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I picked up my head as the home system alerted us that someone had arrived at the driveway. “What kind of surprise?” I asked as I looked at the display on the TV, showing us the camera feed from outside. “Because that looks a hell of a lot like my mother’s car.”
Chapter Two: Adriana
“Your mother is here,” Tristan said, his voice strangled. He turned to look at me. “It’s like four in the morning. Why is your mother here?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, panic quickly setting in. My mind was still reeling from our intimate encounter, and the abrupt shift to this new crisis was jarring. I pulled on the tattered remains of my gown, trying to maintain some semblance of modesty. “I’ll handle this.”
“Okay, because…”
“I know. My mom can’t see us like this, she can’t know about...the body,” I stammered, pulling Tristan’s discarded shirt over my head. It fell around me like a tent, the hem brushing my thighs. But at least I was covered.
Tristan straightened up his clothes. “Alright, we need a plan,” he said, running a hand through his tousled hair in frustration. “I’ll take care of the body.” His gaze met mine, holding it steady even as his expression remained impassive. “Keep your mother distracted.”
The knocking on the door echoed down the corridor, disturbing the silence that had fallen over us. I could see Tristan flinch at the sound, his instincts screaming at him to take action. But it was my mother on the other side of that door. My responsibility.
“I’ve got this,” I assured him, forcing a smile onto my face as I reached for the doorknob. “Just...do what you need to.”
He nodded, his eyes grave as he watched me walk away. I could feel his worry for me, tangibly heavy in the air. It was a concern that ran deep, a fear for my safety that intermingled with his own sense of duty and obligation.
I grabbed my coat from the coat hanger next to the door, slung it over my shoulders, and buttoned up the first two buttons. I opened the door then headed out to meet my mother, ignoring the cold winter air seeping into my bones.
“Adriana!” my mom exclaimed as she got out of the car. She swept me into a tight hug, then pulled away from me, looking me up and down. “Are you okay?”
“Of course, Mama,” I replied with a forced laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I had your father set up an alarm link for the Callahan security system,” she replied. “I got a text message that said it had been breached.”
I cocked my head. I needed to call her out on that, but not quite yet. “And you couldn’t, I don’t know, call?”
She pursed her lips, her eyes scanning the dimly lit yard. “I tried your phone, Adriana. You didn’t pick up.”
“I was...sleeping, Mama,” I explained, my mind racing for an excuse. “And Tristan was making sure everything was fine. It must have been a false alarm.”
She frowned then, concern written all over her face. “I hope so,” she muttered, glancing at the house with unease. “This life...it’s dangerous Adriana. I hate that you’re a part of it.”
A part of me longed to tell her everything that had just happened, to drop the façade of a normal night’s sleep interrupted by a surprise visit from my mother. But I couldn’t. For her safety and mine.
“Why don’t we go inside to the garage?” I suggested, trying to steer her gaze away from the house, away from the dark secrets it kept. “It’s freezing out here.”
“I would prefer a hot drink if—“
“It’s your lucky day, Mama,” I cut her off, plastering on a bright smile. “I was just about to make some hot cocoa when you knocked.”
She shot me an appraising look. “You’re up to something Adriana Orsini.”
“Absolutely not,” I said, hoping my voice carried a convincing note of innocence. “Just can’t sleep since I got pregnant. Let’s go in through the garage, I—“
But it was pointless. My mom knew something was up and she was walking past me and in the door. I turned around to follow her, but she was already practically sprinting down toward the living room, where the carnage was.
Tristan wouldn’t have had a chance to hide the evidence of the attack quite yet.
“My god, Mama, would you please slow down? You’re going to—“ I faltered as I followed her into the living room.
My heart pounded in my chest as I raced after her, praying that Tristan had managed to at least partially conceal the grisly scene. In the span of seconds, I was able to take in the disarray of the room–scattered cushions, overturned furniture, and a large dark stain on our polished wooden floorboards. And there, just slightly out of sight behind the grand piano, a shrouded mound under a hastily thrown blanket.
The breath hitched in my throat at the sight, but I forced my feet forward. My mother was standing stock-still in the middle of the chaos, her eyes wide with shock and fear. The words stuck in my throat as I tried to form a plausible explanation for the chaos.
Her gaze snapped to me then, and I witnessed a myriad of emotions flash through her eyes: confusion, fear, realization. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, seemingly at a loss for words.
