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Even in the dark, I could see Tristan consider this for a second.
“Fine,” he conceded with a sigh, rubbing his face with his hands. “But promise me you’ll be vague about where we are and what happened.”
I nodded, even though the pit in my stomach told me it was going to be easier said than done.
Tristan disappeared into a back room and I took the opportunity to ring my dad. “Ade?” he asked as soon as he picked up the phone. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay, daddy,” I replied. “Listen, I’m with…it doesn’t matter. You should know that I’m safe, okay? I just can’t be in the city for a little bit. But I’m totally fine.”
His silence said a lot.
“I promise I’m fine,” I went on. “I’m–”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you that, Dad,” I said, my heart hammering in my chest. “I promise, I’m okay. I’ll call you in the morning, alright?”
“Who are you with?”
My mouth went dry. “Tristan,” I said. I could’ve lied, but I knew he wouldn’t have believed me.
Silence. Complete, utter silence from the other end of the line. Then, a sigh. “Okay,” he said, and I had to strain my ears to hear him. The resignation in his voice gave me a pang of guilt, but I knew this was for the best. But I knew better than that. Silvio Orsini was never resigned. He was angry. And Tristan would feel his rage. “You stay safe, Adriana. You and your sister…you’re all I have.”
“I will, Dad,” I promised, my voice breaking a little. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
After hanging up, I leaned against the wall, feeling the cool texture of plaster against my back. Tristan reemerged from the backroom with a small LED lantern casting long shadows in the quiet space. I could see the worry lines etched deep on his handsome face.
“You okay?” he asked, setting the lantern down on an antique coffee table.
I nodded, not trusting my voice at that moment. I was safe, well, not dead—Tristan had ensured that—but my mind was still spinning with questions and fears. “That went about as well as it could have, I think,” I said.
He walked over to me slowly, his steps careful on the wooden floor before he took a seat beside me on the couch.
His blue eyes flicked over to me with a hint of worry. He handed me a steaming mug and I took it gratefully, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. Chamomile tea.
“Drink this,” he said, “It’ll help you calm down.”
I let out a shaky breath and took a sip of the soothing tea. “When did you make this? I thought there was no electricity here.”
Tristan shrugged slightly, leaning back against the worn couch cushions. “The stove’s gas,” he explained. “Ran into a bit of luck there.”
Silence filled the room again and I merely nodded, cradling the warm mug between my hands. The tea, just as Tristan had predicted, began to coax away some of my anxiety, leaving a slow wash of fatigue in its wake.
“Adriana,” Tristan broke the silence in his deep, soothing voice. “You should try to rest.”
“What about the lights?”
“I’ll sort the electricity out,” he said. “You might not see it from looking at me, but I’m handy.”
I managed a weak smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. “You’re not kidding,” I said, setting aside my cup and rubbing my temples with my fingers. The tension in my head was dulling, but it would take more than just tea to get it to subside completely.
He rose from the couch and moved around the small space, a look of familiarity crossing his features as he navigated. I watched as he disappeared into another room and reemerged with a blanket and pillow in tow. He placed them gently beside me on the couch before turning towards the kitchen again.
“Let me scrounge up some food,” he said. “You shouldn’t go to bed hungry.”
I nodded in agreement, still too mentally exhausted to verbalize a response. As his figure receded into the kitchen, I found myself staring at the dancing shadows cast by the lantern on the walls, my mind a whirlwind of worries and thoughts. I was safe for now, but the realization that someone had taken a hit out on me hung heavy in the air. On us. On my baby.
Fuck.
