Page 47 of The Underboss’s Secret Twins (Underworld Heirs #2)

MARCO

I take another step forward, my boots pressing into a pool of blood. The Lombardi soldier at my feet gurgles his last breath before his body goes slack, his gun slipping from lifeless fingers. Another man down. Another step closer to wiping them from this city.

Gunfire rattles through the villa, reverberating off the marble walls and high ceilings, the sheer force of it turning this place into a war zone.

My men push forward, moving like a tide, sweeping through the hallways, flushing out Lombardi strongholds one by one.

The scent of gunpowder clings thick to the air, mixing with something else—something acrid and metallic. Blood, smoke, death.

The Lombardis are still fighting, but their defenses are faltering, their men falling back, scrambling, desperate. They know their time is running out.

But something gnaws at me, a weight pressing against my chest.

Something is wrong .

I’ve been in enough battles to recognize when an enemy is truly backed into a corner.

They should be throwing everything they have at us.

Fighting like animals. But instead, they’re stalling, their defenses oddly positioned, their movements too calculated.

As if they’re not trying to win—they’re just trying to keep us here .

I push the thought down. Vittorio Lombardi is mine tonight.

A burst of gunfire lights up the corridor ahead, and I duck, pressing myself against the wall as bullets rip through the air.

"Boss! We’re pushing them back!" Silva shouts over the chaos, his voice hoarse.

"Keep moving," I order, shifting my grip on my gun. "We take this house tonight."

I press forward, my men at my back, my focus razor-sharp. The Lombardi villa is a maze—lavish hallways filled with grotesque paintings, chandeliers still swaying from the concussive force of grenades and gunfire, staircases that lead to nowhere, all designed to confuse, to mislead.

I don’t care.

Vittorio is somewhere inside, and I will find him.

Then, my phone vibrates.

I almost ignore it. But something stops me—something cold and unshakable, the same feeling that’s been clawing at me all night.

I pull it out, keeping my gun raised, my focus split as I glance at the screen.

It’s Sofia.

My stomach tightens.

I press the phone to my ear. "Sofia?"

Static.

Then—her voice, strained, frantic, barely cutting through the interference.

"Marco— you need—leave ? — "

A chill rips down my spine. "Sofia, what? I can’t hear you."

More static, then broken words, her voice crackling like she’s struggling to get them out.

"…villa…rigged…explosives?—"

Everything stops.

I don’t breathe.

The world tilts, shifts, realigns into something worse. The fucking Lombardis weren’t just fighting to hold their ground. They were buying time.

"Say that again," I demand, my voice low, sharp.

The call drops.

A second of silence stretches impossibly long. Then rage and ice collide inside me in a violent storm.

"FUCK!"

I spin toward my men, barking the order before the thought has even fully formed. "RETREAT! NOW! "

Silva’s head snaps up. "Boss, what the fuck?—"

"The place is rigged!" I snarl, shoving my phone into my pocket. "Move, move —NOW!"

Understanding flashes in Silva’s eyes, and in an instant, the command ripples through the ranks. My men pivot, instincts kicking in as we abandon the assault, turning toward the way we came.

The Lombardis realize what’s happening.

And that’s when they really start fighting.

Gunfire erupts from all directions, deafening in its intensity. They’ve been waiting for this. They wanted us to realize too late.

My men scramble for cover, ducking behind overturned furniture, firing back as the Lombardis press in, their bullets slicing through the air, ricocheting off stone walls.

I shove Silva forward. "Get them out!"

"What about you?"

I don’t answer.

I push forward instead, carving through the gunfire, covering my men as they start pulling back. My mind is a blur of calculations, exit routes, strategy. How much time do we have? Minutes? Seconds? Where are the charges? If I were Vittorio, where would I place them?

It doesn’t matter.

We have to move.

"Fall back!" I yell again, firing another round into the enemy line. A Lombardi soldier drops, his body folding like a marionette with its strings cut.

One by one, my men are making it out, but we’re boxed in, funneled by the layout of the villa, forced through corridors designed to slow us down.

We’re still too deep.

I scan the chaos, looking for another way?—

Then a deafening boom shakes the walls.

My stomach lurches.

Smoke and fire burst from somewhere deeper inside the villa, an explosion ripping through a distant corridor. A warning shot. A fucking countdown.

They’re setting them off.

The whole place is about to come down.

I shove forward, fury and desperation colliding, my only thought clear and vicious?—

I have to get my men out before this place turns into a grave.

But the Lombardis aren’t giving up.

We’re pinned down, trapped in a burning fucking death trap , and every bullet, every second wasted, brings us closer to the end.

We have to move.

I grit my teeth, forcing my men forward, forcing myself forward, even as the walls tremble around us, even as the smoke thickens, even as the weight of this goddamn night crashes down like a hammer.

The villa groans around us, the deep, shuddering sound of stone and wood straining under the force of the explosions.

Smoke thickens, curling through the corridors like a living thing, suffocating and hot.

The air stings with the acrid bite of gunpowder, fire, and dust. My ears ring, drowning out the gunfire, the shouts, the chaos.

We are running out of time.

I push forward, clearing a path as my men fight to escape.

The Lombardis are relentless, pinning us down, forcing us deeper into the maze of hallways instead of out of them.

I fire a shot, dropping a soldier as he rounds a corner, then another, my body moving on instinct, my mind calculating every possible exit.

But then I see him.

Through the thick veil of smoke, past the crumbling chandeliers and fractured marble, Vittorio Lombardi stands at the far end of the hall, barking orders to his men.

His sharp profile is illuminated by the flickering glow of fire licking at the edges of the walls. He’s not fighting—he’s commanding. Directing his men, his voice cutting through the noise like steel.

And then—he lifts his arm.

A signal.

I follow his line of sight and spot what he’s pointing at—one of his men kneeling near a detonator, fingers hovering over the trigger.

My blood turns to ice.

He’s going to bring the whole place down now. Not minutes from now. Not when we’ve escaped. But right fucking now.

A distant roar vibrates through the foundation—another explosion, closer this time. The walls tremble. Plaster cracks and falls like dead snow from the ceiling. The ground beneath my feet shifts.

I have to stop him.

I don’t hesitate.

I break off from the main fight, cutting through the collapsing villa, my gun raised, my focus locked onto Vittorio’s retreating form.

"Silva, get them out!" I bark over my shoulder. "NOW!"

"Boss!" Silva shouts, but I don’t turn back.

I can’t.

I lunge forward, dodging falling debris, leaping over bodies, my breath burning in my throat as I push toward Vittorio. He moves fast, disappearing around a crumbling archway, his men shielding his retreat with a hail of gunfire.

I don’t stop.

I don’t slow.

If I don’t reach him in time, everyone in this villa—my men—will die.

The walls tremble again, and a deafening crack splits the air as a support beam collapses behind me. I duck, rolling forward as fire erupts in the space I just left, heat searing against my back.

Vittorio is slipping away, vanishing deeper into the labyrinth of the villa.

I push harder, my grip tightening on my gun, my heart hammering a brutal rhythm against my ribs. I have to catch him before it’s too late.