Page 49 of The Underboss’s Secret Twins (Underworld Heirs #2)

MARCO

T he moment my fists collide with Vittorio’s face, nothing else exists.

Not the distant echoes of gunfire still crackling through the villa. Not the frantic shouting of my men beyond the ruined walls. Not even Sofia, standing at the threshold, watching as I tear this bastard apart.

There’s only this.

I should have known Sofia would come for me, that she was not the type of woman who sits back and waits for her man to come home to her. And it hits me—even in the middle of this—that she’s here because she wanted to save my life.

Vittorio grunts as my knuckles crack against his cheekbone, sending his head snapping to the side. Blood spatters across the floor. He tries to twist away, but I grab the front of his shirt and yank him back, driving my knee into his ribs.

He chokes at the impact.

"That all you got?" he spits, grinning through bloodied teeth.

I answer by slamming his skull into the concrete. The sound is a dull, sickening thud.

"You think this is a game?" My voice is a low, lethal growl, barely recognizable even to my own ears. "You tried to take her. You tried to take my family."

Vittorio laughs.

Even now, with my forearm crushing against his throat, with the taste of his own blood thick in his mouth—he laughs.

"You don’t get it, do you?" he wheezes, his fingers clawing at my arm, failing to loosen my grip. "You think you can just take me out and—what? The Salvatores win? You ride off into the sunset with your little whore and your unborn bastard?"

I tighten my hold, pressing down harder. His air cuts off in an instant, his legs kicking out beneath me, fighting for breath.

I should kill him.

I should end this now, snap his neck like a piece of brittle glass, wipe the Lombardis from the face of the earth once and for all.

But then?—

A click.

No. Not a gun.

Something worse.

Vittorio’s lips curl into a vicious sneer.

"You should’ve let me finish my plan, Marco," he rasps, his voice thin but laced with triumph. "Because now, it doesn’t matter what happens to me."

His gaze flicks past my shoulder.

To the wall behind me.

To the panel of still-active explosives, ticking away their countdown.

I freeze.

The world tilts.

Sofia’s voice, sharp and frantic, cuts through the air.

"Marco—"

Vittorio’s grin stretches wider, red-stained and monstrous.

"You were too late," he whispers. "Even if I die, the whole fucking place is coming down with me."

My grip on him tightens, my knuckles digging into his bloodied skin. But I don’t squeeze.

Because Sofia is behind me, moving.

Because the explosives are still armed.

Because if I kill him now, we might all go with him.

My mind sharpens, slicing through the haze of rage. The detonator. Where is it?

I turn my head just enough to see Sofia scrambling toward the control panel in the corner of the room, her fingers already flying over the wires.

"The countdown is still running," she says, her voice tight with panic. "Some of these are disconnected, but some—some are still live."

Shit.

Vittorio laughs.

It’s a weak, gurgling sound, but the bastard still finds amusement in this, even as he’s pinned beneath me, his blood pooling against the cold floor.

"You can’t stop it," he croons, his lips curling in satisfaction. "Takes more than cutting a few wires to kill the monster, Salvatore."

I slam my elbow against his ribs, hard enough to crack something. His breath leaves him in a sharp wheeze.

"I’ll show you what it takes to kill a monster," I snarl.

Then I look back at Sofia.

"Sofia," I bark, my voice a whip.

She doesn’t flinch.

She doesn’t hesitate, either.

Her hands tremble, but they don’t stop as she yanks open a metal casing on the detonator. Inside, a tangled mess of wires and circuits glows under the dim emergency lights.

I study the setup, my brain piecing together the logic, the mechanics, the way one wrong move could turn this entire villa into a crater.

"It’s a secondary trigger system," I say, my mind working fast. "The Lombardis built in redundancies—if one fails, another goes off. That’s why cutting the first set wasn’t enough."

Sofia swallows hard. "Then what do I do?"

"Follow my lead," I order.

I keep one knee pressed into Vittorio’s chest as I move just enough to get a better look at the control panel. The seconds tick by, each one a death sentence if we don’t move fast enough.

Red. Blue. Green. The wires coil together like veins, some already severed, others still humming with the potential to end everything.

"See that switch on the lower right?" I ask.

Sofia nods.

"Flip it. It should cut the relay to the secondary detonators."

She does.

The small screen flickers. A countdown flashes in red, less than two minutes.

Sofia looks at me, her breath shallow. "It’s still running."

Of course, it is. Vittorio wouldn’t make it that easy.

I grit my teeth.

"There should be a failsafe?—"

"Got it," she says, reaching into the tangle of circuits. "There’s a manual override."

She yanks the lever. The timer flickers—slows—but doesn’t stop.

I exhale sharply. Not good enough.

Vittorio laughs again.

And then, he plays a last, desperate hand.

One second, he’s limp beneath me, barely breathing, blood painting the floor beneath his head. The next, his hand snaps out, grabbing at my wrist.

I lurch back, but his grip clamps down like a vice, his fingers digging into my skin, trying to twist me off balance. A broken laugh wheezes from his throat, his body trembling with the effort it takes to fight me.

"You think killing me will fix anything?" he rasps. His lips curl, teeth stained red, voice raw with hate. "You think this ends with me?"

I wrench free, slamming my forearm against his chest. Hard. Enough to knock the breath out of him, to silence whatever smug remark was next.

"You're already dead," I growl.

He laughs again, a gurgling, sick sound. Then his head jerks sharply to the side.

My instincts scream.

I throw myself to the left just as gunfire erupts from the doorway.

The bullets tear through the air where I was kneeling seconds before. One slams into the floor, another buries itself in the control panel beside Sofia, sparks exploding from the impact.

She cries out, ducking low, shielding her face as debris flies past her.

Vittorio’s men.

I don’t know how many, don’t have time to count. I only see movement, shadows, the glint of raised barrels.

I fire back.

The gun kicks in my hand, the deafening roar ripping through the close space. One man drops instantly. Another stumbles, catching a bullet to the shoulder, slamming against the doorway as he curses in pain.

But it’s enough of a distraction.

Enough for Vittorio to lurch up from the floor, throwing his weight against me.

We hit the ground hard, my skull cracking against the floor, his full weight pressing down on me. I grunt, my grip on the gun loosening for half a second—just enough for him to knock it out of my hand.

The pistol skids across the bloodstained tiles, spinning out of reach.

And then his hands are on my throat.

Vittorio isn’t as strong as me, but he’s desperate. He pushes down hard, using the last of his strength to cut off my air, his thumbs pressing into my windpipe.

"You ruined everything," he snarls. His breath reeks of blood, his eyes burning with something wild and rabid. "You think you win? You don’t win. Not today. Not ever."

Dark spots burst in my vision. My lungs scream for air.

Sofia is shouting—I hear her voice, frantic, calling my name.

I twist beneath him, straining, fighting against the weight pressing down on me. Vittorio’s grip tightens, his fingers digging deeper into my throat, determined to crush the life out of me before he dies himself.

But he made one mistake.

He focused too much on strangling me.

And not on my hands.

I shove one arm between us, just enough to snap my elbow up into his jaw.

His head jerks back, his teeth clacking together hard enough to draw blood.

His grip loosens—just for a second.

It’s all I need.

I throw my weight forward, flipping him onto his back. His skull slams against the floor with a sickening crack. His groan is cut short as I snatch my gun from the ground and press the muzzle against his temple.

His chest heaves, eyes unfocused, blood seeping from his split lip.

For the first time, Vittorio looks afraid.

His jaw clenches, his breath rattling between us. But the sneer never fully leaves his face.

"You think this is over?" he spits. Blood dribbles down his chin, his body twitching beneath me. "Even if I die, you?—"

"Shut up."

I pull the trigger.

The gunshot shatters the room.

Vittorio’s body goes still.

His head slumps back, lifeless. The shadows in his eyes fade into nothing.

I don’t look away. Not as the blood pools beneath him. Not as the last breath leaks from his lips.

Vittorio Lombardi is dead.

And now—we have to get out of here.

I turn sharply toward Sofia.

She’s staring at me, wide-eyed, her chest rising and falling fast. The glow of the remaining detonator flickers against her skin, reflecting in her dark, glassy eyes.

"Can you finish disarming it?" I ask. My voice is hoarse, raw.

She swallows hard, nods once, then pushes herself to her knees, moving fast.

I exhale sharply, running a hand down my face. My throat is sore, my head pounding, but we’re still alive.