Page 27 of The Underboss's Secret Twins

"Well?"

Marco’s voice is razor-sharp, slicing through the heavy silence in the car. His grip on the wheel is tight, knuckles white, his jaw clenched so hard it looks like he might break his teeth. The city lights flicker through the windshield, casting his face in sharp, unforgiving angles.

I cross my arms over my chest, willing myself to look strong. "I did what I had to do."

Marco exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s physically holding himself back from punching something. Or someone. "No, Sofia. What you did was reckless. You dragged me into this. You didn’t trust me enough to handle it. And now, you’ve put both of us—hell, the entire family—at risk."

I whip my head toward him, anger flaring hot in my chest. "I didn’t drag you into anything. I asked for your help?—"

"Youliedto me." His voice is lethal, quiet in the way that means he’s barely keeping himself together. "You knew exactly what this was, and you didn’t tell me. Youusedme, Sofia."

That accusation stings. This is the most ashamed I’ve ever been, and like a wounded animal, the last thing I want to dois admit I was wrong, that I’m the one responsible for Marino’s death.

I snap my gaze to the road ahead, the neon blur of Nuova Speranza rushing past us. "Ihadto do this, Marco. This is my job, my responsibility! You can’t just keep me locked away like some prisoner while your family decides what justice looks like."

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Justice? You think this is aboutjustice?" He jerks the wheel, making a sharp turn down a side street. The car growls beneath us, a beast barely restrained. "You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t some exposé in your precious newspaper. This is the kind of stuff that gets people killed. And now, because of this, you’ve made my family a target with the Lombardis."

I swallow past the lump forming in my throat.

He’s not wrong.

But Ican’tregret this.

"You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do," I say, voice quieter now. "I’m not one of your soldiers, Marco. I don’t answer to you."

He presses his foot harder against the gas, his body coiled tight. "No. You don’t answer to anyone. That’s the problem."

I press my hands against my thighs, nails digging into the fabric of my jeans. "I answer to the truth. That footage—Marino died for it. You saw what happened back there. Youknowthis needs to come out."

Marco slams his hand against the wheel, the sharp crack making me jump. "You really think this ends with a story, Sofia? You think exposing the Lombardis is going to make them disappear? You don’t get to just take them down without consequences."

I turn to him, my voice raw with frustration. "So what? We just let them keep killing people? Let them keep buying cops and politicians until there’s nothing left of this city that isn’t rotten?"

His silence is deafening.

I push forward, my heart hammering. "I know what I’m doing, Marco."

His hands flex on the wheel. "No. You really don’t."

I let out a slow, uneven breath, my chest tight with the weight of his words. I hate this. I hateuslike this. Every sharp edge, every wall, every wound between us gaping wider by the second.

"You’re right," I finally say, my voice quiet but firm. "This isn’t just about justice anymore." I turn my head, meeting his eyes in the darkened interior of the car. "But it’s not just about your family either. You think I don’t know the risks? Ido, Marco. I know exactly what I’m up against. And I also know I can’t just sit back and let it happen."

His jaw tics, his fingers drumming against the wheel. "And what happens when they come for you, Sofia? When it’syourbody lying in a pool of blood next time? What then?"

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Because the truth is, I don’t know.

I don’t have a plan for that.

Marco scoffs at my silence, running a hand through his hair before gripping the wheel again. "That’s what I fucking thought."

I shake my head, frustration tightening every nerve in my body. "You can’t have it both ways, Marco."

He stills.

The air in the car shifts, crackling like static before a storm.