Ella and Sinclair woke late the next morning. Frankly, Ella was grateful everyone had let them sleep in. They had to feed Rafe, of course, but even so, it was the most sleep she’d gotten in a long time.

“Morning,” she murmured, turning to Sinclair and slinging a leg over his hip. She felt ridiculously relaxed for someone who’d fought off kidnappers in her bedroom the previous day.

Sinclair didn’t speak, only growled a hungry greeting and pulled her closer, rolling slightly so she felt his weight on top of her as he kissed her neck, shoulder, and mouth. “We’re skipping breakfast,” he murmured, sliding a hand down her body. “I have a different idea for how we can spend the time.”

“Noooo,” she moaned in protest, her stomach growling in agreement. “I need fooooood!”

Sinclair laughed and pulled away. “Am I not sustenance enough for you?” he asked, feigning offense. “Here,” he said, offering his muscular arm. “Take a bite. It will keep you going.”

She bared her teeth, leaning forward playfully, making him laugh. Then she kissed his arm quickly and pushed him away, reaching for the baby, who was fussing in his cradle.

“As delicious as you are,” she called over her shoulder to Sinclair as she scooped Rafe into her arms, “the baby and I need pancakes.”

“Then pancakes you shall have,” Sinclair murmured, yawning and heading to the small metal bathroom door. “But I hope you’re aware these will be ‘bunker pancakes,’” he added, entering the bathroom, “which means plain toast.”

Ella laughed, indicating that was fine. She spent a few sweet minutes alone with her son, talking softly to him while feeding him, admiring his little face and thick, sleep-mussed black hair.

She sighed, thinking this would surely be a busy, complicated day. But with such sweet beginnings, how could it end badly?

Later that morning, they gathered in the conference room at the end of the bunker. Sinclair looked around at the men they’d brought, feeling proud. Many had worked through the night developing reconnaissance and planning.

A pang of guilt struck him. They were working, losing sleep, while he was relaxing—and doing more than relaxing—with his mate. But…

He was the boss. He’d built this system, putting in the long hours in his youth. He was allowed some privileges, even if his instinct was always to work, push, and keep going. Ella and Rafe needed his attention, as much as his business and political life. And, considering Roger and Cora’s ordeal the previous day, they’d needed him last night, too.

“You’re doing fine, Dominic,” his father murmured, his voice low enough to be unheard by others.

“What?” Sinclair asked, surprised.

His father smirked briefly before placing paperwork on the table. “You think I can’t read your emotions, even when you try to hide them? I’m your father, boy. We still have a bond, even if it’s changed with time.”

Sinclair smiled, clapping a hand on his father’s shoulder, grateful. Roger approached, giving them a sharp nod, which they returned. Sinclair laughed, realizing how similar their body language was. His father chuckled, too.

“What?” Roger asked, confused. Sinclair shook his head, indicating it was nothing significant. Roger shrugged, leaning forward to examine his father’s plans.

Roger straightened when Cora and Ella entered, greeting everyone warmly. Ella showed off the baby, and Cora handed out coffee.

“Uh-oh,” Roger said, eyes wide.

“What?” Sinclair asked, looking between Roger and their mates.

“Dominic,” Roger said, his voice tight, “do you not see the issue?” He gestured toward Ella and Cora.

Frowning, Sinclair shook his head.

“Dom,” Roger sighed, running a hand down his face. “I’m going to forgive you for this, since you’ve been a little…hypnotized by Ella since she walked into your life—”

“Wha—!” Sinclair began, but Roger’s look silenced him. He frowned, crossing his arms, letting Roger continue.

“Seriously, Dom,” Roger continued, speaking rapidly, “Ella’s amazing, and I love her, but you let her get away with things you wouldn’t let anyone else get away with—”

“She’s usually right!” Sinclair protested.

“She is, and I’m not questioning your judgment,” Roger continued, “but I’ve had the privilege of knowing Ella and Cora without being in love with one from the start—”

Sinclair raised an eyebrow, but Roger ignored him.

“And,” Roger continued, “I’m more aware of what they can do when they combine their powers. You have a soft spot for Ella; you think she’s funny, and now Cora’s got me all wrapped up—”

Sinclair smirked, looking at the two women, realizing Roger was right.

“And,” Sinclair continued, voicing Roger’s thoughts, “with the two of us under their thumbs, if they want to, they’ll control this meeting.”

“Yeah,” Roger replied, sighing and folding his arms, watching them as Sinclair did.

“Shit,” Sinclair murmured, shaking his head.

Ella turned, catching their gazes. A wicked grin flashed across her face before she replaced it with a sweet smile, blowing him a kiss and handing a coffee to one of their men.

“Oh no,” Roger moaned, seeing Ella’s expression change. “They’ve become aware of their power—they know—”

“Shiiiiiit,” Sinclair murmured again, shaking his head harder.

“This is why,” Roger snapped, frowning at Sinclair, “we never should have gotten involved with sisters! What the hell were we thinking? We should have mated with mortal enemies so they could never team up against us—”

“You’re right,” Sinclair agreed, sighing. “But it’s too late now. Unless you want to give yours up,” he quipped, grinning.

“Not on your life,” Roger murmured, smirking. “I got the hot one.”

“Whatever,” Sinclair laughed, knowing he was wrong but happy to let him believe otherwise. That’s how one should love their mate—believing them incomparable. He was glad Roger saw Cora that way, just as he saw Ella.

Ready to begin, Sinclair clapped his hands loudly, calling the group to order. As everyone shuffled to their places, he was grateful Roger had made him aware of Ella and Cora’s potential influence. Indeed, they took seats as far from him as possible, Rafe bundled warmly in Ella’s arms. But he noted that while at the end of the table, their seats could also be considered the head.

And they were not going to like the direction in which they were heading.

He grinned, preparing for a fight.