Page 102 of The Underboss's Secret Twins
Rage sears through me. I force a breath through my teeth. "Where was the car headed?"
"We’re working on that now." Adriano hesitates, then adds, "Do you want me to put out a citywide alert? Lock down the borders?"
I grip the doorway, my body taut with fury, my mind calculating.
"I want every soldier on this, every contact, every informant, every goddamn resource at our disposal." My fingers tighten around the note in my hand, the paper crumbling under my grip. "I want her found. Now."
Adriano nods sharply. "Yes, Boss."
As he moves down the hall, barking orders into his radio, I stand there, breathing hard, my heart a war drum against my ribs.
She thinks she can leave, that she can slip away unnoticed, disappear into the night and carve out a life where I no longer exist, where my name is nothing more than a ghost she forces herself to forget.
But Sofia doesn’t understand, doesn’t see the truth of what we are, of what she’s done to me, how she’s burrowed under my skin and settled there like she belongs, like she was always meant to be a part of me. She doesn’t know that there is no version of this world where I simply let her go, no reality where I stand back and watch her vanish, pretending it doesn’t tear me apart from the inside out.
She doesn’t know that I will find her.
Not because I have to. Not because it’s about control, or power, or the way the rules of this life demand I keep what’s mine. No, it’s simpler than that, more inevitable. It’s the way I breathe, the way my heart beats, the way every part of me pulls toward her like a force I don’t have the strength—or the will—to resist.
Because losing her isn’t an option. Because the idea of her out there, beyond my reach, alone in a world that would swallow her whole the second she lets her guard down, is a kind of pain I can’t afford to feel. Because I love her in a way that doesn’t break, doesn’t bend, doesn’t allow for the possibility of anything else.
And maybe that’s the real problem. Maybe that’s why, no matter how fast she runs, she will never be fast enough.
I storm out of the bedroom, the note still clenched in my fist. The words blur, a sick mockery of everything I thought we were.I’m sorry, Marco.A fucking apology, as if she hasn’t gutted me, as if she hasn’t just set fire to everything we built and walked away without looking back.
My heartbeat is a distant, echoing thrum, lost in the hush of my own breath as I take the stairs two at a time. Rage coils through me, cold and glacial, wrapping around my ribs like iron bands.
The estate is moving around me, guards stationed at every post, men murmuring in low voices as I pass. I stride into the kitchen, empty except for Luca, who stands near the espresso machine, his posture loose.
His back is to me as he prepares his coffee, the scent unraveling into the air, drifting along the quiet edges of the room. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t speak, but I catch the slight shift of his shoulders—the only sign that he’s already aware of my presence.
I set the mug down harder than necessary, the porcelain meeting the counter with a dull, final sound. My hands are still unsteady as I pour, but I don’t care. The bitterness touches my tongue, sharp and unyielding, yet it does nothing to wash away the dryness in my throat, nothing to ease the ache blooming like a bruise beneath my ribs.
Luca finally turns, one brow raised, his lips tilting in something that would be a smirk on anyone else.
"I told you?—"
I shoot him a look so sharp, so deadly, that he cuts himself off mid-sentence.
Luca has never been one to hold back, never been the kind to soften his words for anyone. But right now, with the way I’m looking at him, the way my body burns with unspent rage—he thinks better of it.
His gaze flicks to the crumpled note still in my grip. "So, she really left."
I don’t answer.
The silence stretches before Luca exhales through his nose and leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know she didn’t just run blindly," he says, voice even.
I already know this. My hands shake as I grab my phone, dialing a number I’ve known by heart for years. My most trusted men, the ones who know better than to ask stupid questions when I give them an order.
The moment the line picks up, I bark, "Sofia’s gone. I want roadblocks. I want traffic cams pulled. I want every driver who left this estate in the last three hours tracked and questioned."
A beat of silence. Then, "On it, boss."
I hang up and dial the next number. "Check all private airstrips, train stations, the docks. I don’t care how much you have to pay, I want a list of every outgoing transport in the last twelve hours."
Another confirmation. Another moving piece.
I turn to Luca, my muscles coiled so tight it feels like I might snap. "You have eyes in the police department. Make sure they’re not looking for her."
