Page 36 of The Underboss’s Secret Twins (Underworld Heirs #2)

MARCO

I never wanted love.

Not the kind that blinds you, weakens you, makes you pitifully desperate.

I saw what love does to a person. I watched my mother turn into something sharp-edged and hollow after my father died, watched the way grief twisted her into a creature made of vengeance and fury.

She didn’t mourn him the way other women mourn their husbands—with tears, with silence, with some desperate attempt to hold on to what was lost.

No. She mourned him with blood.

She buried her grief beneath an unshakable hunger for power, for victory, for ensuring the Salvatores never bowed to anyone. She didn’t break, she sharpened.

I was just a kid, but I understood it even then. Love wasn’t something soft, something to be cherished. It was a weapon. It was war. And it destroyed her.

So, I swore I would never let it destroy me.

Yet here I am, tearing through the streets of Nuova Speranza, my hands locked around the steering wheel, my vision tunneling with a desperation I don’t know how to contain. My blood roars, my heartbeat a violent rhythm in my ears.

Sofia is out there, in danger, carrying my child.

I weave between lanes, cutting through the rain-slicked streets. The sky is darkening, a storm gathering at the horizon, thick clouds rolling in like an omen.

My mind flickers back to her—Sofia, with her sharp tongue and sharper mind, with eyes that burn like embers when she’s furious, with a defiance that has both infuriated and consumed me from the moment I first laid eyes on her.

She’s not like other women.

She doesn’t cower. She doesn’t plead. She meets me head-on, meets the violence in me without flinching. She isn’t afraid of my world, of what I am, of what I do. She belongs in it in ways I never wanted to admit—because admitting it would mean accepting that I could lose her to it, too.

And now, I might have.

I slam my foot against the gas.

But I also know Sofia.

She doesn’t want safety in a gilded cage. She craves the fire, the thrill of the chase, the pulse of adrenaline in her veins. She is made for danger in the same way I am. We’re carved from the same ruthless instincts, shaped by the same unforgiving world.

She is perfect for me.

If she would just see it .

My phone rings, snapping me back to the present. I don’t check the number before answering.

"Boss," Rico says, his voice clipped, urgent. "We found the car."

"Where?" My voice is sharp, barely human.

"Outskirts of the city, near the old service road. But listen—there’s more. One of the scouts just radioed in. There’s a crash site in the forest about five miles from where the car stopped."

A breath locks in my throat.

"A crash?"

"Yeah. No sign of her yet, but the vehicle’s wrecked. No bodies in it. Someone survived."

I throw the car into higher gear, pushing the engine to its limit. The city fades behind me, the open road stretching ahead like a dark promise. The wind howls through the cracks in the windows, carrying the scent of damp earth and gasoline.

She’s alive.

She has to be.

I don’t slow down until I reach and stop near the cordoned-off area, gravel spitting beneath the tires. Before the engine is even off, I’m out, slamming the door behind me.

The wreckage looms ahead—twisted metal, shattered glass, the front end wrapped around a tree like a carcass broken on the hunt. The air is thick with the acrid stench of gasoline and scorched rubber, mixing with the damp rot of the forest floor.

But there’s no blood.

No body.

Sofia’s gone.

I force myself to breathe, pushing down the sharp, suffocating panic clawing at my ribs.

"She’s not here," Adriano says as he approaches. "No sign of the driver, either."

I rake a hand through my hair, my pulse thudding in my ears. "Then fucking find her."

Adriano doesn’t argue. He steps back, barking orders at the men spread through the area, their flashlights cutting sharp beams through the trees.

I turn, scanning the wreckage again, searching for something—anything—that tells me where she went. The passenger door is ajar, the hinges bent from the force of the impact. The glass is shattered inward, cracks webbing across the side mirror.

She must have crawled out.

But if she could walk away from this, where the hell is she?

The sound of footsteps crunching against gravel pulls my focus. Rico strides toward me, phone in hand, his usual smugness replaced by something colder.

"Boss," he says, lifting the screen for me to see. "You need to hear this."

A voice crackles through the speaker—a distorted, tinny recording. At first, it’s just static, then the unmistakable rasp of a man speaking in hushed tones.

"She’s in the car. Don’t lose her."

A beat of silence. Then another voice, lower, meaner.

"Lombardi wants her alive. You make a move before we get the order, you answer to him."

The words settle like ice in my veins.

I snatch the phone from Rico’s hand, replaying the recording.

Alive.

The Lombardis weren’t just trying to kill her. They wanted to take her.

Rico exhales, shoving his hands into his jacket. "The wire came from one of our guys tailing them near the east sector. They were watching her before she even got in the car. This wasn’t just about shutting her up."

I glance at the wreckage again, my jaw locking. The Lombardis don’t hunt people like this unless they have a reason. And if they had orders to keep her breathing, that means she’s worth something to them.

Which means this isn’t just about her digging too deep into their operations.

"They knew she was leaving," I say, realization settling in my gut like lead.

Rico nods grimly. "Looks that way."

I grip the edge of the car door, tension coiling through my body like a live wire.

If the Lombardis knew Sofia was planning to run, it means they were watching her long before this. Watching us .

My grip tightens. "What else do we know?"

Rico glances around, lowering his voice. "The driver Valentina trusted? He was one of Lombardi's men. It was a set-up, once again."

A slow, simmering heat spreads through my chest.

The Salvatores and the Lombardis have been circling each other for years, waiting for the right moment to strike. We control most of Nuova Speranza, but the Lombardis have been clawing for a bigger piece. If they could get their hands on something— someone —that could make me hesitate…

And now, with her being pregnant…

If the Lombardis got their hands on Sofia, they’d use her against me. The child would be an insurance policy, a living, breathing pawn in a war that’s been brewing for years.

Rico watches me carefully. "You think they know?"

I shake my head, jaw clenched. "Not yet. But they knew she was leaving, and they knew they wanted her alive." I glance at the wreck again, my mind running through every possibility. "Which means they won’t stop looking."

The thought is enough to send my fury into something lethal.

Sofia ran because she thought she was protecting our child. But she doesn’t realize she’s only put herself closer to the men who would use both of them to bring me to my knees.

I nod briefly at Adriano. "Double the perimeter. I want this forest searched inch by inch."

He nods, snapping orders into his radio.

I shift back to Rico. "Get someone digging into Lombardi’s movements. If they’ve got teams looking for her, I want to know where they are."

Rico dips his head quickly. "Already on it."

I touch his shoulder lightly before moving away to stalk toward the tree line.

Even with my men scouring the wreckage, voices crackling over radios, flashlights cutting through the dense undergrowth, there’s something wrong. A hollowness clings to the trees, wrapping around the broken car like a silent omen.

I step closer to the wreck, the acrid scent of burnt rubber mixing with damp earth. The metal is twisted, the front end crumpled around the thick trunk of a tree. Shattered glass glints under the beam of a flashlight, and the open passenger door gapes like a wound.

But there’s no sign of Sofia.

She was in this car. She crawled out. She got away.

Then where the fuck is she?

I scan the ground, the mud slick from the earlier rain, the forest floor uneven with patches of wet leaves and jagged roots. My breath comes slow, controlled, but my pulse is anything but steady.

Then I see a dark smear against the silver metal of the door.

I move fast, crouching beside the car. The flashlight in my hand catches another streak—this time on the ground, barely visible against the damp earth. A single drop of something deep, something red.

Blood.

A cold, sharp fear slides through my ribs, tightening like a vice.

She’s hurt.

I follow the trail, eyes trained on the uneven path leading deeper into the forest. The blood isn’t much—small droplets, spaced apart—but it’s fresh. The realization is both a relief and a warning. She’s still alive, but for how long?

The trees grow denser as I move forward, the underbrush thicker, the scent of pine and damp wood cloying in the air. Footsteps crunch behind me as Adriano and Rico close in.

"Boss," Rico murmurs, his eyes flicking to the same trail I’m following. "She’s bleeding."

I don’t respond. I already know.

I step over a broken branch, moving faster now, the forest swallowing the sound of my footsteps. My grip tightens around the gun at my side. If she’s hurt, she won’t have gotten far.

Unless someone got to her first.

The thought sends a violent surge of rage through me, hot and unrelenting. If the Lombardis found her—if they put their hands on her—I’ll tear them apart, one by one.

Another drop of blood. Another few feet deeper into the trees.

She’s close.

I push forward, my breath steady but sharp, every muscle in my body coiled tight. The path narrows, the trees closing in like ribs caging something fragile, something easily broken.

Then—nothing.

The blood trail stops.

I halt so suddenly that Rico nearly collides with my back.

"What the fuck?" he mutters, scanning the ground.

I turn in a slow circle, my heart hammering. The droplets disappear, vanishing like they were never there. No footprints. No disturbed leaves. Just an empty stretch of forest bathed in shadows.

Panic claws at the edges of my mind, but I shove it down, forcing myself to think. She was bleeding. She was moving. And then—what? She was dragged? She collapsed?

Where are you? Where are you, Sofia?