Bound by Honor

16. Sofia

16

SOFIA

T he clock ticks relentlessly in our too-quiet bedroom, every sound magnified in the absence of Rocco's usually soothing presence. Perched nervously on the edge of the chaise, I try to lose myself in an old book I've read a dozen times before. It doesn’t work. Whenever I try to focus, the words blur and dance meaninglessly on the page. My fingers twitch with unease, and every creak and whisper of wind that seeps through the window sounds like a warning of things to come.

Only a few days have passed since I learned of my father’s treachery against the men he called friends. Ever since his death, something has weighed heavily on my soul. I thought I was simply coping with the loss, but for some reason, Dante’s revelation didn’t surprise me as much as it should have. After losing my mother at an early age, my father was all I had left. Perhaps I viewed him through rose-colored glasses, only seeing what I wanted. It was easier than admitting he was a monster in disguise. And now, the only inheritance I can claim is the giant target he’s placed on my back.

At 4:00 pm today, Gino, Franco, and two of Rocco's soldiers successfully apprehended Dominic and Alessio Bello just two blocks away from Don Agostini's residence. News of their capture came as a shock earlier today, passing through our circles with the speed of wildfire. But Antonio is still at large, and that complicates everything.

Mounting tensions between Rocco's operations and the brothers’ allies are thick enough to cut with a knife. As much as I want to feel safe, I fear the never-ending consequences that may come with it. Whatever plans or ambitions they had have been temporarily foiled, but what happens now?

My mind spins with possibilities, each more dangerous than the last. Rocco's methods are not gentle, and his warehouse is proof of that. It's a place where secrets are both kept and spilled, a place that even I shudder to think about. The thought of what is happening there now sends a cold shiver down my spine.

Rocco said it was just another routine interrogation—get in, get the necessary information, get out—but I know he’s shielding me from the ugly truth. Nothing in this life ever seems routine. Each moment he’s away feels like an eternity—every image that appears in my panicked mind is worse than the one before. I begged to go with him, but he pleaded with me to stay this time. Normally, I would have put up more of a fight, but something deep down made me listen. There are some things I’d rather not see.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I lift my eyes from the useless pages before me, directing them instead toward the window framing the darkening sky outside. The streetlights flicker to life, one by one, their dim glow barely battling back against the encroaching night.

Where are you, Rocco? The question pulses through me like a heartbeat.

I take a deep breath, trying to center myself amidst the chaos that surrounds us. Fear threatens to consume me, but I know I must remain calm. Rocco would scold me for letting my emotions get the better of me.

So, I wait with bated breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I cling to hope like a lifeline. Each second feels like an eternity as I hold on to the worn edges of my book, my mind racing with thoughts of what could possibly be happening behind closed doors. Will Rocco come back unscathed, delivering the news that our lives are no longer in danger? Or will he return with devastating news that will shatter my fragile sense of security?

In this limbo of not knowing, every sound is amplified, and every shadow seems to hold a hidden threat. But still, I wait because it's all I can do. And until Rocco returns, I am suspended in this state of uncertainty, trying to keep my head above water.

A chill whips through the room as Rocco enters, his head cast down and hands trembling. He stalks to the bed and sits heavily, his head resting in his hands, knuckles red and raw—evidence that someone or something was on the receiving end of his rage.

“Baby—” I whisper, fearing he’s been hurt.

"I'm fine, Sofi," Rocco murmurs without looking up.

I know better than to push him for details. Questions might unleash demons that are best left caged.

“Tell me more when you’re ready,” I struggle to remain patient. As much as I want to know what transpired, I trust him to tell me what I need to know.

“Dom and Alessio,” Rocco starts hesitantly, "they’re alive for now. I don’t know how long that will last now that I’ve handed them over to Dante’s men. I imagine he’ll use them as leverage against Antonio. Sooner or later, he’ll have to show his face if he wants his little brothers to keep their heads.”

I nod because what else is there to do? The Rocco who sits before me now is both the storm and the shelter. He is wrath, woven intricately into love. It’s a dichotomy I'm still learning to navigate. Without saying a word, I stride into the bathroom and turn on the shower, waving my hand beneath the water to ensure the temperature is precisely how he likes it. He needs to unwind and move past tonight’s events. And I know precisely how to help him.

There is still so much work to do, but right now, it’s too late to dwell on the ugliness around us. Instead, I kneel before him, taking his bruised hands in mine. The skin is split, blood dried over the wounds that I've begun to know all too well. Rocco tries to pull away, but I hold on tighter, willing him to feel the warmth of my touch.

My fingers dance lightly over Rocco’s wrists, tracing paths toward his elbows as I coax him up from the bed. He follows with a weary resignation, an unspoken trust hanging heavy between us. In the bathroom, steam billows from under the hot spray of our shower, and it feels like stepping into another world—a quieter one where only we exist.

Clothes fall away, fabric puddling at our feet as we step under the deluge together. Water cascades over Rocco’s broad shoulders and down his battered knuckles. He winces slightly under its sting but relaxes as my hands begin their work, gentle and soothing. Here, under the spray, I can believe we are just two people defined not by our past or by the shadows that chase us, but simply by this moment.

The water falls, a soft, unending roar that drowns out the world. The steam rises in curling tendrils around us, clinging to my skin, mingling with the residue of fear and relief that the night has drawn upon me.

“It’s going to be okay,” I find myself whispering, not knowing whose comfort I seek more—his or mine.

Rocco nods slowly, his forehead resting against mine now. The steam and water blur his features momentarily, as if protecting me from the grizzlier details of the night. “Thanks for being here,” he murmurs, his voice scarcely above the sound of water. Those few words unravel me and the wall I’ve barricaded myself with for too long.

Rocco’s hands frame my face, rough yet achingly gentle. When he kisses me, it’s with a desperation that echoes my rawest nerves. Our movements are slow, almost reverent; every touch and sigh amplified by the enclosing heat and sound. Amid the steam and the steady drum of water, his fingers trace gentle circles down my back. "I need you, Sofia. Do you need me?"

I nod, feeling the heat not just from the water but also from his gaze, intense and unwavering. "Yes. Always," I whisper back, surprised by my own certainty.

Rocco leads me toward the tiled shower wall, cradling my ass cheeks as he lifts me off the floor and winds my legs around his hips.

Steam wraps around us like a cocoon, blurring the edges of the world outside this shower. The slick tiles against my back contrast with the warmth of Rocco's body pressed against mine. Without warning, he thrusts his cock inside me, stretching me open and plunging deep with a pounding rhythm that makes my eyes roll back in my head. Water mingles with our movements, a rippling chorus accompanying each breath and whisper. I cry out again and again, confessing my love and praising every stroke.

The touch of Rocco's hands is both gentle and urgent, leaving a trail of goose bumps on my skin despite the scorching heat that surrounds us. I dig my fingers into his strong shoulders, anchoring myself as I lift my legs and wrap them around his waist, pulling him closer, craving a deeper connection. Every movement reveals the play of his defined muscles, rippling against me with each thrust. His lips find mine, kissing me deeply, passionately, as if trying to communicate everything that still remains unspoken.

Rocco responds with a low growl that vibrates against my chest—a primal sound that sends shivers down my spine. The water flows over our intertwined bodies, creating a symphony of sounds that only adds to the intensity of our passion. As he shifts and adjusts his movements, lifting me slightly, the sensation becomes even more powerful. Each synchronized motion replaces any negative thoughts with mind-numbing pleasure, leaving me lost in the moment and consumed by desire.

As we move together, the rest of the world fades away until there’s nothing but the sound of falling water, his breath in my ear, and his silky voice whispering sweet nothings and undying devotion. Here, wrapped in Rocco's embrace, I feel safe and loved. The wall I built around my heart so long ago completely crumbles, and I surrender entirely to the man I love. Nothing will ever be easy between us, but I know where I belong.