Page 17 of The Underboss’s Secret Twins (Underworld Heirs #2)

MARCO

T he realization of just how much trouble we are in grips my spine like a vice, but there’s no time to dwell on it.

Not with the warehouse closing in around us like a death trap, not with Lombardi reinforcements flooding through every possible entrance, their weapons raised, their orders clear—cut us down before we make it out alive.

Gunfire erupts from both sides, bullets slamming into concrete, ripping through crates, sending splinters and debris into the air. The stench of gunpowder thickens, acrid and choking, mixing with the sharp bite of cold metal and sweat.

We’re running out of time.

"Sofia—stay low." My voice is rough, urgent, leaving no room for argument.

She nods weakly against my chest, her breath warm against my collarbone, her body still trembling from exhaustion. She’s fighting to stay upright, to move on her own, but she’s been through too much. I tighten my hold around her, shifting my grip so I can carry her more easily.

"Cover us!" I bark, my voice cutting through the chaos.

Dante and Adriano are already in motion, laying down heavy fire as I start toward the exit, keeping Sofia close, shielding her body with mine.

A Lombardi enforcer steps into our path, raising his rifle.

I fire first—two shots, center mass. He crumples like a marionette with its strings cut, and I don’t break stride.

Footsteps pound against the concrete behind us. More shadows moving in. A fresh wave of gunfire cuts through the air, forcing me to duck low, curling around Sofia as we push forward.

"Keep going!" Dante roars. "We’ve got your back!"

We sprint through the narrow corridor leading to the loading dock, the cold air hitting my skin like a slap as we burst through the exit.

Finally.

The SUVs are waiting, engines running, headlights slashing through the murky light, exhaust curling in thick plumes against the cold.

Almost there.

A bullet whizzes past my ear, slamming into the warehouse doorframe behind me. Another kicks up dust at my feet. My heart pounds, every muscle burning with the instinct to move, move, move.

I don’t stop.

I reach the first SUV, throwing the door open with a violent yank before lowering Sofia into the backseat. She lets out a sharp gasp as she collapses onto the seat, her fingers gripping my wrist with surprising strength.

"Marco—" Her voice is hoarse, barely audible over the gunfire, but the plea is there.

"I’ve got you," I promise, my hand briefly cupping her face, my thumb brushing against the bruise marring her cheek. "You’re safe now."

I climb in beside her, using my body as a shield while my men hold the line. Bullets ricochet off the vehicles, denting metal, shattering glass. Dante and Adriano are still outside, firing in tight bursts, covering every angle as the Lombardis swarm forward like locusts.

"Now, Adriano!" I shout.

He tosses a smoke grenade toward the warehouse entrance, the canister spinning before erupting into a thick, suffocating cloud. The air fills with a dense gray fog, swallowing the gunmen, buying us the seconds we need.

"Move your ass, Dante!"

Dante doesn’t hesitate. He fires a final shot before diving into the second SUV.

Adriano follows suit, sliding into the driver’s seat of the third vehicle just as a fresh spray of bullets shatters the warehouse’s upper windows.

"Go, go, go!" I yell at the driver, slamming my palm against the headrest.

Tires screech against the pavement. The convoy roars to life, engines growling as we tear away from the warehouse in a blur of smoke and lead.

The Lombardis don’t stop firing.

Bullets chase us down the road, sparking against asphalt, punching into the metal of the SUVs. One of the side mirrors explodes in a rain of glass, but the vehicles keep moving, speeding through the backstreets of Nuova Speranza like hunted prey.

Sofia is curled against me, her breathing shallow, her body tense. I can feel her heartbeat hammering through her ribs, her fingers twitching against her thigh as if she wants to grab a weapon, wants to fight.

She’s been through hell.

But she’s still here.

"You with me, princess?" I ask, my voice low, rough.

Her head tilts slightly, dark eyes blinking up at me. "I’m—" Her voice is raw, breaking. She swallows, nods once. "I’m here."

Damn right she is.

I brush a strand of hair from her face, my fingers grazing her temple, my jaw clenching at the sight of fresh bruises, the faint cut on her lip.

The Lombardis will pay for this.

"Hold on," the driver calls out. "They’re following."

I shift, angling myself to get a look through the shattered rear windshield.

Sure enough—two blacked-out SUVs are in pursuit, gaining on us fast.

My blood turns to ice.

Dante’s voice crackles through the comms. "Tell me we’re not about to get into a fucking high-speed shootout."

"We’re about to get into a fucking high-speed shootout," I mutter, checking my magazine.

Sofia stiffens beside me, her fingers curling into the fabric of my sleeve.

I press a quick kiss to her temple—brief, instinctual, the only reassurance I can offer. Then, I release the safety on my gun.

"You still with me?" I ask again, but this time, it’s not a question about consciousness.

She meets my gaze. Despite everything, despite the fear and exhaustion, her eyes flash with something sharper.

"Yes," she whispers.

And right then, even though things are about to get messier, I smile. "Good. Because this isn’t over yet."

The city rushes past in a blur of neon and shadow, the roar of engines and the distant wail of sirens carving through the chaos.

My grip on Sofia tightens as the SUV swerves sharply, tires shrieking against asphalt, barely missing the side of a parked car.

She presses into me, breath ragged, her fingers clutching the front of my shirt like a lifeline.

"Hold on," I murmur, keeping one arm around her while I reach for my gun.

She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t need to. She just holds on.

Through the shattered rear windshield, I see them. Two blacked-out SUVs, relentless in their pursuit, weaving through traffic with the kind of reckless abandon that says they don’t give a damn about collateral damage.

They only care about us.

Dante’s voice crackles through the comms. "They’re gaining. We need to lose these bastards before we bring them back to the estate."

"Working on it," Adriano grits out from the second SUV.

I glance at him through the side mirror—he’s hunched over his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard, illuminated by the eerie blue glow of the screen. His expression is tight with focus, his mind working faster than any of us can process.

"Adriano?" I prompt.

A few keystrokes. A muttered curse. Then, "Got it. Redirecting city traffic now."

The traffic lights ahead flick green all at once.

Every intersection behind us turns red.

For a split second, the world narrows into perfect, engineered chaos.

Brakes screech. Cars collide. Horns blare in frantic protest as the Lombardi SUVs slam into a tangle of halted traffic, skidding sideways in a desperate attempt to regain control.

One of them crashes into the side of a delivery truck, metal crumpling like paper, the driver jerking forward with the force of the impact.

The second SUV barely avoids the wreck, swerving wildly before its tires catch traction again. But they’ve lost precious seconds, seconds we don’t waste.

"Fucking beautiful," Dante exhales, watching through the mirror.

The driver doesn’t hesitate. He guns it.

The engine roars as we surge forward, tearing down the open stretch of road, leaving the chaos behind.

I risk a glance at Sofia. She’s watching it all unfold, her face pale but unreadable, her body rigid against me. Her breathing is steadying, but there’s something in her eyes—a dark, swirling storm, too many thoughts colliding at once.

She’s still processing.

"We’re almost there," I tell her, my thumb brushing against the back of her hand.

She exhales shakily, nodding.

But we’re not safe yet.

The second SUV—the one that didn’t crash—is still coming.

It barrels through the wreckage we left behind, tires spitting out debris, speeding after us like a predator that refuses to lose its prey.

"Persistent fuckers," Dante mutters.

I shift, leveling my gun through the broken rear window.

The Lombardi SUV closes the distance.

Fifty feet.

Thirty.

Twenty.

The tinted driver’s-side window rolls down.

A gun emerges.

I don’t think.

I fire first.

The first shot shatters the side mirror. The second punches through the windshield.

The Lombardi enforcer inside jerks back, his gun dropping from his hands as the driver struggles to keep control of the car.

"Hit the tires!" Adriano shouts from his vehicle.

I take the shot.

The bullet rips into the front tire.

The SUV veers hard to the left, skidding violently before the driver overcorrects—too fast, too aggressively.

The vehicle flips.

It slams into the guardrail, rolling over twice before landing in a mangled heap of metal and shattered glass. Smoke billows from the wreckage, the flicker of flames licking at the crumpled hood.

I don’t wait to see if anyone crawls out.

"Drive," I order.

The SUV surges forward, accelerating toward the only place that’s safe right now.

The gates of the Salvatore Estate swing open before we even reach them, our security team already on high alert. Armed guards line the perimeter, their weapons drawn, scanning the surrounding area for any remaining threats.

The moment we cross into the courtyard, I exhale sharply, tension coiling tight in my chest. We made it, at least for now, and I’ve had just about enough. The SUV rolls to a stop. I throw the door open and step out, turning to help Sofia.

She hesitates for half a second, her fingers still curled into the seat, before she lets me pull her into my arms.

Her body is still trembling.

I feel the weight of what she’s just been through pressing into her bones, into every slow, deliberate movement she makes as she steps onto solid ground again.

I tuck her against my chest, just for a moment. Just long enough to feel her heartbeat. To make sure it’s still there.

She grips my arm. "I—I’m okay."

Dante and Adriano climb out of the other SUVs, scanning the horizon one last time before exchanging a nod.

"No sign of pursuit," Adriano says. "We bought ourselves some breathing room."

"Not for long," I mutter, looking down at Sofia.

The moment the SUV jerks to a stop inside the courtyard, I throw the door open and step out, reaching for Sofia before she can move on her own.

She barely hesitates, her fingers weakly gripping my sleeve as I pull her to me, one arm tightening around her waist, the other steadying her as she sways against me.

She’s exhausted. Beaten down. But she’s here. She’s alive.

The others spill out of the vehicles behind me, weapons still in hand, eyes scanning the perimeter for any lingering threats. Always prepared. Always ready for another fight.

I know better than to believe we’re safe just because we’re back inside Salvatore territory.

This isn’t the end. It’s just the beginning.

I shift my grip on Sofia, tucking her into my side, shielding her as I guide her toward the entrance. Her steps are unsteady, but she doesn’t protest.

She’s too drained, too raw from what she’s been through.

But she trusts me to get her inside.

That trust? I won’t fail her.

The main doors loom ahead, flanked by guards, their expressions unreadable as they take in the wreckage of what just unfolded. The gunfire. The chase. The bodies left in our wake.

We reach the steps, but before I can take another step forward?—

Luca appears.

He steps into our path, his hands in his pockets, his expression carved from ice.

His sharp gaze flicks over Sofia, cataloging every bruise, every mark, the torn fabric of her clothing, the tremble still lingering in her body. But if he feels anything, he doesn’t show it.

Then, his attention shifts to me.

"You disobeyed a direct order, Marco," he says, his voice smooth.

The tension that had been momentarily eclipsed by the chaos of getting Sofia back slams back into place.

I meet his gaze unflinchingly.

"I did what I had to do," I reply, my voice just as cold, just as firm. "She’s under my protection now."

A muscle tics in Luca’s jaw.

There’s a long, heavy silence.

The kind that feels like the sharp edge of a knife, poised just before it plunges in.

Then, before Luca can respond?—

A blur of movement.

Valentina.

She pushes past Luca, rushing toward us. Her heels click sharply against the marble, but her focus is locked solely on Sofia.

"Sofia!" Her voice is thick with emotion, her hands reaching.

Sofia barely has time to react before Valentina pulls her into a fierce, protective embrace.

A small sound escapes Sofia’s lips—half a gasp, half a sigh—as she lets herself collapse into the embrace, as if the last of her strength has been holding her upright long enough to make it back.

Valentina clutches her tightly, one hand cradling the back of Sofia’s head, the other wrapped around her shoulders. "You’re safe," she murmurs. "You’re safe now."

Sofia doesn’t respond right away. She just buries her face in Valentina’s shoulder, her body trembling with exhaustion, with the weight of everything she’s survived.

Luca watches. I watch him.

His gaze lingers on Sofia for a moment longer before he looks at me again. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his eyes are cold. Luca is displeased.