Page 104 of The Underboss's Secret Twins

I run a shaking hand through my hair, gripping the strands tight enough to sting, like pain might be the only thing that can cut through the haze of panic threading through my blood. My vision blurs for a second, rage and something far more potent flooding my veins.

This isn’t just about her anymore. This is aboutourchild. The one she’s planning to raisewithout me.

Over my dead fucking body.

I hear movement at the door, a hesitant shuffle, but I don’t turn.

"Boss?" Adriano’s voice is cautious, like he knows I’m on the edge of collapse.

I don’t look at him. I just shove the test into his chest, my voice coming out like gravel. "Burn that."

His eyes flick down, widening slightly as he realizes what he’s holding. He hesitates—just for a fraction of a second—but he’s smart enough not to question me.

He gives a sharp nod before stepping back, leaving me alone in the dimly lit room.

I inhale deeply, steadying myself, but the pressure in my chest doesn’t ease. The longer I stand here, the worse it gets. The walls of the estate feel suffocating, the weight of everything pressing down too hard, too fast.

I should be thinking rationally.But I can’t.

Because nothing about this is rational.

Sofia isn’t just some woman I fucked. She isn’t just someone who got caught up in this life. She’smywoman. And now, she’s carrying my child.

The world outside of this estate is not kind to women who don’t have protection. It’s even crueler to the children they bringinto it alone. And Sofia—stubborn, reckless Sofia—doesn’t see it the way I do.

She doesn’t understand what I would do for her. For our child.

I let out a sharp breath, pressing a hand against the wall to steady myself, my fingertips digging into the cool surface.

She thinks she’s protecting our baby from me.

The thought sends a dark, vicious anger surging through me, one I can barely contain. My hands curl into fists at my sides.

She has no fucking idea.

No idea how far I’d go to keep them safe. No idea how quickly I’d burn the whole damn world to the ground if it meant keeping her in my arms, keeping my child out of harm’s way.

And now, she’s out there, alone, thinking she can disappear.

Thinking I won’t find her.

A bitter laugh rises in my throat, but I don’t let it escape. She should know me better than that.

I push away from the wall and storm out of the room, my steps quick, my body wound so tight it feels like I might snap.

My stomach twists, not with hunger, but with something sharper—an instinctual pull, a visceral demand tofind her now.

Outside, the driveway is lined with cars, engines still warm from the men I sent out hours ago.

They’ve combed the city, shaken down every contact we have, but Sofia has covered her tracks too well.

I slam into the driver’s seat of my car, gripping the steering wheel with enough force to make my knuckles ache. My phone buzzes against my thigh, and I yank it free, my voice sharp as I answer.

"Tell me you have something."

A pause. Then: "We’re tracking her phone, but she’s turning it off over and over. She’s good, boss. Real good."

My jaw clenches. Of course she is. Every skill she’s honed as a journalist—digging for the truth, slipping past barriers, avoiding detection—she’s turned against me.