Bound by Honor

13. Rocco

13

ROCCO

A s I enter the back room of Mancinis, a Midtown restaurant and frequent meeting place for the Cosa Nostra, the air thick with whispers and cigar smoke, I catch Sofia’s eyes, wide with urgency. The hum of low conversation vibrates through the musky space, older men's faces etched with lines of concern and power. My heart is pounding—like it knows something my brain hasn’t entirely caught up to yet.

"We need to talk," Sofia mutters, pulling me aside toward a secluded corner shielded by heavy velvet curtains. Her soft voice barely slicing through the ambient noise. "It’s about the Bello brothers."

I give a slight, controlled nod, trying to conceal the sudden surge of adrenaline that courses through my body. Of course, we suspected the brothers’ involvement, but I never expected to hear such concrete evidence so soon.

"Their plan… it’s massive, Rocco," Sofia continues, her dark eyes widening with each word. She slips a crumpled page into my hand, her fingertips ice-cold against my palm.

I edge closer, looking over her shoulder. The document spells out detail after chilling detail—names, dates, places. It’s more than just rumors now—it’s a blueprint for murder. The Bello brothers have planned this out meticulously. Every don of the New York families, including Sofia and me, are listed with exact times and locations for their executions.

"Bastards. I’ll kill all three with my bare hands before I let them near you," I growl under my breath.

Sofia flips through more pages, her eyes wide with horror. "It's scheduled for next week."

That realization hits like a punch to the gut. We have less time than I thought to stop this madness. The city would descend into chaos if the heads of these families were all taken out at once.

"We need to warn everyone,” Sofia says as she attempts to weave past me toward the meeting room.

"Wait." My hand finds her arm, holding her back. “If we step into this mess and warn them, we're putting targets on our backs too.”

She looks at me, conflicted but resolute. “We can't just sit back and let it happen, Rocco.”

I know she's right. We may be signing our death warrants by interfering in mafia business, but doing nothing isn't an option either. Slowly nodding, I follow her, taking slow steps to give myself time to think.

"We need a plan,” I say as determination settles over me like armor. “And we need it today.”

“We also need backup,” Sofia adds, as she tucks a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"Yes, we do." My mind races through possible contacts who can handle this kind of heat. Only a few names come to mind, but they’ll have to do.

Sofia's eyes dart around the room, her movements careful and calculated. She leans in close, and whispers, “We must intercept,” she says, her tone betraying both caution and confidence. "We have men on the inside, loyal only to their own conscience. We can use that."

For a moment, I contemplate the weight of her words—the enormity of our impending actions that could forever shift the delicate balance of power. "And after? After we disrupt this massacre? Someone could take their place. Alfonso said others are involved."

Sofia exhales slowly. "After, we handle the fallout. But first, we survive."

Survival—the foremost rule in our unspoken creed–– stands above loyalty and blood. But Sofia’s survival means far more to me than my own.

Dante Serpico, the don of dons, begins. “Rocco, you’ve called us together today because of what’s brewing with the Bello brothers. What’s on your mind?”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of my father’s legacy pressing down on my shoulders. "Thank you for coming." I pause for effect, ensuring I have everyone's undivided attention. "As you all know, the Bello brothers have encroached on our territories. Last week, they took out two of our operations in broad daylight."

Murmurs swell around the table like the tide coming in.

Sofia is beside me, her presence both reassuring and necessary. She knows the undercurrents of these meetings as well as any man here, perhaps better. Her eyes—sharp, observant—never miss a twitch or a stray glance. And in this game, a glance can weigh as much as a confession.

"It’s not just about loss," I continue, folding my hands in front of me to project calm assurance. "It’s about respect. If we let this aggression go unanswered, it tells everyone that we are weak."

Don Agostini leans forward, his thick fingers tented together. "And what do you propose?"

I meet his gaze squarely. "A show of force. Nothing fatal—yet. But enough to send a clear message. We strike at their club on 5th Street."

A few heads nod, others look pensive. Sofia’s hand finds mine under the table—a subtle squeeze of support.

“I know I’m new to this, but I don’t believe we have a choice. We must neutralize the threat before it spreads." Sofia’s voice cuts through the murmurs like a steel knife. With her hands planted firmly on the oak table and her eyes scanning the room for dissenters, she continues. “If you don’t want to become involved, do not expect the rest of us to rescue you when the Bellos come for you.” There's a pause—a collective intake of breath—as the other dons weigh her audacity and resolve.

Don Moretti clears his throat, signaling his wish to speak next. He's an ally if played right—a fact I'm keenly aware of as he starts talking. “While I agree with Rocco,” he says carefully, “we must consider all possible backlash. We retaliate, and they will strike back harder.”

"That's why," Sofia smoothly interjects before I can respond myself, “we also strengthen our defenses simultaneously.” Her confidence fills the room like sunlight piercing through clouds. “Upgraded security at all key establishments, and rotating night patrols.”

The suggestion settles over the room, and general approval murmurs around the table like a welcome relief from bad news.

Don Serpico finally speaks up from my other side. “If we are united in this response, their moves against any one of us become an affront to all—an offense none other will tolerate.”

Nods ripple across the table.

As strategies start taking shape amidst these titans of the underworld, I turn slightly to watch Sofia amidst the fray. Her eyes are bright with fire—a warrior queen among kings—and I'm reminded that in this world where power rules and betrayal lurks behind every handshake, it’s not just about surviving.

It’s about surviving together—and even if everyone else here falls, I won’t let her be among them.

Don Agostini, an old lion in this game with his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, finally chuckles. "You plan to strike them hard, ragazza ," he says with a mix of admiration and skepticism, his rough voice a product of decades spent in smoke-filled war rooms. "And fast, before they even see you coming?"

Sofia’s nod is firm. "It's the only way to ensure that none of us wakes up with a knife at our throats." Her lips curl up slightly at the edges, not quite smiling but close enough—a deadly predator behind the mask of cheerfulness. She’s fucking magnificent. I'd take her here and now if I wasn’t in a room full of men.

“We need to form a joint force of men," I suggest, drawing all eyes to me. The silence stretches—even Sofia turns her steely gaze my way. "Comprised of members from each of our families working together under one directive. We eliminate anonymity and make it an open secret that we will stand together against our enemies.

The notion percolates amidst these seasoned minds, sparking nods and reflective stares at the table's polished surface, reflecting back their furrowed brows and calculating eyes.

"Don Leone suggests unity,” Dante Serpico finally states from the end of the table, his hands folded neatly before him. “In troubled times such as these, perhaps this is wise."

One by one, hands raise—a unanimous decision made by those who command fear and respect in equal measure across New York City’s underworld.

Sofia's wide brown eyes flicker toward me, full of fire and pride intertwined with a hint of vulnerability that she keeps hidden from the world.

I can't help but smile as my heart swells with love for her. I can’t fucking wait to make her my wife.

As the murmurs of agreement begin to rise like a symphony building to its crescendo, Sofia leans closer to me and whispers, "We can do this."

I nod imperceptibly, my gaze never leaving hers. "As long as we're together," I whisper back, "we can do anything."