Page 32 of The Underboss’s Secret Twins (Underworld Heirs #2)
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.
Close. Too close.
Panic seizes me.
I whip my head around, scanning the courtyard for an escape, for anything that could shield me. My eyes land on a small wooden door embedded in the wall to my left. A storage closet, maybe. It doesn’t matter. It’s my only option.
I move before I can second-guess myself, slipping inside and easing the door shut behind me.
The space is tight, shelves of gardening tools and cleaning supplies pressing in around me, the air thick with the scent of dust and metal.
I press my back against the wall, forcing my breaths to slow, clamping a hand over my mouth to stifle the sound.
The footsteps grow louder.
They stop right outside the door.
My pulse roars in my ears.
Seconds stretch into eternity. The only sound is the faint hum of the wind outside, rustling through the hedges. My fingers dig into the wooden shelf beside me, my nails pressing deep into the grain.
If they open the door?—
A hand grips the handle.
I stop breathing.
My entire body locks up, my breath freezing in my throat. The scent of dust and metal is sharp in my nose. My fingers dig into the wooden shelf behind me, the edges biting into my skin, grounding me in place.
The handle shifts slightly. A slow, deliberate movement.
I squeeze my eyes shut, silently begging for the door to remain closed, for whoever is out there to keep moving.
Seconds stretch like an eternity.
Then—
The hand releases the handle.
The footsteps move away.
I stay frozen, listening. One step. Two. Then a pause.
A door creaks open somewhere nearby, followed by the muffled shuffle of movement inside another room. The door closes again with a soft thud.
I wait until the only sound is my own ragged breathing and the distant murmur of the wind against the estate walls.
My limbs feel stiff, tight with adrenaline, but I force them to obey as I inch toward the door, pressing my ear against it. Silence.
I count to ten.
Then, carefully, I push the door open, slipping back into the dimly lit courtyard.
The sky is beginning to lighten—faint streaks of gray cutting through the deep blue, warning me that dawn is not far away. I have minutes, at best.
I press forward, keeping to the shadows, my breath shallow, my footsteps light. Every sound feels amplified, every shift in the air a potential threat. I glance around, scanning for movement. The guards near the main entrance haven’t moved, their focus still trained on the front gates.
The back exit is just ahead.
I reach the heavy door, my hands trembling as I grasp the cold metal handle. Gently, carefully, I pull.
The door eases open with a whisper of sound.
Cool air hits my face, and for a moment, I just stand there, letting it wash over me, letting myself believe—just for a second—that I’ve made it.
Then I slip outside.
The ground beneath my feet is uneven, gravel crunching softly as I move toward the outer perimeter of the estate. I keep my body low, hugging the stone wall as I work my way along its length.
Then I see it: the car.
A sleek black sedan, its lights off, parked just beyond the final stretch of hedges. My heart leaps in my chest.
Valentina came through for me.
Relief threatens to weaken my knees, but I don’t let it. I push forward, moving quickly but cautiously. The driver is barely visible behind the wheel, his head turned toward the road, watching for any sign of trouble.
I can almost taste my escape.
Just a few more steps.
Then—
A shout.
From behind me.
My stomach twists violently as I spin, my breath seizing in my lungs. A guard stands at the edge of the courtyard, his posture stiff, his hand already reaching for his gun.
There’s no time to think, so I run.
The sharp burst of movement sends a shock through my limbs, my heart pounding as I sprint toward the car.
The driver sees me. The engine rumbles to life.
The guard barks something into his radio, his voice sharp, frantic. More shouts echo in the distance—other men responding, the estate waking up too soon.
I push harder, my legs burning as I close the final distance.
The car door flies open, and without hesitating, without dwelling on the ifs and buts , I dive inside.
"Go!" I gasp, barely pulling the door shut before the driver slams his foot on the gas.
For a moment—a breath, a heartbeat—I feel it. The impossible weight of fear loosens, if only slightly.
I made it.
The city melts behind us, slipping into the distance, its towering shapes softened by the hush of early morning.
The roads stretch ahead, empty and endless, the asphalt glistening faintly under the dying glow of streetlights.
Buildings give way to rolling hills, the landscape undulating like the slow rise and fall of a giant’s breath.
To the right, the ocean emerges, a vast, silver expanse, quiet and indifferent.
The waves whisper against the shore, a lullaby I almost let myself believe in.
But peace is a fragile thing.
The shift is subtle at first—just a flicker in the rearview mirror, a set of headlights appearing too soon, too steady. My fingers curl against my lap as the cold slithers back in, winding tight around my ribs.
Then the lights surge closer.
I go rigid, my breath stalling as the weight of realization crashes down, sharp and unforgiving. We’re being followed.
"Hold on," the driver mutters, jaw tight, his grip flexing around the wheel. He jerks it hard to the right, taking the next turn too fast. Tires shriek against the pavement, the car tilting just enough to send my shoulder slamming into the door. I barely register the pain.
I look up.
The second car isn’t just following anymore—it’s closing in.
The driver curses, louder this time, rough with urgency. "We’re not gonna outrun them in this thing."
The ocean disappears behind us, swallowed by the dark as the road narrows. The hills feel taller now, the shadows deeper. My stomach twists. Peace is gone. There’s only the chase now.
"Then what do we do?" My voice is tight, my nails digging into the seat.
A second passes. Two. The headlights behind us grow brighter, sharper, cutting through the dim light like a predator locking onto its prey.
"Hang on." There’s no time to register the warning before the driver jerks the wheel left, hard and sudden.
The car veers off the main road, barreling down a side street, the tires screeching as they struggle to grip the pavement. My body pitches forward, the seatbelt locking tight across my chest.
The road here is narrower, darker, lined with looming buildings that cast heavy shadows across the asphalt.
The driver doesn’t slow, doesn’t hesitate, just pushes forward, weaving between the few cars that are out at this hour, threading through the streets with precision that tells me this isn’t the first time he’s done this.
But the car is still behind us, rapidly closing the distance.
Another sharp turn. Another. The city stretches out before us in a blur of metal and concrete, flickering neon signs and dim streetlights flashing by like ghosts. My heart races, my pulse a frantic staccato against my ribs.
Then—
A violent impact from behind, metal slamming against metal. The force jerks me forward, my hands flying out to brace against the dashboard as the car lurches sideways.
"They’re trying to force us off the road!"
No. No, no, no.
Another hit. Harder this time. The tires scream against the pavement, the whole vehicle shuddering with the force of the impact.
The driver grits his teeth, fighting for control.
He slams the brakes.
The seatbelt bites into my chest as the car jerks violently, the world pitching forward all at once. The pursuing car doesn’t react fast enough—it rockets forward, speeding past us before the driver realizes what just happened.
Too late.
The sedan’s tires screech against the pavement as the driver whips the wheel around, cutting hard to the right and taking off in the opposite direction.
My breath shudders out of me, my entire body thrumming with adrenaline, my vision blurring at the edges.
The pursuing car skids to a stop, its headlights swinging wildly as it tries to recover. But we’re already moving—already getting away.