Page 67 of The Underboss's Secret Twins

She watches as I move, her gaze lingering on my hands as I crack the eggs, whisk them effortlessly, adding fresh cream, salt, and just the right amount of black pepper.

I heat the pan, adding a knob of butter, watching it melt and foam before I pour in the eggs, stirring gently.

Sofia smiles appreciatively as the slow, umami fragrance fills the space between us.

"I have to admit," she says, swinging her legs slightly, watching me like she’s enjoying the show, "a man who can cook is dangerously attractive."

I chuckle, grating a generous amount of parmesan over the eggs, letting the heat melt it into something rich and silky.

"Then you’re in trouble, baby."

I grab a plate, pile the soft, creamy eggs onto thick slices of toasted bread, drizzle them with olive oil and torn basil.

Then I slide the plate in front of her, watching her reaction.

Sofia blinks down at it, clearly impressed.

"Damn," she murmurs. "That looks…actually incredible."

I smirk, leaning against the counter as I watch her take her first bite.

The moment the flavors hit her tongue, her eyes go wide, her lips parting in a soft moan.

Fuck.

I grip the counter hard, watching the way she reacts to my food like it’s something sinful.

"You’re trouble," she murmurs after swallowing, licking her lips.

I flash a smile at her. "You gotta stop making noises like that while you eat, De Luca."

She grins, all mischief. "What, afraid you won’t be able to control yourself?"

I step between her legs, hands braced on either side of her.

"I’m never afraid of that," I murmur, my fingers skimming up her thigh.

She swallows hard, her breath hitching—but she keeps eating.

I like this.

I like her.

The soft glow of the overhead lights paints her skin in warm golds, casting delicate shadows along her collarbones, her wrists, the hollow of her throat.

She’s still running on adrenaline. I can see it in the way she holds herself—rigid, poised for a threat that isn’t here. Not anymore. But even now, with warmth in her stomach and safety wrapped around her like a fortress, something is still clawing at her from the inside.

I exhale through my nose, tilting my head. "Tell me what you remember."

She hesitates, slicing off a piece of toast with her fork, dragging it absently through the eggs. Not eating it. Just buying herself time.

"Sofia." My voice is softer. "I need to know."

She presses her lips together, her gaze flicking away. "They knew exactly when to take me. The second I stepped outside. They had the SUV running, the doors open, like they’d been waiting."

My jaw tightens. Someone gave them a schedule. Someone knew she was alone.

"They covered my head before I could see anything," she continues, finally taking another bite. "But I could tell we were moving fast. Sharp turns. Back streets." She swallows, shaking her head. "They didn’t talk much at first. Just the usual bullshit—stay quiet, don’t fight, you’ll make this easier on yourself. But then?—"