Page 25 of The Underboss's Secret Twins

A sudden screech of tires outside cuts me off.

The sound is sharp, jarring.

Every muscle in Marco’s body goes rigid.

The café falls silent, the air shifting. Even the barista, half-asleep behind the counter, seems to sense something is wrong.

I turn toward the window just as a black SUV jerks to a stop in front of the café.

The doors fly open.

Men spill out, fast and efficient. Dark suits. Armed.

There’s no doubting that they are Lombardi enforcers.

Whatever breath I had left in my lungs is exhaled in an instant.

Fortunately, Marco doesn’t waste any time. In one swift motion, he grabs my wrist and yanks me toward him, pressing my body close to his as he angles us away from the window. His free hand moves to his waistband, where I know—Iknow—he’s carrying a gun.

Across from us, Marino is frozen, his face pale.

"You led them here?" Marco growls under his breath.

Marino shakes his head frantically. "No—no, I was careful, I swear?—"

The front door slams open, and the enforcers step inside, guns drawn.

Panic erupts. Customers scatter, chairs scraping against the floor as people rush toward the back exit. The barista drops to the ground, hands over his head.

Marco stays completely still. He’s calculating something.

The Lombardi men don’t even glance at us.

Their guns are aimed directly at Marino.

And that’s when I realize?—

This isn’t a warning.

This is an execution.

Before I can scream, the Lombardi enforcers move with terrifying precision, their weapons locked onto Marino. The café erupts into chaos—screams, the screech of chairs against tile, the dull thud of bodies hitting the floor as terrified customers dive for cover.

But all I feel is Marco.

His arm comes around me, yanking me against his chest, his body a wall of solid muscle as he shields me from the impending line of fire.

Then—

Bang.

The first shot shatters the air, deafening in the enclosed space.

Marco doesn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, he pulls his gun from the holster beneath his jacket and fires back. The sharp, mechanical crack of the bullet cuts through the chaos, and one of the enforcers drops before he even has time to register what hit him.

Everything is a blur of heat, adrenaline, the overwhelming scent of gunpowder.

Marino stumbles backward, eyes wide with pure, unfiltered terror. He bolts, making a break for the door, but it’s too late.