Page 37 of The Underboss's Secret Twins

My mother’s hands had been gripping my shoulders, her voice even but sharp as she whispered, "Close your eyes. Control your breath. You are not your panic."

I was nine.

I’d hidden under the kitchen table while my father screamed at her, his rage shaking the walls of our tiny apartment. My mother, her face an unreadable mask, had waited until his fury burned out and he stormed out the door.

Then, she’d found me.

And she’d taught me the art of turning fear into something useful.

So I do it now.

I inhale through my nose, slow and measured.

I exhale through my mouth, releasing the panic, the doubt, the weakness.

It doesn’t mean I’m not afraid. It just means they won’t see it.

"So, what’s the plan?" I ask, my voice level. "Kill me? Dump my body in the river?"

The man makes a thoughtful sound, dragging it out like he’s considering it. "Nah," he says. "You’re worth more alive than dead."

This isn’t about me, or what I’m doing, or what I may discover. It’s much bigger.

"You’re a perfect pawn, you know that?" he murmurs. "Marco will do anything for you. That kind of loyalty? It’s rare. It’s valuable."

This is all a trap laid out to lure Marco to his death.

10

MARCO

Ihaven’t slept. Things should be easier in the wake of what the Salvatores have only just achieved—a complete and total takedown of one of our biggest rival clans, the Rossis.

And yet, my circumstancesrefuseto let up.

The clock on the wall tells me it’s morning—early, still dark—but time feels irrelevant, slipping through my fingers like sand. My office is too small, too suffocating, every inch of it pressing in on me as I pace from one end to the other, my steps noisy and restless against the polished hardwood floor. Outside, the estate is wrapped in the stillness that comes just before dawn. But inside me, there is nothing but anguish.

I scrub a hand down my face as I suppress a groan. My phone sits on the desk, screen black, silent. My mind has been drawing a blank since the guard came to the family meeting with the news that Sofia has been kidnapped. I didn't believe it, even as Luca supported me, assuring me that we'd get her back. This is rare on Luca’s part, and he's only allowing it because I'm family.

In fact, I pulled a whole blank until the call from Mancini who had more details about the kidnapping and had alerted the guard, also his younger cousin.

Mancini’s voice had been frantic, breathless, the kind of fear-laced urgency that wasn’t like him. But the line had gone dead before he could give me any details, and I have no further intel from him. This isn't good.

I’d called back immediately, but it went straight to voicemail. And then I’d waited—waited for something,anything—but all I got was silence, an emptiness that sank its claws into my chest and refused to let go.

An hour later, another call had come in.

Unknown number.

I knew before I even picked up.

The enforcer’s voice had been calm, almost amused. "Marco Salvatore," he’d said, voice smooth as silk, poisoned at the edges. "We have something of yours. You want her back, we make a deal."

They meant Sofia. They were trying to use her as a bargaining chip.

My fingers had clenched so tight around the phone I thought it might shatter. "What do you want?"

"We’ll be in touch."