Bound by Honor

3. Sofia

3

SOFIA

I stand in front of the full-length mirror, my hands trembling as I adjust the black veil that barely conceals my bloodshot eyes. The dress clings to my body like a second skin, heavy and oppressive—weighing on me like my father's legacy pressing down on me. But I won't yield. Not today.

The panic room feels like a sanctuary and a prison. It's cold, devoid of sunlight, and suffocating. I've spent days here, safe but stifled by the silence and isolation. Each hour dragged into the next, and I wondered if the walls were closing in on me. But today, I escape.

As I venture out for the first time in four days, each step toward the light feels like wading through quicksand. My heart pounds against my chest as fear envelops me. The mansion is eerily quiet as I make my way through its halls—too quiet. It feels like the calm before a storm. My heels click sharply against the marble floor. Each echo is a drumbeat in sync with my racing heart.

I pause at the entrance, hand resting lightly on the oak door. This is it—the threshold between safety and chaos. Beyond this point, no more protective walls or hidden cameras shield me from reality. Before my father’s death, I waded through these waters, oblivious to the danger. But those days are over, never to return.

A somber line of black hearses and limousines stand outside, their polished exteriors reflecting the light like melancholy mirrors. The crisp air carries a hint of sadness, with leaves swirling in a mournful dance around the courtyard, as if nature itself shares in my grief.

Don Rocco Leone, my father’s friend and head of the Leone crime family, stands by the first limousine, his frame rigid and powerful against the backdrop of my father’s grieving men. His eyes find mine through the glass door—piercing, protective. A silent promise lingers there— I'll keep you safe. But that’s not his job. I have my own men and my own ways of fighting back. The child he once knew no longer exists, and as much as I appreciate his loyalty to my father, I’m not interested in having him around after today.

Rocco moves toward me immediately—his presence comforting yet painfully sharp in its reminder of all we are up against. “Sofia,” he says, taking my arm to guide me to the car.

"Rocco," I reply, allowing myself this moment of frailty enveloped in his strength.

We don't speak further as we make our way to the cathedral. Today isn't just about mourning—it's about marking territory. After today, I reclaim what was taken from us—not with tears, but with tenacity and brute force.

I stand before my father's casket, my face a mask of stoicism, hiding the raw pain and turmoil that churns within. As I make the sign of the cross, a soft rustle of silk from my black dress fills the otherwise silent room, drawing attention I don’t want.

Every breath I take feels like a struggle as I bend forward to kiss my father, the last time I’ll kiss him goodbye. Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to let my emotions consume me, not when there are still promises to keep and memories to honor. So I stand tall, despite the heaviness in my heart, and pay my final respects.

A sound startles me from behind. I turn to see Antonio Bello, with his smug expression and perfectly styled hair. He’s the son of disgraced traitor, Vincent Bello, cast out from all family business nearly a decade ago. My gaze meets his, and I feel the anger bubbling up inside me. I suspect he had something to do with my father’s murder but I can’t call him out until I know for sure.

"Quite the turnout," Antonio says, his tone dripping with arrogance.

"Respect for the dead, or fear of the living?" I try to keep my tone steady despite the rage churning within me.

"Perhaps a bit of both," Antonio replies coolly, his eyes never leaving mine. "Your father was a respected man, Sofia. Unfortunately, he couldn't teach you when to hold that tongue."

I clench my jaw and meet his stare head-on. "Respect is earned," I shoot back, "not taught. And I don't remember asking for your opinion, Mr. Bello."

He lets out a low chuckle, but there's no humor in it. "Call it friendly advice," he groans with mock sincerity, his smile more a baring of teeth than anything else.

"Then consider it ignored."

Antonio's eyes narrow at my defiance, but he maintains his composure. "Careful, signorina. Our world has a way of swallowing up rebellious women."

His words unsettle me, but I refuse to show any sign of fear.

"Is that a threat?" I snap, trying to hold his gaze. My heart races as I step closer to Antonio, determined to stand my ground.

His beady eyes narrow, and his lips curl into a sneer as he responds to my challenge. The tension between us grows thick and I avert my eyes, fearing I'll say something vulgar and make a scene at my father's funeral.

"An observation," Antonio clarifies, stepping aside. "One you'd do well to heed."

I clench my fists at my sides, feeling anger and determination coursing through me. This isn't just about mourning a father—it's about entering a battlefield. And I will not be taken down easily—not by grief, not by fear, and certainly not by Antonio Bello. Even as he walks away, I know this is far from over.

The sky weeps in heavy, heaving sobs, drenching the mourners who cluster like shadows around my father’s grave. The rain pounds against our backs and trickles down our faces, mimicking tears of the bereaved.

I watch through my veil as Antonio Bello approaches the coffin, his presence an insult to my father's memory. His looming frame cuts a menacing figure, his gray suit blending in with the dark sky. My heart races as his hand reaches into his coat, and with a suddenness that shocks the air still, a glint of silver emerges—a knife.

"Per la famiglia," Bello grunts, driving the blade into the wood with a sickening crack, a final message carved into the resting place of my beloved father.

My entire body trembles with fury at this desecration and disrespect.

I feel an awakening deep within me, a primal need for retribution. The world of shadows and whispers my father had always shielded me from is now calling my name. As I stand by his grave, surrounded by those who have betrayed him, I vow to make them pay. With every drop of rain, my thirst for vengeance grows stronger.

Someday soon, I will avenge him.