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If I was going to die, the last thing I would do was get Adriana out of her father’s grip.
I needed to make sure my children didn’t live under the shadow of that tyrant.
The wind was howling like a banshee, and the rain hit me sideways as I stood at the base of what I hoped was the house Adriana was in, heart pounding with purpose. The wood under my feet was slick, soaked from the storm that had been thrashing Boston. I could only hope that Adriana was up there, in that house on stilts. If she was, nothing was going to stop me from getting to her.
“Damn stairs,” I muttered, staring at the mangled metal that once led up to her balcony but now lay twisted and useless, a victim of the storm’s fierce temper. There was that…and the iron wrought gate that was far too large to scale.
I knew that this was Silvio’s doing and that made me feel like murdering him right then and there.
But I couldn’t focus on that right now.
There wasn’t a second to lose; the tide was rising, threatening to swallow the shore whole.
I clenched my fists. My chest tightened with a mix of fear and resolve. It wasn’t just the cold that made me shiver, it was the thought of her being alone, trapped in that lofty prison while the tempest raged around us.
At least I hoped she was alone. If Silvio was up there, doing who-knows-what to hurt her…fuck.
“Okay, Tristan, think,” I urged myself. There was another way. It was risky, madness maybe, but she was worth every peril. I stared at the rocky scree below the stilts, each stone slick and treacherous, daring me to make a wrong step. The shoreside wasn’t any friendlier, waves crashing against it, hungry for something to drag into the icy depths.
I climbed down toward the beach until I was close to what looked like the shortest stilt holding up the house. I could feel Kieran’s gaze on me, watching me from right outside the car.
The tide was coming in fast, water licking at the heels of my boots, reminding me of its presence. I couldn’t help but think of Adriana, her sharp wit probably cutting through the danger of the situation, her keen eyes watching the storm with the same intensity she watched over her troubled family. If she could see me now, what would she say? Would she see the desperation in my actions, or the love that drove them?
“Focus, Tristan,” I scolded myself. I couldn’t afford distractions, not with the freezing grip of winter clawing at me, trying to claim me as its own. Adriana needed me, and I wasn’t about to let her down, not now, not ever.
My breath came out in white puffs as I scaled the stilt, the sea spray mixing with the rain, coating my face with a salty chill. But the cold in my bones was nothing compared to the fire in my chest, the burning need to reach her. I wouldn’t let the Callahan name down, nor the woman who somehow managed to steal the guarded heart of a man more accustomed to solitude than grand gestures.
And my children…I wouldn’t let my psychopathic father-in-law to be to hurt my children.
“Almost there,” I grunted, pushing past the biting wind and the numbing cold. My arms ached, my legs begged for solid ground, but my spirit... my spirit soared with the thought of holding Adriana in my arms, away from this storm, away from the dangers that awaited her below. She might struggle with trust, might question my every move, but I’d climb through a thousand storms if it meant proving my loyalty to her.
If it meant helping her.
If it meant getting her out.
I pulled myself up, muscles straining, and my foot slipped. My heart lunged into my throat as I dangled precariously, dangling over a drop that didn’t forgive mistakes. I had managed to climb up just high enough to make sure it would be suicide if I fell.
For a second, I stared down at the churning darkness below, where the ocean roared its hunger for me.
“Tristan?” The voice cut through the chaos of the storm—a beacon in the tempest. Adriana. She’d seen me.
And she was here. She was here, after all. I could get her out.
“Adriana!” I shouted back, unsure if she could even hear me over the howling wind and the relentless drumming of rain.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Her figure leaned precariously over the balcony rail, her dark hair whipping around her face like a shadow come to life. The silk skirt whipped around her legs.
“Don’t die for me, Tristan! Just go back!” There was a tremor in her voice, the fear for me nearly tangible even amidst the thundering skies.
“I’m not planning on it. I’m coming for you!” I yelled, but the words got swallowed by a peal of thunder, and I wondered if she heard them. I hoped she did because I meant every damn syllable.
“Come on!” I growled to myself, or maybe to the storm, challenging it to try harder, because I wouldn’t be stopped. Not now. Not ever. Adriana Orsini was worth every perilous inch of this ascent. And as the icy rain drenched me through, chilling me to the core, my resolve only hardened.
“Almost there,” I repeated like a mantra, each word a promise to the woman who awaited me, a woman whose sharp wit and strong intuition had somehow seen behind the mask of the mafia prince, to the man within, a man willing to scale the impossible for her.
But it didn’t matter how much my mind wanted this.
This was precarious and I was getting tired. My hands couldn’t get much purchase on the white paint of the stilts, which were slippery with water now.
