“Already sent to your phones,” August’s dad replies. His unusually curt tone causes my gaze to narrow.
Rage. Each Council member’s face is set in a stony mask. Their false calm would be convincing if I didn’t know the signs.
“I don’t think it needs to be said, but I want this problem dealt with without mercy,” Emma’s father commands, clenching his jaw.
“What did you find out?” I demand. Something’s up, and they’re trying to hide it.
My father turns to me, and I see it-the solitary flare of his nostrils. “The presumed death of Senator Baker revealed their plan to take Emma, Zoey, and Aidan. And their??”
I sit forward, my hackles rising as I watch the normally stoic facade of Donald Calloway crack.
Clearing his throat, my father continues, “They planned to sell them.” He’s still not saying everything, but it’s enough.
“To fucking who,” Karl snarls. “Which dumb fuck is about to discover their beast is no match for our monsters?”
It doesn’t matter what name is said. It won’t exist when we’re done.
The Council sees it-the sons they’ve been molding-the ones who’ll assume the position of power. They see it and know we’re ready. It’s only then Emma’s father says, “Serge Volkov.”
EMMA
“How are my babies three months old already,” Shay sighs, fawning over the twins while they sleep.
“Fourteen weeks, three days, and twelve hours. But who’s counting?”
Whirling around, she whisper-yells, “You obviously, bitch.”
I roll my eyes and tug her from their room, waving as I drag her past Reign and Elias while they guard the nursery.
Call me paranoid if you want to, but I won’t chance my babies’ lives on the false hope that we’ve seen the last of Samantha Davenport. That bitch is the definition of stage-five clinger, oblivious to the fact she lost.
“I miss you,” I say as we sit on the couch in the den.
We’re still staying at Rowan’s house, which I’m glad for. It would be nice to have our own space where we don’t have to worry about a random unannounced drop-in from a grandparent. But for now, I’d decline if the offer to move out were on the table. This is the safest place for us to be.
“Didn’t I offer to move in?” Shay quips, arching a brow.
Laughing, I retort, “I believe your exact words were, ‘My suitcases are packed, and the movers are here. Just let me know when you’re ready.”’
“You hehe, like you don’t know I’m serious.”
“That’s exactly what makes it even funnier,” I chuckle when my phone vibrates.
It lights up with three message notifications
GW: Afternoon Ry! I have a few things I want to discuss with you.
GW: Can you meet me in my office, please?
“Oh, hold on,” I tell Shay as I type out my reply to Mrs. Calloway. “It’s Rowan’s mom. Let me just shoot off a quick text.”
Me: Afternoon! ??
Me: Sure, I’m with Shay. Give me five, and I’ll be right down.
“Everything okay?” Shay asks when I stand, sliding my cell back into my pocket.
“Yeah. She wants to talk to me. It probably has something to do with Aidan’s and Zoey’s birth announcement party,” I answer, rising from the couch. “I shouldn’t be very long if you want to wait.”
Yet another weird Fraternitas tradition. Most people make a birthing announcement and are done with it. Not the Fraternitas. They make stupid rules about presenting any firstborn Heirs to society.
She nods. “I’m going to watch my niece and nephew to make sure I can see them breathing.”
“Shay,” I start but think better of it. The woman will only argue that Zoey and Aidan’s chests don’t move enough for her. Shaking my head, I head downstairs.
The conversation about the twin’s announcement ceremony reminds me of my fight with the Council. Initially, they said firstborn son, but I told them to shove it. It was both or none.
After three weeks of back and forth, the Council suddenly relented. I might’ve considered it a surprise, but I think I have an idea as to why. However, the fact that the Council wasn’t willing to budge until someone intervened still annoys me.
I’m in front of Rowan’s mother’s office when I force myself to let it go temporarily.
“Emma,” Rowan’s mother greets, wrapping me in her embrace. The light floral notes of her perfume fill my nose, and I sink into her hug. “Come sit,” she instructs, releasing me.
Another upside to living on the estate is spending time with all the guys’ moms. At least one of them stops by daily, and we have lunch together once a week.
I sit, waiting for her to take her seat before greeting her. “Mrs. Edge??”
“Guliana. Please,” she requests as always. “We’re family. Save the mister and misses for the stuffy old suits.”
I smile. She’s always so welcoming, much like the other guys’ moms. “Guliana,” I correct.
“How are you?” she inquires. “Are my boys treating you and my lovely grand babies well?”
My face lights up at the mention of the guys and the twins. The guys. . . the guys have been amazing. Getting to watch them spend time with our babies is ovary melting. Not enough to want to have any more babies any time soon.
“Yes, we’ve found our groove. We finally were able to get the twins on a sleep schedule. At least until they tag-team us and change it around again,” I joke, making her smile.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.