Page 80 of The Underboss's Secret Twins
His expression darkens.
I press a palm to his chest, right over the steady thrum of his heartbeat. "I won’t be gone long. Valentina will be with me. We’ll stay in the busy parts of town."
"You think that’ll stop them?"
"I think," I murmur, "that if I don’t get out of this house, I might go insane."
Marco exhales through his nose, his hand sliding from my wrist to my hip, his grip firm. "You’re testing me."
"Always."
His lips part—like he has something else to say, something final—but then he clamps his jaw shut.
And then, after a long pause, he lets me go.
It’s not surrender. But it’s enough.
Valentina picks me up an hour later, and we spend the morning in the city like two women with no troubles at all.
First, the clinic. It’s quick, discreet. I sit in the exam room while Valentina flips through an outdated fashion magazine, her foot bouncing against the linoleum. The nurse takes my samples, gives me a warm, neutral smile, and tells me I’ll have results in a few hours.
A few hours.
It feels like a lifetime.
So we leave, and Valentina insists on making a day of it.
Lunch at a quiet café in the city center. Shopping in the designer district, where I let her drag me into one boutique after another, pretending like the weight in my stomach isn’t growingheavier with every passing moment. She buys things—shoes, a dress she swears she needs, another pair of earrings to add to her already ridiculous collection. I try to focus on the normalcy of it, the easy, effortless way she flits from one thing to the next.
But my mind is elsewhere.
Still caught in the sterile, too-bright light of the exam room.
Still thinking about the quiet way Valentina looked at me this morning.
Still dreading what the results will say.
By the time we return to the estate, the sun is beginning its descent, casting the sky in rich golds and soft purples.
I step through the front doors, already bracing myself for what I know is waiting.
And I don’t have to wait long.
Marco is there, standing in the middle of the grand foyer, his hands braced on his hips, his expression dark and thunderous. His shoulders are tense beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt, his entire body wound tight, like he’s been standing here for hours just waiting for me to walk through the door.
"You were gone too long."
I sigh, setting my bag down on the nearest table. "We had lunch, walked around?—"
"You were supposed to be back hours ago."
I turn to him, arching a brow. "Am I under curfew now?"
He scowls deeply at me. "If that’s what it takes."
Heat flares beneath my skin, a slow, burning ember. "You don’t own me, Marco."
He steps closer. "No?" His voice drops growing lower, rougher. "Then why do I feel like I’m constantly chasing you down, trying to keep you safe while you run straight into the fire?"
