Page 121 of The Underboss's Secret Twins

Before Mancini can react, I grab his collar, yanking him forward. His breath stutters, his body tensing against the restraints.

"You think you could’ve used her against me?" My voice is venomous. "You think I’d ever let that happen?"

Mancini’s smile doesn’t waver. If anything, it deepens, his eyes glinting with something almost victorious.

"Doesn’t matter," he murmurs. "Because it’s already started."

Mancini’s laughter grates against my skin like a dull blade.

I tighten my grip on his collar, my fingers digging into the torn fabric of his shirt. He’s already lost, and he knows it—knows it in the way his breaths come shallow and uneven, knows it in the way his body sags against the chair, his strength dwindling with each passing second. But that smirk, that fucking smirk, stays plastered across his bruised face like he still has something to hold over me.

And then he says it.

"You really think this is over?" His voice is a low rasp, thick with blood and amusement. "You think killing me will stop what’s coming?"

I yank him forward, our faces inches apart. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

His head tilts, his expression twisted with something close to glee. "The Lombardis aren’t stupid, Marco. You should know that by now. Did you really think they didn’t have a backup plan? A trump card?"

A slow, cold dread spreads through my chest.

He’s bluffing. He has to be.

But then I see it—the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He’s savoring this. Dragging it out.Making me wait.

I pull back slightly, my jaw tight. "If you had a card to play, you would’ve used it already."

Mancini chuckles, a wet, broken sound. "Timing is everything." He lifts his head, meeting my gaze with something dark, something that makes my stomach tighten with unease. "And I’d say the time is just about right."

I press the barrel of my gun to his temple, letting the cold metal kiss his sweat-damp skin. "What. Card."

He just grins.

My finger twitches over the trigger. I could end this now. Wipe that smug look off his face. Make sure he never speaks another word.

But that’s exactly what he wants.

I exhale sharply, reining in my fury. "Who do the Lombardis have?"

Mancini licks his split lip, shaking his head slightly. "It’s too late." His voice is barely a whisper now, his amusement faltering under the weight of his own impending death. "Even if I told you, you wouldn’t get to them in time."

Rage coils in my gut, threatening to explode. "Tell me."

His silence is deafening.

I shove him back against the chair, stepping away, pacing. My mind races, running through every possibility, every person who could be a target. Sofia is safe—for now. My men are protecting her. But if the Lombardis have someone, someoneimportant, then this war isn’t just about power anymore.

It’s personal.

Mancini shifts in his seat, exhaling through his nose like he’s resigned to his fate. "You’ve already lost, Marco," he murmurs.

That's it. I've wasted enough time here.

I lift my gun.

And pull the trigger.

The gunshot cracks through the cabin, deafening in the silence.