Bound by Honor

11. Sofia

11

SOFIA

W e're in the backroom of an old warehouse down by the docks, a place that smells of salt and forgotten cargo. Marco stands guard at the door while Franco paces restlessly behind the man tied to the chair in the center of the room. Alfonso Farina, once my father's most trusted confidant, now reduced to a trembling and disheveled figure under their watchful eyes. The wooden floorboards creak under their weight as they circle him, their shadows dancing on the walls in the flickering light of a single bare bulb above.

I sit across from him, my hands clasped tightly in front of me to hide their slight trembling. Rocco leans against the wall, his arms folded, like a shadow looming, ready to pounce. Franco and Marco, having done their part, stand by the door like two sentinels, ensuring nobody leaves until I get what I came for.

Alfonso's darting eyes flicker toward me before settling on Rocco. Despite the crisp air surrounding us, his forehead glistens with a thin layer of sweat, hinting at his fear or guilt. "Sofia," he gasps, his voice strained and feeble as if he hasn't had a drop of water in days. Tears threaten to spill from his bloodshot eyes as he appears to struggle to find the right words to say.

I raise my hand in a firm gesture, signaling for him to stay silent. We're not here for a happy reunion—it’s an interrogation. I turn to look at Rocco, hoping for guidance, but true to form, his expression is inscrutable. Fortunately, his subtle nod gives me the reassurance I need.

"Alfonso," I say, my tone steady despite the turmoil of emotions swirling inside me. "You disappeared without a trace right after my father's passing. You didn't attend his funeral or even reach out in any way. Rumors have been circulating about your secret friendship with Antonio Bello. Why should we believe you weren't involved in my father’s murder?" My words are laced with accusation and suspicion as I try to unravel the truth from Alfonso's elusive demeanor.

A storm rumbles outside, mirroring the turbulent atmosphere inside.

Alfonso shakes his head vigorously. "Sofia, I would never?—"

"Would never what? Betray my father?" I interrupt sharply, taking another step forward to loom over him. My heart hammers against my chest as if it wants out. "Yet you hid like a coward while we pick up the pieces."

"I was scared!" Alfonso’s words burst forth in a rush. "After your father… after he was killed, I knew they’d come after anyone close to him next. And I was right! They did come for me. They burned my house down!"

Franco stops pacing and leans in close to Alfonso’s face. "Who is ‘they’? Give us something we can use."

Alfonso's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, his eyes flitting between each of our faces with a mix of fear and desperation. He takes a deep breath, then finally speaks. "I wish it was just one person. Or even one family. It's bigger than I ever imagined.”

Rocco steps forward, his tall frame casting a looming shadow over the room. He places his hands on the back of Alfonso’s chair, causing it to tilt slightly backward and making him whimper in fear. The tension in the room thickens as Rocco's controlled ferocity commands attention. Even my blood runs cold in his presence.

"What exactly was he caught up in?" Rocco's baritone pierces the air with a sharp edge, each syllable enunciated with precision and force.

I can see the muscles in his jaw clenching as he stares down at Alfonso, his gaze unwavering and intense. It's as if he can see right through him.

As Alfonso stammers and hesitates, sweat beads on his forehead, glistening under the harsh lights of the room. Rocco's eyes never leave him, demanding honesty and cooperation.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of tense silence, Alfonso breaks. His words tremble and waver as he spills out the information, each syllable seeming to inflict a physical toll on him. It's like he's giving away pieces of his soul with every sentence. "It's…the Bello brothers," he finally manages to get out. "They want to take over New York, topple the Serpicos, and wage war against the bratva in Brooklyn." The gravity of this revelation is evident in his expression, his features contorted with fear and anxiety. "They're coming for you next, Rocco," he continues, his stammering adding to the sense of urgency in his words. "Valentino was just the beginning. They have support from powerful allies—the Outfit in Chicago and the Bravo cartel in Mexico." He swallows hard, understanding the weight of what he’s revealing. "Antonio Bello has vowed to kill anyone who gets in his way."

“He plans to take on the Serpicos? Has he lost his mind?” I ask, utterly confused and growing angrier by the second.

"That’s one hell of an accusation. Do you have proof of this?" Rocco’s question surprises me. Apparently, he knows much more than me.

Alfonso's trembles as he speaks, his head bowed in a desperate plea for his life. "I can get it," he promises, the words barely escaping his lips. His eyes dart around, searching for any sign of mercy from the one holding him captive. "There’s a safe in Valentino’s office behind the painting of your mother, Sofia. Only he and I knew about it."

I exchange a look with Rocco. This could be what we've been searching for—the evidence to expose those truly responsible for plunging our world into chaos. "All right," I manage to choke out quietly. Standing up abruptly, I signal to Franco and Marco—it's time to secure what lies in my father's office before any more secrets perish with him. "You have twenty-four hours. Don’t get any ideas of skipping town. Gino Bonnano will be accompanying my cousins and watching your every move. He'll have orders to kill if you stray from your objective.” I point to a tall figure standing in the shadows, but no introduction is needed.

Alfonso's eyes widen with fear at the mention of Gino. The notorious hit man, once feared throughout New York, has lived in Palermo for the past five years, working under my Uncle Santino, father of Franco and Marco. After my father's funeral, I asked Gino to return home, and he happily obliged. He’s one of the most ruthless and untouchable forces in the underworld, and I need someone like him now more than ever.

Yet as I catch a glimpse of Rocco's disapproving expression, I can't help but sense a tension between us. His dark eyes seem to bore into mine, silently questioning my decision—no doubt he’ll have something to say as soon as we’re alone.