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“But—“ I started, only to be cut off by his continued explanation.
He turned to look at me, his expression darkened. “Tristan’s mother, Kieran’s, Liam’s... Do you even know what happened to them?” he asked, an edge creeping into his voice.
I shook my head against his shoulder, confusion and fear tangling together. “I don’t know. And I don’t need to know. Tristan isn’t Malachy. He’s not his father…”
A laugh, humorless and sharp, burst from him. “Malachy killed every single one of them—mercilessly, with blows. That’s the blood that runs in Tristan’s veins.”
“Tristan isn’t his father,” I repeated, though my voice now felt weak.
“How long, Adriana,” he asked. “How long until he beats you black and blue? Until you’re no longer able to talk to your mother or your sister? Until you learn what foundation looks best to cover bruises? Don’t be naive, child. We’re all our parents.”
The words hit me like a physical blow as I moved backwards to get away from him. “I’m nothing like you.”
He smiled. “I know,” he replied. “You’re just like your mother.”
“Daddy, be reasonable–”
“I am being reasonable,” he said. “If I hadn’t been, I would have hanged him by his balls in front of our house the moment he disrespected you.”
“Okay,” I said. “Okay. I see why you’re upset. I see it. Let me talk to him. Let me–”
“Absolutely not,” he replied. “Until I say it’s safe, you stay here.” His voice brooked no argument. “And if I have to tie you down myself, I’ll do it. For your safety. For my grandchildren’s safety.”
“Sounds like safety is just another word for control,” I spat out, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear as I backed away from him. My father’s eyes narrowed, the warmth that once danced there extinguished by his resolve.
“Adriana, you don’t understand the danger you’re in. It’s not just you anymore; it’s also the children’s.” His voice was a low growl, filled with a desperation that only fueled my defiance.
I squared my shoulders, feeling the baby bump against my shirt, a silent reminder of the life growing inside me. “I won’t be caged because you’re afraid, Dad.”
His hand shot out, swift as a viper, gripping my arm with a firmness that left no room for debate. Panic fluttered in my chest, but I met his gaze head-on. “Let go of me,” I demanded, my own grip tightening on his wrist.
“Ade, please. Just listen to me!” he pleaded, but his words were like wind against stone, failing to erode my resolve.
We wrestled for a second, but he was too strong for me. He pushed me away from his body.
“Stay here! It’s for the best,” my dad’s voice was heavy with a pain that mirrored my own.
I stumbled backward, catching myself on the edge of a table as I regained my balance. My heart ached, the physical distance between us was nothing compared to the emotional chasm that had opened up. He walked up to the door and I followed him with my gaze, but he was too quick for me to slip past him.
The door slammed shut with a resounding thud, the sound echoing through the empty room and in the hollow of my chest.
“Dad!” I pounded on the door with both fists, the wood unforgiving under my hands. “You can’t do this to me!”
But even though I couldn’t really hear his footsteps, I could tell he was getting further and further away.
I was trapped.
Alone.
And Tristan was in danger.
And there was nothing I could do.
Chapter Nineteen: Tristan
The leather of the steering wheel groaned under my white-knuckled grip as I sped through the city streets. Kieran sat shotgun, his dark hair a stark contrast against the gray fabric of the car interior. The silence between us was heavy, laden with the tension of unanswered questions and unspoken fears.
“So…maybe it’s time I bring this up. You know that Killian has been playing us,” Kieran finally broke the silence, his voice low and grim. “He’s taking orders, but they ain’t from any of us.”
