Page 46 of Shattered Crown
He leaned against the doorframe, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the light, his eyes holding a seriousness that made my heart clench. “Adriana, baby, it doesn’t matter what you want now,” he said softly, yet there was steel in his tone. “This will be the right thing to do.”
“Right for who?” I shot back, my hands balling into fists at my sides. I was vaguely aware of how uncomfortable I was in this silk gown, not even wearing slippers. But at least the heating was on, coming through the floorboards. My dad must have put it on at some point.
Which was nice. It would have been nicer if he wasn’t holding me against my will.
His silence was heavy, and I could practically feel the danger that emanated from him, the same danger that had always lurked beneath his warm smile and gentle demeanor. As he looked at me, not with anger but with something akin to pity, realization dawned on me with a horrifying clarity.
“You’re going to kill him.” My voice broke, the words tumbling out like a verdict.
“Adriana...” he began, but I cut him off.
“Was it you? The break-in at the Callahan estate—was that your doing?” I demanded, my brain connecting dots I wished remained scattered.
He nodded once, a simple tilt of his head that held the weight of confession. “Yes, it was me. And your mother knew because I told her, not because of any security system.”
My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the sound of the waves crashing against the shore below us. Everything made a twisted kind of sense now—the secrets, the whispers, the fear that clung to my family like a second skin.
“Daddy, you can’t just—“ I stopped, my argument dying on my lips as I saw the resolve in his eyes.
“Adriana, you’ll understand one day,” he said, moving past me to open the door. “You’re an Orsini, not a Callahan. Remember that.”
I stood in the doorway, my heart aching as the reality of my dad’s words sank in. The salty breeze tousled my hair, but it couldn’t cool the burning betrayal that seethed within me. The father of my children being pushed away not just by fate or circumstance, but by design—by the very man who swore to protect me.
“Dad,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, yet it was enough to halt his departure. “You’re trying to erase Tristan from our lives, from the lives of his own children.” My hand instinctively cradled the swell of my belly, a protective gesture for the life growing inside of me. “I don’t appreciate it. Not one bit. I love him.”
He turned back to face me, his expression unreadable. “Adriana,” he began, his tone softening, yet I could sense the undercurrent of dismissal. “Tristan took you against your will, without a second thought for what you wanted. And if it weren’t for your children,” he gestured toward my stomach, “he would have left you to pick up the pieces alone. You think I don’t know how he used you? You think I don’t know how he tried to discard you?”
His face grew red with anger.
“He can use any cheap whore to get off,” he said. “Not my daughter.”
I flinched at the harsh reminder of the past, the memories I fought so hard to reconcile with the love I now felt. “That’s not fair.”
“I don’t know if you have noticed this, Ade, but none of this is fair. Now listen to me,” he continued, stepping closer. His eyes searched mine, looking for something I wasn’t sure I could give. “You are beautiful, clever, and resourceful. You are an Orsini,” he emphasized, as if invoking the family name held some magical power to heal all wounds. “You can do so much better than Tristan Callahan.”
I shook my head, tears threatening to spill over. “But I don’t want better, Daddy. I want him.”
He sighed, and for a moment, I saw the flicker of compassion in his eyes—a fleeting glimpse of the father I once knew before the mafia kingpin facade snapped back into place.
“You shouldn’t,” he said. “And you should trust me. This is for the best.”
The words sounded hollow, even to him, I suspected. But there was no room for argument; my father had made up his mind, and in his world, his word was law.
“Daddy, wait,” I called out, my voice barely above a whisper as panic clawed at my chest. He didn’t stop, his silhouette commanding and resolute against the sunlight that spilled through the open doorway.
“Once the twins are here, and they’re Orsinis instead of Callahans,” he said without turning around, “you’ll understand. You’ll see why all of this is necessary.”
I couldn’t let him leave me with just that—a prophecy I couldn’t fathom, a future that twisted my insides with dread. Adrenaline lent me strength I didn’t know I had, and before I could second-guess myself, I was moving. My body acted on impulse, driven by a mixture of fear and desperation. I leapt onto his back, my arms looping clumsily around his neck. “I don’t understand,” I gasped out. “I will never understand this. You can’t go, you can’t do this to me, you can’t hurt him…”
It all felt like nonsense. I knew I could do nothing to convince him. Once he had an idea in his head, it was too late.
He grunted, the sound mingling with surprise and irritation. His body tensed beneath me, muscles coiled like steel cables. He tried to peel me off, but it was half-hearted; he knew I was pregnant, he knew I was vulnerable. And yet, even in his annoyance, his touch was paradoxically gentle—a strange tenderness in his restraint.
My dad was a strong man, and my assault had done…nothing. Annoyed him, maybe. Absolutely nothing else.
“Daddy, please,” I begged, feeling the strain in my limbs. This wasn’t just about me anymore. There were two other lives, the Callahan Orsini children, caught in this tumultuous storm.
He shook me off as if I was just an annoying inconvenience. He paused and turned his head slightly, so I could see the profile of his face, the jawline set in a hard line. “Ade,” he said softly, “you must understand. Everything I do, I do to protect you.”