Page 11 of The Underboss’s Secret Twins (Underworld Heirs #2)

SOFIA

T he feeling doesn’t leave me.

That cold, creeping sensation, slithering up my spine like a warning, like unseen eyes lingering just beyond the veil of darkness. The apartment is wrecked, but that’s not what sets my teeth on edge. It’s the silence. The way it stretches, thick and unnatural, wrapping around me like a noose.

I know what a break-in looks like. This wasn’t random. They were looking for something specific, and when they didn’t find it, they left. But not without leaving a message first—one I understand loud and clear.

I reach behind me and nudge the door shut with my foot, locking it in one swift motion. Not that a lock will do much against the kind of people who sent this warning. My pulse thrums at my throat, my breath uneven as I scan the destruction one more time.

The laptop is done for. The documents I had printed—some are shredded, some are missing entirely.

My research, my notes…all compromised. I have backup files, but that’s not the point.

The point is that someone has made it very clear that I’m standing too close to something they don’t want me to see.

I inhale slowly, steadying myself. There’s no time to fall apart.

I move quickly, stepping over the debris, shoving essentials into a bag—cash, a burner phone, my backup hard drive. My apartment isn’t safe anymore. The walls feel thinner now, the space smaller, like it’s already been invaded. Staying here is no longer an option.

Then my phone buzzes.

I jolt, pulse spiking, before yanking it out of my pocket. Marino is dead. There’s no one left who’d be checking in on me.

Except—

Marco.

The name on the screen sends something sharp through my chest. I hesitate before answering, but the call drops before I get the chance. A voicemail follows.

I put the phone to my ear.

"Sofia." His voice is clipped, edged with tension. "Everything’s fine. But listen to me—stay away from the estate. Luca is furious, and we’ve just been hit hard by the Rossis. We don’t need more trouble, especially not now. Just…stay put."

A click. The message ends.

I stand there, my grip on the phone tightening.

Stay put.

Stay away.

Of course the words hurt, but more because I know Marco. I know what he sounds like when he’s holding back, when there’s more he wants to say but won’t let himself. I know the weight behind his silence.

He’s keeping me at arm’s length.

This isn’t surprising. Naturally, he’d say this after whatever happened in the last few hours, after the way we left things. I should’ve known he’d fall back on distance, on that cool, controlled version of himself that he uses like armor.

I set the phone down on the kitchen counter, exhaling through my nose.

The Salvatores are under attack. My heart thrums with fear for Valentina, Luca’s wife and my best friend.

I pace the length of my apartment, my thoughts churning. I need to be there. I need to make sure they’re okay. But showing up unannounced, especially now? I can already hear Marco’s voice in my head— reckless, Sofia. Dangerous. And the worst part? He’d be right.

I hate this.

This feeling of being on the outside, of knowing there’s a war happening and being told to stay out of it. The Salvatores may be criminals, but they’re not the Lombardis. They take care of their own. They protect the people the system fails. And Valentina… I can’t just sit here while?—

A knock at the door.

Sharp. Sudden.

I freeze.

My eyes snap to the clock. It’s late. Too late for visitors.

My stomach twists into a slow, sickening coil of dread.

The apartment was trashed earlier. Someone was here. Someone was searching for something they didn’t find.

And now someone is knocking.

I don’t move. Don’t breathe.

The knock comes again.

Louder this time.

The air turns electric, my senses dialing up, instincts screaming at me. This isn’t right.

I swallow hard, fingers flexing at my sides.

Whoever is on the other side of that door…

They’re not here for pleasantries.

The knock reverberates through the apartment again, harder this time. More impatient.

My pulse jackhammers in my throat as I step back, my mind racing through every possible scenario, none of them good. I force myself to breathe, to think. You knew this was coming. My apartment was already trashed, a warning left by way of destruction. This? This is the next step.

I move quickly, silently, my feet barely making a sound against the floor. The knife block sits on the counter, the sleek handles glinting under the dim kitchen light. I grab one—a long, sharp chef’s knife—my grip tightening around the handle. It’s not a gun, but it’s better than nothing.

Creeping toward the door, I press my back against the wall beside it, positioning myself just out of direct sight. My fingers flex around the knife’s handle, slick with sweat.

I swallow hard. Don’t panic.

Leaning slightly, I peer through the peephole.

Nothing.

The hallway outside is empty, nothing but dim light and shadow stretching across the worn-down carpet. My stomach knots. Whoever knocked is either standing just out of sight or…

My fingers tighten around the knife.

"Who’s there?" I call, my voice low, steady.

Silence.

The air in the apartment feels thick, like the walls are closing in, like something unseen is coiling around me, waiting. The hair on the back of my neck rises.

I take a slow, careful step back.

Then—

The door crashes open.

The force of it slams into me, the impact knocking me to the floor as splinters explode through the air. My ears ring from the violent crack of wood against the wall. Before I can move, before I can even breathe , two large men surge inside.

They move like shadows, all dark clothing and brutal efficiency.

A choked gasp escapes me as I scramble back on my hands, the knife still clutched in my grip. My mind barely has time to catch up before one of them lunges.

He’s fast. Much too fast.

A rough hand clamps around my wrist, twisting sharply. Pain shoots up my arm as the knife is wrenched from my grasp, clattering uselessly onto the floor. I thrash, kicking out, my knee connecting with something solid. A grunt. A moment’s hesitation. But not enough.

The second man moves in, his grip like iron as he hauls me to my feet.

I scream, twisting, fighting with everything in me, but he’s stronger. So much stronger. He yanks my arms behind my back, pinning them, and panic slams into me like a freight train.

"Let go of me!" I snarl, struggling violently.

The first man recovers quickly. He steps forward, eyes glinting under the dim light—cold, ruthless.

Then he slaps a gag over my mouth.

A muffled cry rips from my throat as the fabric presses against my lips, cutting off my screams. My breath comes fast and ragged, my pulse hammering as I wrench my head to the side, trying to shake it off. But the first man holds it firm, tying it tight.

"No more noise," he murmurs, his voice eerily calm. "We don’t want any interruptions, do we?"

Terror explodes in my chest, raw and consuming.

My muffled screams are useless, swallowed by the thick gag cutting into the corners of my mouth. I twist, thrash, my body surging with pure adrenaline as I try to break free. But the men are relentless, their grip unyielding like steel.

The first man grabs my wrists and yanks them behind my back. A rough rope coils around them, the fibers biting into my skin as he tightens the knot with a swift jerk. I arch, straining, trying to slip free, but the restraints hold firm.

No. No, no, no.

The second man steps in front of me, his face partially obscured by the dim glow of the hallway light. What I can see of him makes my stomach lurch. Crooked nose, a scar slashing across his left cheek, the unmistakable glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

"She’s a fighter," he muses, his voice low and gravelly.

The first man grunts. "Doesn’t matter. She’s coming with us."

I scream again, my voice raw behind the gag, but it comes out strangled, weak. Panic flares in my chest like a wildfire, scorching through every nerve. I try to kick, to plant my heels into the floor, to do anything , but they don’t even flinch.

A sharp hand clamps down on my shoulder. "Move."

I shake my head wildly, twisting away, but the man behind me tightens his grip and shoves me forward. My bare feet stumble against the wooden floor, the world tilting as I fight against the pull of their hands.

Think, Sofia. Think.

But my thoughts are a storm, frenzied and directionless. My breath is ragged, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.

Marco.

For the briefest second, his name flares in my mind like a lifeline. But he’s not here. He’s not coming. I told him I could do this alone.

And now I am alone.

The hallway stretches ahead, impossibly long, impossibly dark. The only sound is the dull scuff of my struggling feet against the floor and the steady, steady breaths of the men dragging me toward the stairs.

The realization crashes into me with brutal force.

I am being kidnapped by the Lombardis.

And no one knows.