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“Mama,” I said.
Tristan, whose face was smeared with blood and I had only just realized, stepped out from the kitchen with a black plastic bag in hand. “Mrs. Orsini,” he said, stopping in his tracks. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Her gaze flew to Tristan, her shock deepening at the sight of him. Her eyes flickered to the bag in his hand, then quickly away. I saw realization dawn on her face and felt a pang of guilt. I might have grown up in this world, but I knew my mother.
She had tried to talk me into going far away to go to college. She wanted me out of this life.
This was not a world my mother wanted me to be part of, and yet here I stood, right in the middle of it.
“Tristan,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. Silence hung heavy between us all, so thick I could almost taste it.
“Mom,” I began, intending to explain everything from our perspective, but her gaze silenced me. An understanding had passed between us, one that didn’t need words to express.
“All things considered, Tristan, you can probably call me Alessia,” she said.
Tristan’s eyes widened at the informality before he nodded slowly, glancing between me and my mother. “Alright, Alessia it is then.”
His voice held a hint of unease that only served to heighten my own anxiety. Shoving my hands in the oversized pockets of the coat, I tried to appear casual, even as my heart pounded against my rib cage.
“I suppose there is no point in asking what happened here,” she started, her hand gesturing vaguely around the ruined room.
“Mama—“ I began, but she held up a hand to silence me.
“You don’t have to explain, Adriana. I may not like this world you’ve chosen to be part of, but I am not naïve about what it involves.”
I wanted to say that was rich coming from her, but I knew it would probably earn me a slap.
Tristan glanced at me, the faintest hint of a smile curving his lips. It was a weary smile, one that didn’t quite reach his piercing blue eyes. He met my gaze, his stare full of questions, and I gave him a slight nod, signaling that it was okay.
“Let’s clean up,” Alessia said finally, rolling up the sleeves of her coat and eyeing the black bag in Tristan’s hand. The commanding tone of her voice was familiar, reminiscent of the countless times she’d dealt with crises at our home growing up. She may not have liked the violent side of our family’s business, but she had never shied away from the messy aftermath.
I swallowed hard, an unexpected lump forming in my throat as I watched her take charge. There was a certain comfort in seeing her take control, even in the midst of chaos. Her confidence seemed to infuse me with a sense of calm that I hadn’t felt since…fuck, since when? It seemed like forever ago.
“Alright,” I replied, forcing a small smile. But it felt wrong on my face, a mask I could barely maintain.
As we set about cleaning the room, I was struck by the surreal nature of what was happening. Here we were, bustling around the room like any ordinary family would after a dinner party - only instead of washing dishes and sweeping up crumbs, we were scrubbing away blood stains and disposing of a body.
Tristan, with his strong and steady hands, worked with a quiet determination. His brows were furrowed in deep thought. Whether he was thinking about how to handle this particular mess or how to protect our family from future ones, I couldn’t tell. But as I watched him, I felt a surge of love for him that almost brought tears to my eyes.
“Adriana, darling, do me a favor and put on a pot of coffee,” she instructed, her tone steady despite the chaos around us. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“Yes, Mama,” I replied automatically, tearing my gaze away from her. The sight of my mother here, in our damaged home amidst the aftermath of our deadliest threat yet...it was disorienting. Shaking off a fresh wave of worry, I made my way to the kitchen.
The clatter of dishes and trickle of water from the kitchen tap felt oddly comforting as I busied myself making coffee. Normalcy in a night that was anything but. As I moved around the familiar kitchen of the Callahan estate, Tristan’s voice drifted over the hum of the tap water, his tone low and measured as he spoke to my mother. I strained to hear their conversation but could only pick out snippets, enough to understand that my mom was offering him advice on how to handle the current crisis.
“…always protect family…” I heard my mother’s voice say, her tone unwavering.
Tristan’s reply was lost in the buzz of the coffee maker. I squinted through the open doorway, watching as my maybe-soon-to-be husband nodded while wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
Despite the situation, a brief wave of warmth washed over me. It was a stark reminder of our shared lives - their intensity and their danger. But such thoughts were a luxury I couldn’t afford at the moment.
“Make it strong, Adriana,” I could hear my mother calling from the living room. “We need all the clarity we can get.”
“Yes, Mama,” I responded, adding a few more scoops of coffee to the machine.
Turning back to the coffee maker, I forced my attention on the mundane task at hand, welcoming its normalcy in an otherwise chaotic evening. The aroma of coffee filled the air, grounding me to reality as I watched the dark liquid stream into the pot. At least something was working as it should tonight. I glanced over to the clock on the wall, its hands declaring that it was nearly five in the morning.
I could feel the heaviness in my chest as I looked around the kitchen—the one place in this house that still felt like a safe haven. The one place where the violent world outside could not penetrate...until now.
