supposed to make sense of that?”
“Sometimes there is no sense to be made,” she squeezed my hand, her voice soft. “The only thing you can do is accept the situation for what it is and move forward.”
I sighed, leaning my head against her shoulder. “I just can’t help but feel betrayed, you know? I thought he was different.”
“Trust is a difficult thing,” my mother said. “Once it’s broken, it can be nearly impossible to rebuild. But remember, you are strong, Adriana. You’ve faced challenges before and you’ve always come out on top.”
Her words offered a semblance of solace, but the uncertainty still gnawed at me. Would I ever understand Tristan’s motives? Could our relationship – or lack thereof – ever be repaired?
“Stay here tonight,” my mother suggested, sensing my internal struggle. “You need rest and support, and there’s no better place for that than home.”
My head was pounding, but even then, I could see there was no other choice. I leaned my head against her shoulder and smelled the scent of her shampoo, vanilla and roses.
“Alright,” I said. “Ugh, I’m so dizzy. I think I might have the flu.”
“All the more reason to stay,” my mom said.
