Page 22 of The Underboss’s Secret Twins (Underworld Heirs #2)

At the far end, is a wooden table—long, wide, built for generations of men who rule and the women who outlive them—bears the weight of half-drunk wine bottles and forgotten glasses.

Sofia blinks, looking around, surprised.

"I expected…I don’t know. Something more industrial. More soulless."

I set her down carefully on the long wooden counter, smirking.

"You think we don’t eat real food in this house?"

She lifts a brow. "I think you have staff for that."

I roll up my sleeves, stepping toward the stove. "Maybe. But I like to cook."

She tilts her head, watching me with genuine curiosity.

"Really?"

I pull out a few ingredients—eggs, fresh bread, herbs, a wedge of parmesan.

"Really," I confirm. "You’re not the only one with surprises, De Luca."

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?—"

I lean forward slightly. "Then?"

She hesitates again. Just for a second. It’s barely noticeable, but I catch it. The flicker of doubt in her eyes, the way her fingers tighten around the fork.

She’s holding something back.

I push off the counter, closing the space between us. "Sofia."

Her fingers tighten around the fork, pressing against the metal. "They talked about you," she murmurs. "Not just the usual threats. It was different."

I grip the counter beside her, bracing myself. "What did they say?"

She looks at me then, really looks at me, and what I see in her gaze makes something coil in my chest.

"They said that if things went south," she says, her voice quiet but steady, "you wouldn’t hesitate to throw me off a cliff."

The words hit me like a gunshot to the ribs. My breath leaves me in a sharp exhale, my fingers clenching against the counter’s edge.

"They said you’d do it yourself," she continues, watching me carefully. "That I was just another loose end, another problem that would be handled if it meant keeping the Salvatores clean."

Silence stretches between us, thick as smoke.

I stare at her, barely able to breathe past the fury boiling beneath my skin.

"They think I’d kill you?" My voice is tight with anger.

She shrugs, but it’s not casual. It’s forced. "They think you’re a man who does what needs to be done."

I shake my head. "Not when it comes to you."

Something in her gaze flickers, just for a moment. She wants to believe me. But there’s still something lurking beneath the surface, something she hasn’t voiced yet.

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. "Sofia, I would never?—"

She cuts me off with a single look. One that’s not full of anger or accusation. It’s just quiet, a steady assessment.

Then she sets her fork down, pushing her plate away slightly. "Marco."

I brace myself.

She tilts her head, looking at me through hooded eyes. "What happened when we broke up?"

I blink. The sudden shift slams into me like a sucker punch.

She waits, her expression unreadable, her fingers trailing absently over the rim of her plate. "Things did go south back then," she says softly. "And your first instinct was to leave me in a dangerous position. Alone."

My pulse hammers.

I open my mouth, but she isn’t finished.

"And now, you’ve brought me here," she continues, gesturing subtly to the estate around us. "Locked me inside this fortress. I’m safe, but I’m also caged.

" She leans forward slightly, her eyes searching mine.

"So, what if I keep doing what I was doing before? What if I don’t stop looking into the Lombardis?

What if I keep chasing down the truth, even if it pisses off the wrong people? "

She lifts her chin slightly. "Will you still support me then?"

I don’t breathe.

"Will you still love me then?"

The question lands like a final blow, sinking deep into something I’m not sure I’m ready to face.

Sofia doesn’t look away. Doesn’t flinch.

Because she isn’t fond of games.

And right now, she’s making it clear—she wants an answer. Straight up front.