Page 16 of The Underboss’s Secret Twins (Underworld Heirs #2)

I raise my weapon. One breath. One shot.

Another. Two bodies fall. I don’t look at their faces.

Don’t need to. They’re Lombardi men. That’s reason enough.

I move left, see a shadow try to shift behind a column.

Too slow. I put two in his chest, one in the head.

He drops like his bones were already gone.

The warehouse becomes a battlefield, cavernous and cold, the kind of place built for slaughter.

Voices yell across the dark, boots scuff hard as the enemy scrambles for cover.

They didn’t expect us this fast. That’s their mistake.

Muzzle flashes stutter through the blackness like dying stars, each burst showing me more blood, more motion, more men who should’ve stayed home tonight.

I push forward without hesitation, gun steady in my grip, eyes scanning, every nerve wired to kill.

There’s no panic in me. This is the part I was made for.

Violence doesn’t rattle me. It focuses me.

“Sofia,” I say into my earpiece, voice low, steady, shaped by grit and fury.

“Do you have anything? Where the fuck is she?”

Adriano crackles back, breath tight. “I have a lead. Far side. Third door past the loading dock. Locked room, two outside.”

That’s all I need, except that a Lombardi oaf tries to intervene. I slam my elbow into his throat, a sharp crack breaking through the gunfire. He gasps, staggers—doesn’t get the chance to recover before I put a bullet between his eyes.

I hear the others cutting through the opposition, their gunfire relentless, their movements swift and merciless.

But I don’t stop.

I don’t care how many men stand between me and that door.

Nothing will stop me from reaching her.

In the meantime, the gunfire builds to a crescendo.

The deeper we push into the warehouse, the heavier the resistance gets. The Lombardis are dug in, barricading themselves behind crates, up on the catwalks, in the fucking shadows—firing at anything that moves. But it doesn’t matter.

We keep moving.

My gun kicks against my palm as I fire, the muzzle flash illuminating the carnage for split seconds at a time.

A man lurches back as a bullet punches into his chest, collapsing into a lifeless heap.

Another swings around the corner, but I’m faster.

Two shots—one to the shoulder, one to the head—drop him instantly.

We’re cutting through them like blades through flesh, swift and merciless. But I can feel it.

We’re getting closer.

I don’t know how, but I feel it, thick in the air like a current of electricity surging toward one inevitable conclusion.

Dante moves beside me, his pistol spitting fire as he covers my right.

Adriano is behind us, his fingers still smeared with grease from bypassing the security system, moving with ruthless efficiency between his gun and his tech.

The rest of my men are fanned out, taking point where they need to, clearing corners, pressing forward.

Every door we breach, every corridor we sweep, brings me closer to her.

And yet, it feels like an eternity.

Until finally?—

"Back wall!" Adriano calls out, his voice edged with adrenaline. "That door. That’s the one."

My head snaps up, my gaze locking onto a reinforced steel door at the far end of the hallway. It’s different from the others. Stronger. Meant to keep people in.

My pulse hammers in my throat.

"Sofia," I breathe.

The world narrows to that door.

To the seconds ticking between me and the moment I see her again.

I don’t hesitate. "Adriano, get it open. Now. "

He rushes forward, a small device already in hand, his fingers flying over the keypad beside the door. The electronic lock is complex, but he’s better.

"Thirty seconds," he mutters.

I don’t have thirty fucking seconds.

Behind us, footsteps echo. More enforcers. More bodies standing between me and getting her out of here.

Dante takes up position beside me, reloading in a practiced motion. "How many, you think?"

I don’t answer. Doesn’t matter.

We’ll kill them all.

A single click.

The door unlocks.

I don’t wait for the green light. I don’t even wait for Adriano to step back.

I kick it open.

The room is small. Windowless. A single flickering bulb dangles from the ceiling, casting erratic, shifting shadows across the cold, concrete walls. And in the center of it all?—

Sofia.

She’s bound to a chair, her wrists raw from struggling against the restraints. Bruises bloom along her arms, her cheek. Her lips are parted slightly, her breath shallow, her dark eyes wide as they lift to meet mine.

And for a moment, everything else disappears.

The war raging beyond these walls. The gunfire. The bodies we’ve left behind. The bodies still waiting for us.

All I see is her.

I cross the room in three long strides, my hands already reaching for the ropes. They’ve tied her too fucking tight. My jaw clenches as I pull my knife from my belt, slicing through them with a single stroke.

The second her hands are free, she sways forward. I catch her, my arms locking around her waist, holding her against me.

"Sofia." My voice is rough, torn from somewhere deep. "It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe now."

Her fingers clutch at the fabric of my shirt, weak but desperate. "Marco."

I tighten my grip, my palm cradling the back of her head. She’s shaking. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving her exhausted, frayed. I can feel it in her breathing, the way it hitches unevenly against my chest.

But we don’t have time.

Footsteps—louder, closer.

I lift my head, my body moving before my mind even catches up.

"Dante, cover us," I order.

Dante is already at the door, his gun raised. "On it."

I shift, bending down slightly, slipping one arm beneath Sofia’s knees. Her breath catches as I lift her, but she doesn’t protest. Doesn’t argue. She’s too drained, too spent.

I carry her out, my gun still drawn, my trigger finger steady.

The moment we step into the hall, the chaos erupts again.

Gunfire.

Bullets slam into the walls, kicking up dust and debris. Dante and the others return fire, cutting down the enforcers spilling in from the other end of the corridor.

"Move, move!" I bark, my grip tightening around Sofia.

Adriano takes point, leading the way, his rifle slung over his back as he moves toward the nearest exit. The others fall in behind us, covering every angle, every corner.

But the deeper we go, the more bodies we run into.

The Lombardis are swarming now.

"Fuck," Dante grits out. "They’re bringing in reinforcements."

The warehouse is a goddamn maze, and the longer we stay inside, the more pinned down we’ll get.

I grit my teeth. We’re running out of time.

A Lombardi steps into our path. I don’t think—I shoot.

A single bullet tears through his skull, dropping him instantly.

Another comes up behind him, raising his gun?—

Dante gets him first.

Bodies hit the floor. Blood spatters against the walls.

We keep moving.

We push toward the exit, toward the vehicles waiting outside, our only way out of this mess. I can see the faint glow of headlights through the loading dock entrance, feel the cold bite of the outside air just beyond it.

But then?—

A sound that makes my blood run cold.

Engines.

Tires screeching.

More men.

More guns.

A fucking ambush.

I whip around, my pulse a war drum in my chest.

Lombardi enforcers flood the loading bay, cutting off our exit.

More are coming from behind us.

Trapping us.

Sofia stiffens in my arms, her breath catching.

My jaw locks.

I glance down at her, then back at the approaching men.

We’re not out of the woods yet.