Page 14 of The Underboss's Secret Twins

Men who wouldn’t hesitate. Men who took what they wanted and didn’t ask for permission.

I reach the grand entrance, stepping out into the crisp night air.

Fog snakes around the iron gates, curling in lazy, spectral tendrils, as if the estate itself is breathing. Luca’s warning lingers, not in words anymore, but in the space it leaves behind—an unspoken expectation settling into my bones. I should be thinking about it. Turning it over.

Instead, my attention immediately goes to my phone, which is blaring a message.

Sofia:Come over.

Two words, blinking up at me from the screen, shifting the night in a way no threat ever could.

The words hit me like a fist to the ribs. They are like a sharp, clean blow that sends heat rushing through my veins.

I don’t hesitate.

I slip into the driver’s seat, the engine snarling awake as I pull away from the estate, leaving behind stone, power, and the ghosts of unfinished conversations.

The city rises ahead, not just sprawling but pulsing—towering glass and steel drenched in the remnants of rain, the streets glistening like black marble veined with neon.

Traffic signals blink like watchful eyes, their colors bleeding into puddles, distorting beneath the rush of passing tires. The whole place feels restless, alive, humming with stories that will never make the papers.

I push the speedometer past caution, threading through the streets like I own them. Maybe I do. Maybe we all do, in one way or another.

But right now, none of it matters. Right now, there’s only one thing pulling me forward.

Sofia and her fire. Her sharp tongue. The way she looks at me like she wants to tear me apart and put me back together in the same breath.

Maybe Luca is right and the wise thing would be to listen to him.

But I don’t.

When I reach her apartment, I don’t even have time to knock.

The door swings open before I can lift my fist.

And then she’s there, standing in the doorway, her eyes stormy, her lips parted, breath uneven.

Without saying a word, she just grabs my jacket, pulls me inside, and kisses me.

It’s fire and fury, teeth clashing, tongues warring. She tastes like heat, like defiance, like everything I shouldn’t crave but do.

I don’t hold back.

I kick the door shut behind me, my hands already threading through her hair, yanking her head back just enough to expose the column of her throat.

A ragged moan escapes her lips as I drag my mouth down, teeth grazing her pulse point before I claim her lips again, harder this time.

She fights me for control, nails digging into my shoulders, body pressing flush against mine. She’s a live wire, all electricity and recklessness, and I want to feel every damn spark.

With a growl, I spin us, pinning her against the wall. The impact steals her breath, and I feel it—her gasp against my lips, the tremor that runs through her. I seize that moment, pressing my body into hers, my thigh wedging between her legs.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging hard enough to send a sharp zing of pain down my spine. It only fuels me.

"Sofia," I rasp against her lips, my breath hot, my control hanging by a thread.

"Shut up," she whispers back, voice like smoke, like temptation.

Then she pulls me down again, kissing me like she wants to own me. Like she already does.