Page 159 of The Underboss's Secret Twins
Two cribs sit side by side, draped in sheer ivory canopies, the room bathed in the soft golden glow of a nightlight. A hush lingers in the air, with the kind of peace that only comes with the presence of sleeping infants.
Our daughters.
Marco exhales, low and quiet, as we step closer.
Arianna stirs first, her tiny fist twitching in sleep, her dark curls already a perfect mirror of Marco’s. Next to her, Alessia sleeps soundly, her breathing soft and even, her features delicate but fierce in a way that already reminds me of my mother.
I reach down, brushing a finger over Arianna’s impossibly soft cheek. This is what we fought for.
Marco stands beside me, staring down at them like they are the most fragile, precious things in existence. And maybe they are.
He swallows hard, his voice rough when he finally speaks. "They’re perfect."
I smile. "Of course they are. They’re ours."
Something shifts in his expression, something raw and unguarded. He reaches out, carefully adjusting the blanket over Alessia’s tiny form. "I never thought…" He stops, jaw tightening, as if saying it aloud will make it too real.
I know what he means.
I take his hand, threading my fingers through his, squeezing once. "I know."
For a long time, neither of us speaks. We simply stand there, watching them, feeling the weight of everything we’ve been through settle into something softer, so much sweeter.
Finally, Marco turns to me. "They're going to be trouble, you know."
I grin. "Of course they are. They're Salvatores."
His lips twitch, but then his expression grows serious again. He lifts our joined hands, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. "We’ll protect them. No matter what."
I nod gently. There’s no questioning that.
Marco pulls me closer, wrapping me in his warmth, his strength. The scent of baby powder and fresh linen fills the air, blending with the faint traces of Marco’s cologne.
A soft knock at the door shatters the quiet.
Marco’s body tenses immediately, his grip instinctively pulling me closer before he exhales sharply and releases me. He doesn’t need to ask who it is.
"Luca," he mutters, already turning toward the door.
I follow him after summoning Valentina to watch over the girls, pressing one last glance at them before stepping out into the dimly lit hallway. Luca stands waiting, arms crossed, his usual sharpness dulled at the edges with something graver. His dark eyes flick between us before settling on Marco.
"I need you both in the study," he says, voice low but urgent.
We move quickly, footsteps quiet over polished floors, past rooms filled with memories of bloodshed and survival. The estate has always carried an undercurrent of danger, a weight that lingers no matter how much peace we manage to claim. But tonight, it feels heavier.
Luca leads us into the study, where a decanter of whiskey sits untouched on the desk. A single sheet of paper is placed beside it, crisp and damning. Marco picks it up first, his jaw tightening as he scans the contents.
"What is this?" I ask, my stomach twisting at the look in his eyes.
Luca doesn’t hesitate. "A new name on the Lombardi hit list."
I take the paper from Marco’s hands and read it quickly. It’s a dossier, incomplete but detailed enough. My pulse stutters.
"She was thought to be dead," Luca continues, pouring himself a drink he doesn’t sip from. "But apparently, she’s alive. In hiding. And she represents the family we despise the most."
The name is a brand against my vision.
Aria Lombardi.
