Bound by Honor

7. Rocco

7

ROCCO

W atching her size up Ricky, a coiled feeling tightens in my gut. Is it jealousy? Possession? Whatever it is, it's unfamiliar and dangerously distracting. I know I asked for his help, but he doesn’t have to appear so eager to be here. Sofia is my responsibility. She's under my protection, mine to guard, mine to…but I stop the thought before it can fully take hold.

"Listen carefully to what he has to say, Sofia," I command, my eyes locking with Ricky's in a silent warning to keep his hands to himself—although that hardly seems possible in this scenario.

"Of course, Rocco," Sofia responds, her chin lifting defiantly.

"Alright then, let's start with how to throw a punch," Ricky says, stepping closer to Sofia.

Her spirit burns hot and fierce, like a raging inferno that can easily consume those who get too close. But with me standing by, he keeps a safe distance, knowing that my fire will burn him alive if he gets too close. He shows her the stance, his movements fluid and precise, watching as she mimics him with an intense focus that tells me she's no stranger to battle.

"Like this?" Sofia is calm and controlled, but I can see the determination in her eyes and the tightness in her knuckles as she puts all her force into the punch.

"Exactly. Now hit my hand," Ricky instructs, holding his palm for her to strike.

Sofia swings, and it's impressive—surprisingly so. I can almost see the rage and frustration fueling every punch, envisioning herself punching someone else with such force that they would be rendered unconscious long enough for her to escape.

"Again."

Sofia's fists land with precision and strength, each punch connecting solidly with Ricky's gloved fist. Her eyes gleam as she puts all of her training into each strike. I’ll bet she’s been patiently waiting for this moment, biding her time and searching for any weaknesses, hoping she can fight her way out of here.

Ricky steps back, his expression focused and serious as he instructs Sofia on proper technique. His touch is professional, but I can't help but narrow my eyes suspiciously. I scrutinize every move, ensuring no ulterior motives are behind his actions. I'll deal with him later.

"Keep your head low and aim for the temple or chin," Ricky advises, correcting Sofia's form. He gently touches her wrist to straighten it out, his touch light yet firm.

Sofia grits her teeth in frustration but quickly adjusts her stance.

"Remember to keep your wrist straight, or you'll risk injuring yourself," Ricky reminds her before continuing their sparring session.

My jaw clenches as I step forward, interrupting the scene before me. The sight of another man's hands on her delicate frame—even in a professional manner—scrapes against my control. "Enough," I interject. "I'll take over from here."

Ricky looks at me with raised eyebrows, surprised by my sudden interruption. "Boss?" he questions, seeking confirmation.

"Out," I order sharply, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Ricky nods once, understanding flashing in his eyes before he walks away without a word.

"Sofia," I say through gritted teeth, cutting off whatever she is about to say next with a sharp look. My chest tightens with possessiveness as I take in her wide eyes and slightly parted lips, waiting for my next move. “Show me the stance he taught you.”

Sofia nods and takes her position, her feet planted firmly on the mat and her arms relaxed at her sides.

As I adjust her posture, I step closer, my body flush with hers. Our hands brush, and a spark of electricity lights up the darkness within me.

"Focus, Sofia," I say, knowing that this lesson is just as much for myself as it is for her. With any hope, I’ll make it through the day without doing something I’ll regret.

Sofia is a natural. Her movements are fluid and precise.

My eyes fixate on her as she extends her arm, aiming the pistol with deadly accuracy. I can see the tension in her body, the way she holds her breath ever so slightly before pulling the trigger without hesitation or mercy.

"Steady," I command, with a low rumble behind her.

The gun goes off, echoing through the empty warehouse we've commandeered for training.

"Again."

Sofia shakes her head and whispers complaints about her fingers growing numb from the recoil, but I line up another shot and demand she focus on the cold metal and the target ahead.

"Relax your shoulders." I reach out and briefly touch the tense line of her back, guiding her into a more relaxed stance. My hands linger on the curve of her back, feeling the heat radiate from her skin and into mine. With each second that passes, it becomes increasingly difficult to focus on anything else but her intoxicating scent.

She turns to face me with a sly smile, knowing full well the effect she has on me. “Was that better?”

I struggle to control my racing thoughts, realizing too late that I've been staring at her voluptuous figure, wholly lost in desire and unable to resist her pull.

"Much." My approval is curt, efficient, and the only answer I can summon from my lust-addled brain.

My eyes stay glued to her gun as she fires again, the bullet whizzing through the air and hitting the target dead center. I can see the determination etched on her face and the fire in her eyes as she takes another shot.

She's getting better, and that's a good thing. In this world, survival is key. It has already tried to swallow her whole, but she's fighting back with every ounce of strength.

"Your aim is improving." I try to keep my tone neutral despite my overwhelming pride. "But shooting is only one aspect of it. You must anticipate your attacker's moves, react quickly, and think like them."

"Like whom?" Sofia asks, with a hint of curiosity and fear.

"Like anyone who wants you dead," I answer, hoping she takes me seriously.

Sofia turns to face me, her eyes piercing into mine. The vulnerability in her gaze makes my heart ache for her. "Who wants me dead?" Her words catch in her throat.

I struggle to find the right words. In truth, I have my suspicions, but I can't risk sharing them—not until I have concrete proof. "I'm still working on that," I finally answer, forcing a calm tone.

Frustration bubbles beneath Sofia's surface, her eyes blazing with intensity. "Working on it isn't good enough," she snaps, her anger evident. “I'm tired of being a pawn in someone else's twisted game. I'm tired of feeling helpless and at their mercy."

"Trust me, Sofia."

She almost laughs. “Trust is a luxury I can't afford. Not here, not with you. But what other choice do I have?” She cradles her gun, seemingly admiring the way the cold metal looks in her hand.

“I understand. Your father trusted me, but I know it will take time before you feel the same.” I take the gun from her hands and hand it to one of my men.

"Fine. What's next then?" Sofia takes a deep breath and sighs.

"Hand-to-hand combat. You need to be able to defend yourself without a weapon." I step back and gesture for her to come at me.

"Are you sure? Because I don't play nice," Sofia warns, half challenge, half promise.

"Neither do I," I reply, and I see a slight smile touch her lips.

She has no idea how bad I can be.