Bound by Honor

9. Sofia

9

SOFIA

T he thump in my chest echoes in my ears as I hover at the entryway of Rocco's darkened study. The faint glow from the hallway spills onto me, turning me into a living shadow on the burgundy carpet. It feels like I'm about to enter another dimension, one with no return ticket, but I can't turn back now.

With a deep breath, I call out his name. “Rocco?” In this world, hesitation is not an option—it's a weakness that can and will be exploited. I learned that lesson long ago.

There's a shift in the air as he emerges from the shadows, his presence commanding. I notice the clench of his jaw and his tightening grip on the back of the leather chair. He's a fortress of a man, but I refuse to be intimidated.

Two long days have crawled by since our inappropriate behavior in the gym, and I’ve spent every second of it hiding in my room. The walls felt like they were closing in on me, suffocating me with memories of what happened. But now, as I step out into the open air, I can finally breathe again. With each step toward our inevitable conversation, my heart races and my palms sweat.

"Going somewhere?" Rocco's grunts, each syllable laced with a mix of challenge and intrigue.

With determined steps, I stride forward, the fire of my resolve burning fiercely within me. "I need to get in touch with my father’s men—my men." I correct myself. “Before someone else convinces them that my father’s death is the end of the Riccis. They need to know I’m ready to take over.” My words are sharp and precise. "How long do you plan to keep me here against my wishes?"

The tension intensifies as Rocco’s dark eyes bore into me. But I refuse to back down. I will reclaim what is rightfully mine.

He studies me, eyes sharp and penetrating, like he's trying to read the secrets etched into my soul. But I'm an open book of defiance. I can feel the tension coiling between us, a serpent ready to strike. And I'm prepared to dance with danger—it's in my blood.

"Your safety is not up for negotiation," Rocco retorts, crossing the room to stand before me. His proximity is both a threat and a thrill, an electric charge in the silence.

"Neither is my freedom," I shoot back, refusing to back down an inch. I've fought too hard for it and felt the loss of everything that mattered to me. I won't let Rocco— or anyone —cage me again.

Rocco's gaze never leaves mine, unwavering and intense. It's a battle of wills, and for a split second, I wonder if he can hear my heart pounding, a traitorous drum betraying the conflict within.

"Then we're at an impasse," Rocco concludes, his tone final.

But I'm Sofia Ricci, and impasses are meant to be broken.

"An impasse," I echo, my tone mocking. "Or an opportunity."

I force a sultry smile, knowing full well the effect it has on Rocco. His eyes darken, and the atmosphere shifts as I enter his personal space. It's a dance we've both mastered—the push and pull of power and desire.

"Opportunity?" Rocco questions, skepticism lacing his deep baritone.

"Let me go back to my apartment," I say softly, almost a whisper, touching his arm. The fabric of his suit is smooth under my fingertips, but the muscle beneath is steel—unyielding, like the man himself. "Just for my things and my mother's mementos."

Rocco seems to consider this, his jaw working silently. He's close enough that I can see the faintest flicker in his expression, a crack in the stoic facade he presents to the world. I press further, tilting my head and meeting his gaze with a vulnerability I rarely show.

"Please, Rocco. They're all I have left of her." It's a low blow, using my past, my pain, as a weapon. But in my world, you use what you have. And I have always been my own best weapon.

He takes a deep breath, and I know I have him. Rocco Leone may rule Brooklyn, but after years of being alone, even he can't resist the call of something deeper.

"Fine," Rocco at last concedes with a growl. "But I'm coming with you."

"Of course." My heart triumphs with silent victory. Because I've just won the first challenge, though as I lock eyes with Rocco, I know this game is far from over.

I inherited my apartment from my grandparents, who bought the place in the 1940s before the Upper West Side became a place for the rich and famous. After my grandfather became a don of the Ricci family, securing his claim on Queens, he moved my grandmother to a grand mansion in Forest Hills. And now, with my father's passing, that sprawling estate is rightfully mine. But this cozy little apartment has been my sanctuary for the past five years, the only place that truly feels like my own.

While Rocco busies himself securing the perimeter, I sink into the plush cushions of the antique armchair by the window. My gaze drifts to the bustling city streets and lights below. Amongst the sea of hurried figures, I know that someone is lurking, waiting for me, my father's assassin, biding his time, waiting to finish me off. I have no plans to make it easy for him.

"Be quick," Rocco warns from my front door, a shadow framed by the hall light.

I force myself to nod, my breath catching in my throat as I slowly inch toward him. Every step I take makes the floorboards protest, releasing an eerie creak that sends shivers down my spine. Wanting a moment of privacy, I close the door behind me, locking it to keep Rocco from interrupting or rushing me. My hand shakes as I reach for the top drawer of my dresser, hoping my mother's jewels are still where I left them. But before my fingers make contact with the wood, a loud crash and a sudden rush of air jar my senses. Instinctively, I drop to the ground just in time to dodge the bullet whistling past my head before burying itself deep into the wall behind me.

As I struggle to regain my bearings, a masked man crashes through the window from the fire escape, wielding a knife that misses me by inches. I roll over and spring to my feet, my heart thundering. Adrenaline surges as I face my attacker—a man with eyes devoid of mercy. I've no weapon but my will to survive.

"Stupid girl," my attacker hisses as he lunges toward me once more and narrowly misses.

The sound of Rocco's panicked shouts and pounding fists against the door gives me hope, but I can't count on him rescuing me. Now is my chance to save myself.

"Sofia!" Rocco desperately tries to break down the door, yelling my name over and over again.

My heart races as fear of death overwhelms me.

Without hesitation, I sidestep and deliver a powerful punch to my attacker’s chin, feeling the satisfying impact of my fist meeting his jaw.

The creep stumbles back, grunting and disoriented. Taking advantage of his vulnerability, I follow up with a swift kick to his groin. As he writhes in pain, I wrench the knife from his hands and stab him in the stomach, forcing him to flee. The action comes far more naturally than I ever expected. But there’s no time for remorse or celebration—he wasn’t alone.

"Rocco!" The name tears from my throat as a second assailant grips me, a cold blade kissing my neck. Fear chokes me, dark and suffocating. This is it. This is how I?—

The door splinters with a deafening crack, and Rocco bursts through, fury etched in every line of his body. Two strides, and he's on us, wrenching the attacker away. His fist connects with the assailant’s jaw, flesh on flesh, a symphony of violence that ends with the thud of a body hitting the ground.

"Dammit, Sofia!" Rocco roars. His chest rises and falls in heavy, ragged breaths as he turns to face me. "You could have been killed!" I can see the fear and frustration in his eyes.

I can see the fear and frustration in his eyes. "But I wasn’t!” I shout back, my own anger rising to match his. "I took down the first one, didn’t I?" My heart pounds in my chest, and adrenaline surges through my veins as I try to regain control of my breathing.

Rocco advances, hands reaching out, not in threat but in desperate need. My resistance crumbles as he pulls me close, his lips crashing against mine. The kiss is a battlefield, fierce and demanding, our frustrations and fears pouring into the clash of tongues and teeth.

"Stubborn woman," Rocco growls against my mouth, his hold tightening.

“Arrogant bastard," I retort, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit as we fall into each other's arms, a storm of passion amid our carnage. I could have died tonight, and the thought of meeting my end before I know how it feels to be taken by this gorgeous man would be a sin.

“I don't know what's holding you back from standing by my side, but I won't accept 'no' for an answer again." As Rocco’s men file in to deal with the aftermath of our actions, he gently takes hold of my hand and guides me to his waiting car.

It’s impossible to refuse him, not that I have any desire to do so. We’re in this together—in every possible way.