Page 44 of The Underboss’s Secret Twins (Underworld Heirs #2)

SOFIA

W hen Marco leaves, the last thing on my mind is rest. How can I rest when he is in danger’s way?

Instead, I head to the kitchen, hoping I will find my best friend there.

The scent of simmering tomatoes and garlic wraps around me the moment I step in, the warmth of the ovens casting a golden glow over the room. It feels like stepping into another world, one untouched by the violence and tension that have ruled my life these past few days.

Valentina stands at the stove, her dark hair pulled into a loose bun, stirring a pot as she sings softly. She doesn’t turn when she hears me enter—just gestures toward the stool at the island, as if she knew I’d be here before I did.

"Eat first," she says. "Then you can brood."

I exhale, dropping onto the stool. "That obvious?"

She finally glances at me, one brow arched. "Please. I have a husband and a son. I know exactly what someone looks like when they’re pretending they’re fine."

I don’t argue. Instead, I reach for the plate of fresh bread and cheese she’s set out, tearing off a piece and taking a bite. The first taste is a relief, the warmth of it settling deep in my stomach, but as I chew, my mind drifts back to Marco.

He’s out there, putting his life on the line, while I’m in here, eating breakfast.

I swallow hard.

Valentina watches me for a moment before turning back to the stove. "You know," she muses, "when I first married Luca, I used to count the hours."

I frown, confused. "Count the hours?"

"The ones between when he left and when he came back." She stirs the sauce, a small smile playing at her lips. "I’d sit here, just like you, trying to distract myself, telling myself I didn’t care. That I didn’t need him to walk through that door at the end of the day. That I was fine either way."

She turns, leaning against the counter, spoon still in hand. "It was a lie."

I set my bread down. "And now?"

"Now, I don’t count anymore." Her smile fades, but there’s no sadness in it. Just understanding. "Because I know he’ll always come back."

I let the words settle, staring down at my hands.

Marco will come back.

But what if he doesn’t?

Valentina must see the thought pass across my face, because she sighs and turns back to the stove. "You’re still fighting it."

I blink. "Fighting what?"

She gives me a look over her shoulder. "Happiness."

I let out a short laugh, but there’s no humor in it. "Happiness? Val, I don’t even know what that looks like anymore."

She turns off the heat, setting the spoon aside, and walks over to sit across from me. "You think I didn’t feel the same way?"

I shake my head. "It’s different for you. You—you’ve found your place here. I spent years running from it."

She folds her arms on the counter. "And look where that got you."

I scowl. "Wow. Thanks."

She smirks. "I’m serious, Sofia. You ran. You hid. You built a life for yourself outside of this, outside of Marco. And still, you ended up here . With him. Carrying his child."

I don’t respond.

She tilts her head. "So maybe the question isn’t whether you can survive in Marco’s world. Maybe it’s whether you can survive without him ."

A lump rises in my throat, unexpected and unwelcome.

I push the plate away.

Valentina sighs. "Sofia…"

"I don’t know how to do this," I whisper. The words slip out before I can stop them.

She reaches across the counter, squeezing my hand. "You don’t have to."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs. "You think I have all the answers? That I magically figured out how to be a mafia wife, how to raise a son in this world? I didn’t. I don’t ."

Her voice softens. "You don’t have to have all the answers, Sofia. You just have to choose ."

I stare at her.

Marco’s words echo in my mind.

Stay. Stay and let me protect you.

I look down at my stomach, pressing my palm lightly over the barely-there swell.

Maybe I’ve already made my choice.

I just don’t know how to say it yet.

The fear and tension from the day’s events have left me on edge, but beneath it all, I feel a growing sense of attachment to Marco. I try to push the thoughts away—after all, our relationship is complicated, and the life I’m carrying adds another layer of complexity.

That’s the thought that lingers, pressing against the edges of my mind as I sit in the quiet of the estate, tension coiling inside me like a tightly wound spring. I try to push it away, but it stays—persistent, gnawing, impossible to ignore.

The minutes stretch into hours, and still, there’s no word from Marco.

I leave the kitchen, only to pace the living room, arms crossed tightly over my chest, my fingers gripping at the fabric of my sleeves. Valentina watches from the doorway, her gaze unreadable.

"You’re going to wear a hole in the floor," she finally says.

I stop and shake my head. "I can’t just sit here and do nothing."

She studies me for a moment before nodding. "Then don’t."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

Without a word, she gestures for me to follow.

I hesitate for only a second before falling into step behind her.

Valentina leads me down a hallway I’ve never paid much attention to before, stopping in front of a reinforced steel door.

She types in a code, and the lock clicks open.

The door swings inward, revealing a sparsely lit room lined with monitors and communication equipment.

Several men sit inside, their faces illuminated by the blue glow of the screens.

A command center.

"This is how we keep track of what’s happening," Valentina says. "It’s secure. Only Marco’s most trusted people have access."

I swallow, stepping forward. Tension coils in the room, low voices threading through the crackle of radio transmissions.

One of the men looks up, brow furrowing as he sees me. "She shouldn’t be in here."

Valentina raises a hand before I can respond. "Marco’s instructions—she can be anywhere she pleases in this estate. She’s not a prisoner. She’s family."

The man hesitates, then looks at me again. This time, he nods.

I move closer to the screens, my eyes scanning the shifting feeds of security footage, maps, and live reports. I don’t understand everything I’m seeing, but I don’t have to. The only thing I care about is Marco.

"Can we hear what’s happening?" I ask.

Valentina gestures to one of the radios. "They’re using encrypted channels, but we can listen in on the updates."

She picks up a headset and hands it to me. I slide it on, heart hammering as I adjust the frequency. A burst of static fills my ears before voices cut through—low, urgent, threaded with anticipation.

"Once we hit the gates, they’ll either scatter or dig in. Either way, we don’t give them time to regroup."

"Understood. Hold the line. Keep them contained."

"No one gets in or out."

Marco is in the thick of it.