Page 30 of The Underboss's Secret Twins
And my world tilts.
My apartment is in ruins.
The coffee table is overturned and my couch cushions are gutted like someone was searching for something hidden inside. The whiteboard where I’d mapped out my research is on the floor, the strings cut, the photos torn apart. My books are ripped from the shelves, pages littering the hardwood like discarded confetti.
And then there’s my laptop.
Or what’s left of it.
It lies on the floor, screen shattered, keyboard crushed. The USB ports are empty. The message is clear.
If I meddle any deeper, I’m next in the line of fire.
A rush of cold fear slams into me, so fast and sharp that I have to grip the doorframe to keep my knees from buckling.
I scan the room, my breath coming in short, uneven gasps. There’s no sign of forced entry. No broken locks, no splintered wood. Whoever did this had skill. Precision. They weren’t just ransacking the place—they weresearching.
And they didn’t find what they were looking for.
Which means they’ll be back.
A single thought cuts through the panic, razor-sharp and undeniable.
I am not safe here.
A floorboard creaks behind me.
I whip around.
The hallway is empty.
But the feeling remains, thick and suffocating—I am being watched.
8
SOFIA
The feeling doesn’t leave me.
That cold, creeping sensation, slithering up my spine like a warning, like unseen eyes lingering just beyond the veil of darkness. The apartment is wrecked, but that’s not what sets my teeth on edge. It’s the silence. The way it stretches, thick and unnatural, wrapping around me like a noose.
I know what a break-in looks like. This wasn’t random. They were looking for something specific, and when they didn’t find it, they left. But not without leaving a message first—one I understand loud and clear.
I reach behind me and nudge the door shut with my foot, locking it in one swift motion. Not that a lock will do much against the kind of people who sent this warning. My pulse thrums at my throat, my breath uneven as I scan the destruction one more time.
The laptop is done for. The documents I had printed—some are shredded, some are missing entirely. My research, my notes…all compromised. I have backup files, but that’s not the point. The point is that someone has made it very clear that I’m standing too close to something they don’t want me to see.
I inhale slowly, steadying myself. There’s no time to fall apart.
I move quickly, stepping over the debris, shoving essentials into a bag—cash, a burner phone, my backup hard drive. My apartment isn’t safe anymore. The walls feel thinner now, the space smaller, like it’s already been invaded. Staying here is no longer an option.
Then my phone buzzes.
I jolt, pulse spiking, before yanking it out of my pocket. Marino is dead. There’s no one left who’d be checking in on me.
Except—
Marco.
