Page 2 of Tristian (The Doherty Mafia)
My father held his hands up in surrender.
“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m not going to pry. I just wanted you to know that I’m here if you want to talk, Elsie.”
The truth was; I did want to talk to him. Ever since I was a little girl, it was my father whom I felt was the one person who truly understood me. Except, in this instance, I had no words to describe to him how I felt. The betrayal, the pain, the hopelessness. I didn’t think he’d understand because he wasn’t a twelve year old girl.
My father searched my eyes and I looked away.
“No?” he asked.
“What do you want me to say? You said Mom’s told you everything already.”
“But you haven’t.”
“I have nothing to add,” I snapped.
“What Sonya has done is not fair. It’s a bad move for a friend, and someday, she’s going to regret it. One day, she’s going to grow up and look back on your friendship and realize how stupid she was for pushing you away when you were the best friend she could’ve ever asked for.”
As much as I tried to ignore my father’s words and continue brooding; he had an effect on me. A positive effect.
My shoulders heaved and I breathed in deeply with emotion. I had to put the book down. The idea that Sonya would some day regret her actions, made me feel good about myself.
Then he put a hand over mine and smiled, looking deeper into my eyes.
“Don’t ever let anyone make you feel worthless, Elsie, because you are worth everything. Anybody with a brain in their head would know how special you are. And if they don’t then they’re not worth your time or your friendship or your love, someone else is.”
I threw myself at him and he wrapped me with his arms. I broke down for the first time since Sonya said those mean things to me. I cried on my father’s shoulder and he didn’t have to say anything more. He’d done his job.
Present Day
I thought about Dad as I stared out the window of the penthouse apartment in the kind of apartment building I’d never normally have access to. It had a fabulous view of the Hudson, of the rest of Manhattan. I was transfixed by the view and wrapped in thoughts of my father and everything I’d learned from him. I missed him. As confusing as those emotions felt right now.
I heard movement behind me, realizing Tristian was back in the room. He said he had to talk to his brother and he went to the other room to make the call.
In the few hours since the previous night I’d spent in Tristian Doherty’s company—the one thing I’d gotten to know about him was he was a man of few words.
Tristian was not a big talker. If he’d met my father, Dad would’ve encouraged him to come to terms with his emotions, to talk about his feelings, to open up. But my father wasn’t here, he’d never be here. And more importantly, Tristian Doherty would probably never appreciate the wisdom my father had to offer. He wasn’t that kind of guy.
I turned to look at him. He was focused on his phone, scrolling, typing, looking busy. There was no denying he was sexy. In the kind of way I’d never considered within-reach before.
Tall, muscular, dangerous, his arms covered in intricate tribal tattoos, his eyes so green and his jaws so sharp and chiseled, he actually looked like European royalty. Well, in a way, he kind of was.
“How was the phone call? What did your brother say?” I asked, making him look up at me.
It was like I was addicted to sinking into his eyes.
Tristian clenched his jaws and breathed in deeply. I sensed this wasn’t going to be good.
“He told me not to trust you,” he replied.
Two
Tristian
This wasn’t a situation I expected to find myself in. This chick, Elsie Harlow, she said her name was—now lived in my apartment. Until we figured out what to do with her.
The previous day had been a riot, and not the good kind. My brother, Brendan’s kid was nabbed by Aldo Baron and his men. The whole family was out looking for the kid and we just couldn’t locate him. The one thing Aldo was good at was hiding out—and because he was a fuckin’ pussy.
Brendan and Rosalie were freakin’ the fuck out because they didn’t know what would happen to their son, Davey. Brendan lost his shit and started burning down Aldo’s warehouses and holding cells. It was a bad move because it was exactly what Aldo wanted. He wanted our family to retaliate and make the first major move. Now the war between our families was undeniable and Aldo had every excuse for vengeance.
But the fact he’d held our nephew, Brendan’s son, made it all worth it. We were prepared to burn down everything, turn the whole city and the state upside down looking for that kid if we had to. But as it turned out—we didn’t have to.
