Page 31 of Velvet Betrayal
He looked nothing like Kieran. And exactly like him. Older, sharper, with grey dusting his temples and beard. Same cold light eyes, same impossible stillness. Tattoos curled around the backs of his hands, visible even under the cuffs of a navy suit. No tie. Top button undone. The kind of power play that would’ve felt ridiculous on anyone else. On Tristan, it just landed.
Kieran hesitated for half a second at the entry—just long enough to register. Then he moved, pulling out a chair near Tristan but not beside him, settling Rosie into the seat between them. I took the open spot across from Kieran, diagonal from Tristan.
“Ruby,” Tristan said. “It’s good to see you.”
No it wasn’t.
I didn’t say anything.
He sipped his coffee, eyes flicking to Rosie. “This must be your daughter,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “She looks just like you.”
Kieran, unbothered, poured Rosie more juice from the carafe. The server appeared, hands only shaking a little, and set down silverware. “Would you like to hear the specials, gentlemen—”
Tristan didn’t even look at him. “We’ll take the usual,” he said, and the server vanished.
As soon as we were alone, Tristan leaned in. “Kieran said there was urgency. That you needed help.”
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
I’d expected threats. Instead, he just watched me, all the usual Callahan bravado stripped away, leaving…urgency. In that moment, I truly believed he wanted to help us; that he saw us as family and he would protect us, just like Kieran said. Even the way his hand rested on the table was calculated—relaxed, but only because the other hand was ready to snap to violence if needed.
Violence in service of family.
Just like Kieran.
I could tell he was already doing the math: Rosie’s coloring, her jaw, the way she curled her little finger around the spoon. He’d reverse-engineered the whole situation before I’d evensat down. Kieran’s hand twitched when Rosie reached for the muffin basket, and Tristan didn’t miss it.
“I don’t want to be seen here, Mr. Callahan,” I said. “But the circumstances have left me no choice.”
“We can drop the formalities,” he replied, giving Rosie a look that was almost fond. “Considering your family’s position.”
Clearly, the Callahans didn’t operate on love or loyalty. What held them together was simpler—and harder to break. You could hate each other’s guts, but if someone else came for you? That was war.
Rosie seemed unfazed, either not listening or pretending not to. She was busy building a tower out of spoons and napkins, quietly draining her juice like this was any other Tuesday.
Beside me, Kieran didn’t say a word, but I could feel it in him—that bone-deep promise. He’d let the city burn before he let anyone touch us.
“Okay, Tristan,” I said. “Let’s skip the theater. Last time we spoke, you asked me not to pursue the DA role.”
“That’s not quite right. I asked you not to pursue my family if you became DA. Which you have. Congratulations.”
“Well, your brother,” I said, nodding to Kieran, “thinks there’s something bigger at play here than just your family’s interests.”
Tristan weighed my words, eyes tracking every syllable. He smiled, crow’s feet deepening. “I appreciate Kieran’s confidence in my intelligence, but if the threat isn’t coming from us, I doubt it’s significant.”
I wanted to call his bluff, but the truth was, I didn’t know. Not yet. My mind was a minefield, the urge to grab Rosie and run so strong it made my teeth hurt. But there was an old part of me—a mechanism I thought I’d broken—that wanted to win against this man, to out-maneuver the legend.
So I leaned in, elbows on the white linen, chin up. “Kieran says there’s surveillance. Not federal. Not standard. Something high-end, freelance. You know the market. Who could afford it?”
Kieran stayed quiet, eyes locked on his brother.
Tristan’s smile softened. He turned to Rosie. “What do you want for breakfast, darling?”
She didn’t hesitate. “French toast sticks.”
“My daughter loves those, too,” he said. “She’d eat nothing else if she could.”
Rosie giggled.
