4: BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE

FIVE YEARS LATER

LOLETTE

I ended the call with my assistant, letting out a sigh as I rounded up work for the morning.

Tiny footsteps pattered down the hallway.

I checked the time on my watch and smiled, already knowing what was coming next.

As if on cue, my tiny boy shuffled out of the hallway, his blonde curls a wild cloud over his head.“Rus won’t give me back my tiger.”

I shook my head, fighting a laugh, and bent to scoop him up.

I kissed his chubby cheeks, cuddling him close as I shook my head. It truly wasn’t getting old how much his brother hated his stuffed tiger. Every morning, without fail, Rus hid it like it was his job.

Still cradling Ivan, I called out, “Ruslan!”

Ruslan surfaced from the hallway, looking a lot more awake than his brother.

“Come here,” I called.

He came, all squinted eyes and busy hands. I ruffled his hair. He squirmed and smiled and pushed my hand away like he hated it, even though I could see it in his eyes—he loved it. I pinched his cheek, gentle. He scrunched his nose at me.

I set Ivan down on the rug and opened my arms for Ruslan giving him all my kisses and love.

“How many times have we talked about this, Rus?” I held his chin so he’d look at me. “Ivan loves the tiger, so Ivan gets to keep his tiger.”

Ruslan glanced at his twin, then back at me. “But he sleeps with it every night, Mommy. He’s supposed to be big.”

I smiled at him, “Why does Ivan need to be big when he has you? You can be big enough for both of you.”

Ruslan looked at Ivan for a long minute. Ivan hugged my arm and stared right back.

“Why can’t you just hold my hand if you’re scared?” Ruslan asked his brother.

Ivan’s brows pinched. “I’m not scared.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are—”

“Okay,” I cut in, and put a hand on each of their small shoulders, grounding them. I dragged out his name, slow and pointed. “Ruslan.”

He blew out a breath, then planted his palms on his hips like a tiny general. “If I give it back, you have to promise to play supervillain with me.”

I tilted my head. “Supervillain? Don’t you mean superhero?”

He shook his head, very sure. “The supervillains are cooler.”

Before I could answer, Ivan blurted, “Deal!” Then jabbed a finger at his brother. “But you have to promise not to steal it anymore.”

“I promise,” Rus said quickly, eyes shining with mischief. I watched his right hand slide behind his back. He crossed his fingers.

“We should start our lessons as soon as possible,” Ruslan announced, like he had a schedule. Then he peered toward the yard. “Can we go play in the backyard?”

“Go,” I said, walking over and opening the sliding door, letting the morning air spill in. They raced past me.

“Stay where I can see you!” I shouted. The back of the house was so large they could get lost in a second.

“We will!” Ivan called.

I strolled towards the kitchen.

I loved making meals in here. It was my favorite place in the house.

These days, I didn’t get to cook as much, not with all the work I had to do with Fashion Week looming ahead.

But mornings like this made me greedy for it again. The quiet. The small chores. The rhythm.

I had people who helped me whenever work got too much to handle, but all my staff were off for the weekend, save for my security.

Never had I imagined I’d be living the kind of life I was now.

Not only did I get to design clothes, but I did it professionally. And somehow, I did it as the biggest brand in LA—House of Rayne.

In five years, my life had done a full 360 for the better.

I had more money than I knew what to do with—except I did know.

I had all that money to spend on my kids.

Through the glass sliding doors I watched Rus direct Ivan with his hands—two little palms chopping the air, showing his brother where to stand, where to climb—and Ivan nodding, the tiger forgotten for the moment while their game took over.

I whisked flour and sugar and a pinch of salt, as I let my mind drift back to the day everything turned.

Five years had passed, and sometimes it still felt like yesterday—like I was that girl on the cemetery grass with her world at her feet.

Everything changed that afternoon. My world broke, and then it bent in a new direction the second I looked up and saw my grandmother again.

She took me away from that life without hesitation.

The last time I’d seen her was a blur of a memory before then. And she’d told me about my mother, the lack of contact they had once she ran off with my stepfather.

Everything she left behind.

Turned out, my mother’s family was loaded.

I hadn’t even known I was pregnant when I begged her to never let me go back to the Eastwoods. She listened without a single question and took me all the way to California.

It was two months later before I found out about the twins.

Two pink lines, and the world went still.

I cracked eggs, whisked again, and let myself think of something I never let myself think of. Not ever.

The father of my children.

Adrian.

He was married last I heard—to Mabel Eastwood. I had made a hard habit of clocking out of the news whenever the Emporios were mentioned, especially after I found out he’d actually tied the knot on TV.

It was hard not to think of him, especially when my boys looked like tiny reflections of him. Exact same eyes. Same face. Same unbound ringlets of blonde curls.

Four years ago, when I was five months pregnant, I caved. I gave in on every promise I’d made to myself and I called Adrian. I told myself he deserved to know.

But when the phone rang, Mabel answered.

Hearing her voice stunned me to silence.

Because what was going to happen? Would I tell him and go back? Be the baby mother to Mabel’s husband? Risk either of their families treating them like they were somehow less.

Somehow unworthy.

After all, he said I was a nobody.

Wouldn’t he think the same of my children?

And all those thoughts left me silent until Mabel barked down the line for me to speak up because I was interrupting an event.

I ended the call, and I never called again.

Sometimes I felt guilty, knowing the twins would never know who their father was. Other times I told myself what I had done was best.

I raised them basically alone, juggling a new school, and a new life.

My grandmother was my idol. After so many years of not seeing her, she came back to me like a miracle. I didn’t think I could have made it without her.

I left the waffles to cook, then went for the boys.

“Rus? Ivan?” I called, scanning the massive green lawn. My eyes ghosted over the swing set, the sandbox with two little plastic shovels, the sides of the oak tree. But there was no sign of them.

The tree house was empty, the rope ladder swaying a little in the breeze.

I walked to the tree house and peered up. “Boys? Hey—answer me.”

Silence.

“Ruslan!” I tried to make my voice playful and normal, “Ivan! Where are you?” I waited for a giggle, for the thump of small feet.

But still, nothing.

A slow, cold line slid down my spine.

I rounded the house, calling for them again, my steps quickening. I hadn’t seen any of my security yet.

As I came to the front of the house, I stopped dead.

All seven of my security guards were sprawled across the space like fallen trees.

My chest ripped open.

“Ivan! Ruslan!” The names clawed out of me raw. I ran through the compound, “Boys!”

I searched the entire compound frantically. Hoping to God I wouldn’t find two little bodies.

Once I reached the front of the house, my stomach dropped at the sight of one of my guards slouched by the front door.

Dead.

Something thick was shoved between his gaping lips.

An envelope.

I gagged and pressed my fist to my mouth.

Shaking, I reached out and pinched the edge of the envelope.

Frantically, I tore it open with numb fingers and unfolded the single sheet inside.

My eyes dragged over the sentence once, twice, a third time, each word burning itself into me with a force that almost paralyzed me.

‘If you want your children back, you’ll have to give me Adrian Emporio’s head.’