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“Let me think. A bunch of trophies from rowing competitions and a lot of Stephen King novels. Nothing too scandalous. Maybe some old condoms in my nightstand drawer.”
I laughed, leaning against the cool glass of the car window. “I’m sure a tour of your bedroom will be the highlight of my day,” I teased. “Maybe it’ll give me some insight into who you were before…all this.”
I waved a hand vaguely to encompass our life in the mafia.
Tristan’s expression schooled. “What do you mean? There was nothing before all this.”
“I mean before the responsibilities, before the...inheritance,” I clarified, mirroring his serious demeanor. “Who were you when you were just Tristan, not Tristan Callahan, mafia prince?”
He shook his head. “No, that was never a thing,” he said. “I was always that. Ever since I was a little boy.”
“I just thought...” I started, but then I shook my head, letting the unfinished sentence hang between us. Tristan glanced over at me, his blue eyes piercing.
“You thought I had a normal childhood?” He asked. His voice lacked the usual heat, replaced by a raw vulnerability. “Adriana, it was never normal. Not for me, not for Kieran, not even for Liam. We were born into this life, and we’ll likely die in it too.”
“If it’s any consolation,” I said softly, reaching to take his hand in mine. “I can relate.”
“At least you’re an accountant,” he replied. “I’m sure that’s…less complicated.”
“You’ve said I’m an accountant twice in two days, and I want you to know, I’m an actuary.”
His eyes widened, then he shook his head. “Honestly, I have no idea what that is.”
“Of course you don’t. Most people don’t,” I said with a chuckle, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s about risks and probabilities, mostly for insurance purposes.”
“For your dad? Why does a mafia king care about insurance?”
"It's not about insurance, exactly," I explained, averting my gaze to watch the cityscape roll by. "It's about understanding the risks and managing them. In our world, there are always threats and danger...I'm supposed to calculate those probabilities and help mitigate them. I analyze scenarios, anticipate threats, and use statistical models to advise on the best course of action. And I also keep the books, obviously.”
“Your dad’s mafia empire has charts and models?” Tristan asked, trying not to laugh.
“My dad is running a business. And people’s lives depend on it,” I told him flatly.
“I see,” Tristan murmured, squeezing my hand before releasing it to steer the car back into the flow of traffic. “So, you’re responsible for keeping us all alive.”
“Well, them. I have nothing to do with your op,” I replied, looking at him. His jaw was set in a determined line, his blue eyes fixed on the road ahead. He looked so focused, so sure. Strong, even.
“Maybe if you had, Malachy would still be alive.”
His words hung in the air, heavy with regret. I gazed at Tristan, studying his profile. He looked straight ahead, the raw pain evident on his face. My heart clenched at the sight. He had been carrying so much; the loss of Malachy had only added to his burdens.
“Don’t say that,” I murmured, reaching out to touch his arm gently. “What happened to Malachy...it wasn’t your fault, Tristan.”
“I should have never let you out of my sight. If he hadn’t tried to help you…Ade, I was so worried about you.”
“I’m okay,” I said, my hand on my belly. “We’re okay.”
He nodded, his gaze briefly flickering to my abdomen. I recognized the shadow in his eyes: fear cloaked in a strong exterior. He was trying to protect me, to shield me from the world he was born into and the life we were both living.
“I’m sorry, Adriana,” Tristan breathed, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.
“For what?” I asked, confused by his sudden guilt.
“For dragging you into this. For getting you pregnant. I could have been more careful,” he admitted.
“I mean, I was there. I could’ve been more careful, too.”
Tristan’s lips twitched, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners. “Mutually careless then,” he mused, his gaze flicking back to the road.
