Page 21 of Bound By Honor

However, my confidence is premature. I don’t see the man behind me until his fist makes contact with my cheek. As I fly backward, someone disarms me seconds before the back of my head smashes into the wall. The last thing I see before the world goes black is the smug grin of Antonio Bello.

18

ROCCO

Ijolt awake, the room pitch black except for the sliver of moonlight slicing through the blinds. The cool sheets beside me are empty, Sofia's usual warmth conspicuously absent. Panic stabs at my chest as I call out her name, my voice sounding foreign in the thick silence. "Sofia?"

There’s no answer. The bedside clock glows at 2:17 a.m.

I fumble for my phone on the nightstand, its screen a blinding beacon in the darkness. No messages, no missed calls. Heart pounding, I throw off the covers and scramble out of bed. My feet hit the cold floor, and I rush from room to room—kitchen, living room, bathrooms—each as empty as the last. Her purse is still in our room, and her coat remains on the hook by the front door. Wherever she is, she couldn’t have gone far—unless she didn’t have a choice.

"Sofia!" Desperation laces my shouts now.

It’s unlike her to leave without telling me, to vanish in the dead of night. Someone must have taken her. There’s no other explanation.

Then, as if on cue, my phone erupts into a frantic symphony of rings and vibrations on my nightstand. The caller ID says thenumber is private, but I know who’s on the other end. My grip tightens around the phone, knuckles whitening.

"Where is she?" I spit out before anyone can speak.

"Ah, Rocco."

I immediately recognize the caller as Antonio Bello.

His oily and calm voice slithers through the speaker. "Concerned about your dear Sofia? You should be."

"What have you done with her?" I demand to know. If he so much as leaves a bruise, I’ll slit his throat from ear to ear.

"Nothing yet," Antonio says coolly. "But that could change depending on how cooperative you are."

The threat hangs in the air like smoke, choking me. "If you hurt Sofia?—"

"Come now, Rocco,” Antonio interrupts with a tsk-tsk sound that makes my blood boil. “You’re not really in a position to make threats." He pauses for effect. "Meet me at the old shipyard at sunrise. Come alone if you want her to stay pretty."

The line goes dead before I can respond.

A blazing fury ignites within me, like an unquenchable fire raging through dry brush. It consumes all rational thought, leaving only a burning desire for action in its wake. Without hesitation, I hastily throw on the first clothes I see and storm out to the garage.

Under my seething command, the engine roars to life. The vibrations reverberate through my body, matching the fierce intensity of my emotions. My knuckles whiten as I grip the steering wheel, ready to unleash my wrath on the open road.

Tires screech as I peel out of the driveway. Sofia's unknown fate hangs heavy in the air, a constant reminder of what's at stake. Every turn feels like a risk, every decision a gamble as I race against time to save her. Both our lives depend on it.

The shipyard looms ahead, its dark silhouette outlined against the hazy horizon. Every step toward it feels like aneternity, filled with torturous thoughts of what could be waiting for me when I arrive. My mind spins with wild scenarios of Bello's cruel intentions and the potential harm he could inflict on Sofia, all while trying to prove a point.

"I'm coming, Sofia," I whisper to myself as if she can hear me over the distance that separates us. "Hold on."

As I approach the shipyard's rusty gates etched against a barely graying sky, anguish and wrath intertwine within me, pulsing and thrashing like barbed wire. I feel their sharp edges digging into my soul, ready to tear through any obstacles that stand between me and my Sofia.

The air smells of salt and oil, a stench that sinks into your skin and marks you long before you see the East River. I pull my collar up against the early morning chill, eyes scanning the sprawling docks for any sign of movement. It's too quiet, the kind of silence that screams danger. But there's no turning back now—Sofia is here somewhere, and every second counts.

As I slip through the gate, my ears strain against the stillness, picking up faint sounds—the distant lap of waves against the docks, the soft rustle of wind through old shipping containers. Each step forward is calculated, as though walking on a tightrope strung with alarms.

Then I hear it: a muffled sob, desperate and choking. My heart hammers as I follow the sound toward an old freight shed at the far end of the yard. The door hangs awkwardly on its hinges as if someone had recently forced their way in—or out. Adrenaline surges through my veins like fire—I'm so close now.

Inside, the dim light reveals her—Sofia, tied to a rickety chair in the center of the room, her nightdress torn and blood staining her mouth and cheek. Her beautiful eyes, wide with fear, meet mine, and for a moment, everything else falls away. It's just her and me.

But then reality snaps back as a shadow moves behind her. A tall figure steps into my view: Antonio Bello, his face twisted into a menacing scowl. His dark eyes glint with malice, and his lips curl into a contemptuous sneer.

"Rocco." He spits my name as if it's poison, each syllable dripping with disdain and hatred.

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