Page 31 of The Underboss's Secret Twins
The name on the screen sends something sharp through my chest. I hesitate before answering, but the call drops before I get the chance. A voicemail follows.
I put the phone to my ear.
"Sofia." His voice is clipped, edged with tension. "Everything’s fine. But listen to me—stay away from the estate. Luca is furious, and we’ve just been hit hard by the Rossis. We don’t need more trouble, especially not now. Just…stay put."
A click. The message ends.
I stand there, my grip on the phone tightening.
Stay put.
Stay away.
Of course the words hurt, but more because I know Marco. I know what he sounds like when he’s holding back, when there’s more he wants to say but won’t let himself. I know the weight behind his silence.
He’s keeping me at arm’s length.
This isn’t surprising. Naturally, he’d say this after whatever happened in the last few hours, after the way we left things. I should’ve known he’d fall back on distance, on that cool, controlled version of himself that he uses like armor.
I set the phone down on the kitchen counter, exhaling through my nose.
The Salvatores are under attack. My heart thrums with fear for Valentina, Luca’s wife and my best friend.
I pace the length of my apartment, my thoughts churning. I need to be there. I need to make sure they’re okay. But showing up unannounced, especially now? I can already hear Marco’s voice in my head—reckless, Sofia. Dangerous.And the worst part? He’d be right.
I hate this.
This feeling of being on the outside, of knowing there’s a war happening and being told to stay out of it. The Salvatores may be criminals, but they’re not the Lombardis. They take care of their own. They protect the people the system fails. And Valentina… I can’t just sit here while?—
A knock at the door.
Sharp. Sudden.
I freeze.
My eyes snap to the clock. It’s late. Too late for visitors.
My stomach twists into a slow, sickening coil of dread.
The apartment was trashed earlier. Someone was here. Someone was searching for something they didn’t find.
And now someone is knocking.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe.
The knock comes again.
Louder this time.
The air turns electric, my senses dialing up, instincts screaming at me. This isn’t right.
I swallow hard, fingers flexing at my sides.
Whoever is on the other side of that door…
They’re not here for pleasantries.
The knock reverberates through the apartment again, harder this time. More impatient.
