Page 19 of Bound By Honor

“Marry? You don’t want to align your family with mine, Rocco.” Sofia slowly removes her apron and places it on the counter. She tries to back away, but I roughly pull her to me, unwilling to hear her say another word.

“Marrying you would never be a sacrifice, Sofia. There’s nothing I want more than to call you my wife.” I hold her tightly in my arms and kiss her forehead, unwilling to share a more intimate moment in front of Dante.

“I want that too.” Sofia lays her head against my chest and sighs.

"I want round-the-clock surveillance on my house,” I declare decisively. "Tap their phones, watch their houses, and stalk their girlfriends in case they choose to retreat to their homes. I need to know who else might be involved and what they’re planning.They still plan to eliminate the other families and install their allies. We have to stay one step ahead of them.”

Dante nods and pulls out his phone, already sending orders.

“We can’t sit on this, Dante,” I caution. “We need them to come out of hiding. I suggest we start by undermining their operations and hit them where it hurts. Disrupt their supply lines, maybe, and capture their lower lieutenants. None of us are safe until all three brothers are caught.”

“I agree,” Dante replies solemnly. “No one rests until we find them.”

16

SOFIA

The clock ticks relentlessly in our too-quiet bedroom, every sound magnified in the absence of Rocco's usually soothing presence. Perched nervously on the edge of the chaise, I try to lose myself in an old book I've read a dozen times before. It doesn’t work. Whenever I try to focus, the words blur and dance meaninglessly on the page. My fingers twitch with unease, and every creak and whisper of wind that seeps through the window sounds like a warning of things to come.

Only a few days have passed since I learned of my father’s treachery against the men he called friends. Ever since his death, something has weighed heavily on my soul. I thought I was simply coping with the loss, but for some reason, Dante’s revelation didn’t surprise me as much as it should have. After losing my mother at an early age, my father was all I had left. Perhaps I viewed him through rose-colored glasses, only seeing what I wanted. It was easier than admitting he was a monster in disguise. And now, the only inheritance I can claim is the giant target he’s placed on my back.

At 4:00 pm today, Gino, Franco, and two of Rocco's soldiers successfully apprehended Dominic and Alessio Bello just twoblocks away from Don Agostini's residence. News of their capture came as a shock earlier today, passing through our circles with the speed of wildfire. But Antonio is still at large, and that complicates everything.

Mounting tensions between Rocco's operations and the brothers’ allies are thick enough to cut with a knife. As much as I want to feel safe, I fear the never-ending consequences that may come with it. Whatever plans or ambitions they had have been temporarily foiled, but what happens now?

My mind spins with possibilities, each more dangerous than the last. Rocco's methods are not gentle, and his warehouse is proof of that. It's a place where secrets are both kept and spilled, a place that even I shudder to think about. The thought of what is happening there now sends a cold shiver down my spine.

Rocco said it was just another routine interrogation—get in, get the necessary information, get out—but I know he’s shielding me from the ugly truth. Nothing in this life ever seems routine. Each moment he’s away feels like an eternity—every image that appears in my panicked mind is worse than the one before. I begged to go with him, but he pleaded with me to stay this time. Normally, I would have put up more of a fight, but something deep down made me listen. There are some things I’d rather not see.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I lift my eyes from the useless pages before me, directing them instead toward the window framing the darkening sky outside. The streetlights flicker to life, one by one, their dim glow barely battling back against the encroaching night.

Where are you, Rocco?The question pulses through me like a heartbeat.

I take a deep breath, trying to center myself amidst the chaos that surrounds us. Fear threatens to consume me, but Iknow I must remain calm. Rocco would scold me for letting my emotions get the better of me.

So, I wait with bated breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I cling to hope like a lifeline. Each second feels like an eternity as I hold on to the worn edges of my book, my mind racing with thoughts of what could possibly be happening behind closed doors. Will Rocco come back unscathed, delivering the news that our lives are no longer in danger? Or will he return with devastating news that will shatter my fragile sense of security?

In this limbo of not knowing, every sound is amplified, and every shadow seems to hold a hidden threat. But still, I wait because it's all I can do. And until Rocco returns, I am suspended in this state of uncertainty, trying to keep my head above water.

A chill whips through the room as Rocco enters, his head cast down and hands trembling. He stalks to the bed and sits heavily, his head resting in his hands, knuckles red and raw—evidence that someone or something was on the receiving end of his rage.

“Baby—” I whisper, fearing he’s been hurt.

"I'm fine, Sofi," Rocco murmurs without looking up.

I know better than to push him for details. Questions might unleash demons that are best left caged.

“Tell me more when you’re ready,” I struggle to remain patient. As much as I want to know what transpired, I trust him to tell me what I need to know.

“Dom and Alessio,” Rocco starts hesitantly, "they’re alive for now. I don’t know how long that will last now that I’ve handed them over to Dante’s men. I imagine he’ll use them as leverage against Antonio. Sooner or later, he’ll have to show his face if he wants his little brothers to keep their heads.”

I nod because what else is there to do? The Rocco who sits before me now is both the storm and the shelter. He is wrath, woven intricately into love. It’s a dichotomy I'm still learning tonavigate. Without saying a word, I stride into the bathroom and turn on the shower, waving my hand beneath the water to ensure the temperature is precisely how he likes it. He needs to unwind and move past tonight’s events. And I know precisely how to help him.

There is still so much work to do, but right now, it’s too late to dwell on the ugliness around us. Instead, I kneel before him, taking his bruised hands in mine. The skin is split, blood dried over the wounds that I've begun to know all too well. Rocco tries to pull away, but I hold on tighter, willing him to feel the warmth of my touch.

My fingers dance lightly over Rocco’s wrists, tracing paths toward his elbows as I coax him up from the bed. He follows with a weary resignation, an unspoken trust hanging heavy between us. In the bathroom, steam billows from under the hot spray of our shower, and it feels like stepping into another world—a quieter one where only we exist.

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