Page 97 of The Underboss's Secret Twins

I fold the note once, setting it on the bedside table where I know he’ll see it the second he wakes up. Once I’m ready, I take one last look at him.

Marco sleeps like he does everything else—deeply, intensely, like he’s never known how to do things halfway. His dark hair is mussed against the pillow, his breathing slow and steady. He looks younger like this, his sharp edges softened in sleep, but I know better than to be fooled.

I slip out of the room, easing the door shut behind me.

The hallway is dark, the sconces casting low golden light against the marble floors. My heartbeat echoes in my ears, a frantic rhythm that matches the sound of my bare feet againstthe cold stone. Every shadow feels like a threat, every distant noise like a warning.

I grip the small bag slung over my shoulder tighter. I packed light—just a change of clothes, some cash I’d secretly stashed away over the past few days, and the bare essentials. Anything more would slow me down.

The estate is massive, a labyrinth of corridors and staircases, but I know the path I need to take. I spent the entire night mapping it out in my head while Marco slept beside me, tracing invisible routes against his skin, committing every turn and blind spot to memory.

I reach the grand staircase and pause, pressing myself against the wall.

Two guards stand near the entrance, talking in hushed voices. Not patrolling, but alert enough that I can’t risk walking straight through the main doors. My stomach twists.

Think.

There’s another way out—through the back courtyard, past the garden that wraps around the estate. It’s riskier, but at this hour, I’m hoping the guards stationed there are too tired to be vigilant.

I double back, slipping through a side hallway, my breath shallow as I move.

Every second that passes is a second closer to Marco waking up.

I reach the side door that leads out to the courtyard. It’s heavy, iron-wrought, and I wince as I turn the handle, the metal cold against my palm. The door creaks slightly as I push it open, and I freeze, my heart seizing in my chest.

I wait.

Nothing.

The guards haven’t heard.

I exhale and step outside.

The cold settles against my skin, threading through the fabric of my clothes as I step into the courtyard. The world is caught in that fragile space between night and dawn, the sky still drenched in ink, stars flickering faintly like embers on the verge of burning out.

Beneath me, the stone path glistens, slick with the remnants of the night. Each step is careful, measured, the damp earth carrying the heady scent of jasmine, rich and cloying, wrapping around me like something alive.

I move without hesitation, keeping close to the columns and climbing vines, my body instinctively seeking cover as I make my way toward the garden’s edge—toward the point of no return.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I nearly jump out of my skin.

I yank it out, my breath catching in my throat.

Valentina:He’s five minutes away. Black sedan. He’ll wait, but not for long.

Five minutes.

I push forward, my legs shaking, every instinct screaming at me to run, but I force myself to keep my pace steady. If someone sees me now, if I move too fast, it’ll look suspicious.

The estate’s back gate looms ahead, just beyond the last row of trimmed hedges. The driver will be waiting on the other side.

The cold morning air brushes against my skin, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine. The estate stands silently behind me, dark and sprawling, its towering walls whispering of all the things I’ll never escape if I don’t leave now.

Just a few more steps.

Then—footsteps.