Page 34 of The Underboss’s Secret Twins (Underworld Heirs #2)

MARCO

I stare at the test in my hand, my pulse hammering. My fingers tighten around the sheet of paper, my grip so fierce it’s a miracle I don’t tear it.

Pregnant.

A confirmation of the one thing that makes her running not just a betrayal, but a fucking catastrophe.

Sofia is pregnant.

A violent rush of emotion crashes into me, something raw and unfamiliar. It lodges deep in my chest, clawing at my ribs, filling every hollow space inside me with a brutal, uncontrollable need. To find her. To bring her back. To make sure she understands exactly what she’s done.

My breath comes hard and fast, every inhale sharper than the last.

Sofia is carrying my child.

I should’ve known. Should’ve felt it.

The signs were there—the exhaustion, the way she kept pushing her food around her plate, her sudden distance. I thought she was pulling away from me , but she was protecting something far bigger.

I thought I had time.

I don’t.

The realization crashes into me, threatening to rip me in half.

I run a shaking hand through my hair, gripping the strands tight enough to sting, like pain might be the only thing that can cut through the haze of panic threading through my blood. My vision blurs for a second, rage and something far more potent flooding my veins.

This isn’t just about her anymore. This is about our child. The one she’s planning to raise without me.

Over my dead fucking body.

I hear movement at the door, a hesitant shuffle, but I don’t turn.

"Boss?" Adriano’s voice is cautious, like he knows I’m on the edge of collapse.

I don’t look at him. I just shove the test into his chest, my voice coming out like gravel. "Burn that."

His eyes flick down, widening slightly as he realizes what he’s holding. He hesitates—just for a fraction of a second—but he’s smart enough not to question me.

He gives a sharp nod before stepping back, leaving me alone in the dimly lit room.

I inhale deeply, steadying myself, but the pressure in my chest doesn’t ease. The longer I stand here, the worse it gets. The walls of the estate feel suffocating, the weight of everything pressing down too hard, too fast.

I should be thinking rationally . But I can’t.

Because nothing about this is rational.

Sofia isn’t just some woman I fucked. She isn’t just someone who got caught up in this life. She’s my woman. And now, she’s carrying my child.

The world outside of this estate is not kind to women who don’t have protection. It’s even crueler to the children they bring into it alone. And Sofia—stubborn, reckless Sofia—doesn’t see it the way I do.

She doesn’t understand what I would do for her. For our child.

I let out a sharp breath, pressing a hand against the wall to steady myself, my fingertips digging into the cool surface.

She thinks she’s protecting our baby from me.

The thought sends a dark, vicious anger surging through me, one I can barely contain. My hands curl into fists at my sides.

She has no fucking idea.

No idea how far I’d go to keep them safe. No idea how quickly I’d burn the whole damn world to the ground if it meant keeping her in my arms, keeping my child out of harm’s way.

And now, she’s out there, alone, thinking she can disappear.

Thinking I won’t find her.

A bitter laugh rises in my throat, but I don’t let it escape. She should know me better than that.

I push away from the wall and storm out of the room, my steps quick, my body wound so tight it feels like I might snap.

My stomach twists, not with hunger, but with something sharper—an instinctual pull, a visceral demand to find her now .

Outside, the driveway is lined with cars, engines still warm from the men I sent out hours ago.

They’ve combed the city, shaken down every contact we have, but Sofia has covered her tracks too well.

I slam into the driver’s seat of my car, gripping the steering wheel with enough force to make my knuckles ache. My phone buzzes against my thigh, and I yank it free, my voice sharp as I answer.

"Tell me you have something."

A pause. Then: "We’re tracking her phone, but she’s turning it off over and over. She’s good, boss. Real good."

My jaw clenches. Of course she is. Every skill she’s honed as a journalist—digging for the truth, slipping past barriers, avoiding detection—she’s turned against me.

But she underestimated one thing.

I will always find her.

I start the engine, my car growling to life beneath me. The tires screech against the pavement as I tear out of the estate and into the darkening city.

My men are hunting. I am hunting.

The city unfolds before me in a blur of steel and neon, headlights streaking across wet pavement, the hum of late evening settling over the skyline like a thin veil.

I take a sharp turn onto the main road, my tires screeching against the asphalt, my grip tight on the wheel.

The streets are alive—cars weaving in and out of lanes, people moving in and out of bars, oblivious to the storm closing in around them.

The phone buzzes against my thigh again. I flick my eyes to the screen, my pulse hammering.

I glance at the screen, “Valentina” glowing in white against the darkened dashboard. And just like that, the realization hits.

Who would Sofia go to, if she needed help? Who would have the audacity to actually help her, knowing what it could get them into?

My fingers tighten around the wheel as I hit accept, bringing the phone to my ear.

"Tell me where she is."

A beat of silence. Then a slow, shaky breath. "Marco…"

"Don’t start," I snap. "You arranged the car. Where the hell is she going?"

"I don’t know." Her voice is thick with guilt. "I swear, Marco. I didn’t think she was running from you, not like this. She just asked for a car. No details. I thought she needed space, not?—"

I grit my teeth. "Not to disappear?"

She exhales hard. "Yes."

I cut through traffic, weaving between cars with ruthless precision. My patience is thin, stretched to its breaking point. "The driver—who is he?"

"Someone I trust," she says quickly. "Someone who asks no questions. He picked her up, and she’s going to tell him where she needs to go. That’s all I know."

My jaw locks. That matches what my men already found.

I grip the wheel tighter, knuckles white. "You have any idea where she’ll go next?"

Another pause. Too long.

"Valentina," I warn.

She sighs. "You know Sofia, Marco. She’s not going to make it easy. But…" She hesitates. "I don’t think she’ll leave the city."

That catches me off guard. "Why?"

Valentina hesitates again, and I can hear the words she wants to say sitting on the edge of her tongue. But she holds them back.

I don’t have time for games. "If you know something?—"

"Just promise me something," she interrupts. Her voice is different now. "When you find her—because I know you will—you have to listen to her, Marco. You have to take care of her. And of what she wants."

My grip on the wheel tightens.

Valentina’s voice drops lower, almost pleading. "And if you can’t do that…if you can’t give her what she needs—then let her go."

The line clicks dead before I can answer.

My teeth grind, my pulse hammering.

Let her go?

No.

That’s not an option.

I tuck the phone away, my foot pressing harder on the gas.

I know what I have to do.

But first, I have to find her.