But Lena didn’t need to lunge. She was already there. Reflexes like a mother bear. One yellow-gloved hand shot up and cradled Santi’s head to her chest mid-fall; the other arm hooked Nico’s waist and yanked him into safety.
In one fluid roll she sat up, both boys clutched tight against her heaving ribs.
Safe—but infected by the sudden terror flooding the room—the twins burst into piercing, synchronized wails.
Ethan crossed the room in three strides, face twisted. “Let go of my sons.”
He snatched Nico from her arms with rough urgency.
“Now.”
Lena remained on the floor, hands suddenly empty, trembling. She brushed hair from her face with the back of a glove, dark eyes wide with shock and confusion.
“Mr. Caldwell—you were supposed to—”
“Be on a plane. Yes. Thank God I came back.”
He loomed over her. “What kind of insanity is this?”
Nico writhed in his grip, reaching backward toward Lena, sobbing “Na-na! Na-na!”
The rejection landed like a slap. Ethan set Nico on the couch awkwardly and rounded on Lena as she rose.
“Stay down,” he snapped, pointing. “Right there—where you belong. Do you have any idea how close my son came to cracking his skull?”