Page 43 of The Underboss’s Secret Twins (Underworld Heirs #2)

MARCO

T he night is quiet, but my mind is anything but.

I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to Sofia’s steady breaths beside me.

The room is dark, save for the faint silver slant of moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting soft shadows over the sheets, over the delicate curve of her body as she sleeps.

Her warmth is tucked against me, her scent lingering in the air—something faintly sweet, something entirely hers.

I should be able to rest now. She’s here. Safe. But I can’t.

Mancini’s final words coil around my thoughts like barbed wire, digging in deeper the longer I dwell on them.

A trump card. Something the Lombardis have been holding back, something they’ve been waiting to play.

And if that bastard was willing to taunt me with it even as he stared down the barrel of my gun, it means it’s something big.

I don’t doubt that I made the right choice in putting him down. A man like Mancini would never have stopped scheming, never stopped trying to rip apart what I’ve built. But that final, mocking glint in his eyes before I pulled the trigger—that lingers.

I turn my head slightly, my gaze settling on Sofia.

She shifts in her sleep, her fingers curling against my chest, her body instinctively drawn to mine even in unconsciousness. I brush a strand of hair from her cheek, my fingertips barely grazing her skin.

She doesn’t know the depths of what I’m willing to do for her.

For her. For our child.

I exhale slowly, forcing my pulse to steady, though my mind still churns.

The Lombardis have been circling like vultures for months, waiting for a weakness, for the right moment to strike.

And if they knew Mancini was working against me, if they knew about his plans before I did, then they’re more embedded in my city than I realized.

That alone is unacceptable.

I can’t just sit here, lying in bed like a man with the luxury of peace.

I press a lingering kiss to Sofia’s forehead before carefully untangling myself from her, slipping out of bed without waking her. She stirs for a brief moment but doesn’t wake, her face soft in the dim light, her breathing deep and even.

I let myself look at her for a second longer before I turn away.

There’s work to be done.

Luca is already waiting for me in the study, a glass of whiskey in hand, his dark eyes sharp despite the late hour.

"You’re up early," he says, though it’s not really a question. He knows me too well.

I pour myself a drink, the amber liquid swirling in the glass as I roll it between my fingers. "Couldn’t sleep."

Luca watches me for a beat, then exhales, setting his glass down with a soft clink . "Mancini’s words."

Rico has already fed Luca everything.

I nod. There’s no point in denying it.

He leans back against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. "You think he was bluffing?"

"No." The answer is immediate, firm. "Mancini was many things—arrogant, manipulative, a fucking traitor—but he wasn’t reckless. If he said the Lombardis have something, then they do."

Luca’s sighs. He knows what this means just as well as I do.

We can’t wait for them to make the next move.

"We need to hit them first," I say. "We end this before they have a chance to show their hand."

Luca nods slowly. "I’ve already started putting feelers out. If the Lombardis are holding something back, we’ll find out what it is." He pauses. "But you know what this means, Marco. If we go after them now, we’re forcing a full-scale war."

I meet his gaze. "Then so be it."

Nuova Speranza is ours. The Salvatores built this city, bled for it, turned it into something untouchable. I won’t let the Lombardis sink their claws into it, won’t let them use whatever ace they think they have against me.

And I sure as hell won’t let them get anywhere near Sofia.

Luca studies me for a moment before shaking his head, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You’re a stubborn bastard."

I pour myself a glass of whiskey. "And?"

He snorts. "And nothing. Just making an observation." Then, more seriously, "How much does Sofia know?"

"She knows enough." I set my glass down, fingers pressing against the wood. "She knows she’s safer with me than anywhere else."

"And you?"

I glance at him. "What about me?"

Luca’s smirk fades, replaced by something unreadable. "Are you going to tell her how far you’re willing to go for her? Or are you just going to let her figure it out when there’s no turning back?"

I don’t answer immediately.

Because the truth is, I don’t know.

Sofia already knows what kind of man I am. She knows I’m not soft, that I don’t hesitate, that I will burn down anything in my path to protect what’s mine. But knowing that in theory and witnessing it firsthand are two different things.

She’s already starting to let her walls down, already leaning into me more than she wants to admit. And I’m not about to let that slip away.

But I also won’t let her be collateral damage in a war she never asked for.

Luca doesn’t push for an answer, just finishes his drink and nods. "I’ll start pulling together the men."

I nod once, and he heads for the door.

But before he steps out, he glances back. "Be careful with her, Marco."

I don’t respond.

Because careful isn’t an option anymore.

I finish the last sip of my drink, the burn searing down my throat.

The thought rings through my skull, hours later, as I step into the main hall of the estate, where my top men are already gathered.

"They’ve been using the docks to funnel money and weapons through the city," Luca says, unrolling a map onto the table, his voice clipped, efficient. He drags a finger along the eastern waterfront, tapping once. "If we take the docks, we take their supply chain. No product, no power."

"They’ll push back," Dante mutters, flicking ash from his cigarette. "They’ve got more men on the streets, but they don’t have the structure to survive without the cash flow. Cut the money, and their foot soldiers start looking for a better offer."

"Which is why we hit them at the same time," I say, my voice even. "We take the docks, but we also hit their strongholds—their warehouses, their safe houses, the places they think are untouchable. They’ll be scrambling before they even know what hit them."

The men nod, their expressions sharpening, the tension in the room shifting into something colder, more certain.

I push off the table, straightening, my words measured. "This isn’t just about Mancini anymore. The Lombardis had orders to take Sofia alive." A silence stretches, hard and unforgiving. "They were planning something bigger. And I’m not waiting to find out what."

Dante’s jaw tightens, his fingers tapping once against the table before stilling. There’s a hunger in his eyes, a thrill in the promise of violence. "Then we finish this now."

I nod. "We do."

Luca steps forward, pressing a hand to the map, flattening the creases. "They’re weakest here," he says, pointing to a section of the docks where the Lombardis’ operations run lean. "Security is light during shift changes at dawn. If we move fast, we can take it with minimal losses."

He doesn’t have to say it, but I know this isn’t just strategy. He won’t be fighting alongside me tonight. Luca will be leading his own war—taking a crew and dismantling the Lombardis’ outer networks. While I carve through their inner circle, Luca will make sure there’s nothing left beyond it.

I turn to Rico. "You’ll take the warehouse district. Go in clean, precise. I want every last Lombardi operation erased. No survivors."

Rico grins, dragging his cigarette through the ashtray, snuffing it out in one slow movement. "I live to serve."

Luca straightens, folding his arms. "I’ll handle the docks with my crew. Take their shipments, cut off every line of supply, make sure there’s nothing left to rebuild. The Lombardis think they can operate in the shadows, but they’ve gotten too comfortable. We make them bleed out in the daylight."

I nod. "Good. While you tear down the docks, my men and I will move on their core leadership. We take their captains, their lieutenants, their men who keep this machine running. If we do this right, there won’t be anyone left to call the shots."

I glance at Enzo. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken, but his fingers linger near the hilt of the blade strapped to his side. Waiting.

"You," I say, softly, "are going to make sure there’s no one left to pick up the pieces."

A slow smile curls at the edges of his mouth.

I step toward him, meeting his gaze. "Take out their leadership. One by one. Make it hurt. Make it final."

He slides the knife back into his belt. "I can do that."

I look around the room, at the men who have fought beside me, killed beside me, men I trust with my life, with Sofia’s life.

"This isn’t just about the Salvatores." A chill creeps into my voice. "This is about sending a message. We don’t bow. We don’t break. We don’t fucking lose."

A ripple of agreement moves through the room. The decision has already been made.

Luca rolls the map back up, meets my eyes across the table.

"We leave in an hour."

I nod once, turning away. The room erupts into motion, men preparing weapons, checking ammunition, finalizing their squads.

As I step into the hallway, my mind sharpens with only one thought: I won’t let Sofia live in fear.

I move through the dim corridors, past oil paintings and marble statues, past the ghosts of the men who built this family before me. The weight of what’s to come isn’t just in my mind—it’s in the very bones of this house, soaked into its walls, whispering through the cracks like an omen.

By the time I reach the bedroom, my blood is still running too hot, my pulse too sharp from the conversations I’ve just left behind. The plans are set. My men are preparing. Everything is in motion. And yet, when I push the door open and step inside, the only thing that matters is her.

Sofia is awake.

She’s sitting against the pillows, her hair a wild mess from sleep, her fingers absently tracing circles over the fabric of her shirt just above her stomach.

My chest tightens at the sight. At her .

The mother of my child, watching me with eyes that see too much, searching my face like she already knows I’m about to walk out that door into something neither of us can control.

I hesitate, standing at the threshold longer than I should.

Then I move to her, sinking onto the edge of the bed, exhaling slowly.

The tension doesn’t leave my body, but it shifts—melting, reforming into something quieter as I reach for her.

My fingers brush her cheek, and she leans into the touch, just enough for me to feel the warmth of her skin against my palm.

"You’re leaving," she murmurs. It’s not a question.

I nod.

She swallows, her throat working as her fingers curl into the sheets. "Is this it?"

Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it cuts through me sharper than any bullet ever could.

I don’t lie to her.

I never have.

I won’t start now.

So, I press my forehead to hers, my lips brushing against her skin, and I tell her the only truth I can give.

"Everything will be okay."

She exhales, shaky and unsure. "Promise?"

I don’t promise things I can’t control. I never have.

But I kiss her anyway.

It’s more than I should allow myself. She tastes like sleep, like warmth, like something I can never quite hold onto, no matter how hard I try. My hand slips to the nape of her neck, keeping her close for just a few more seconds, just long enough to pretend this moment isn’t about to end.

When I pull back, she’s still watching me.

Still waiting.

She doesn’t ask me to stay.

And I don’t tell her that I want to.

Instead, I rise, my hands lingering at her waist for a second longer than necessary. "Rest," I murmur. "I’ll be back soon."