Bound by Honor

17. Sofia

17

SOFIA

M y eyes snap open in the dark.

Although I enjoy the quiet, the house feels too silent. It’s unsettling to my nerves and making it impossible for me to return to sleep. I sit up, blinking to adjust to the darkness. The clock on the nightstand reads 2:37 a.m. A pang of restlessness throbs through me, a stark contrast to the troubling calm of the house. Tea, I decide suddenly—remembering the Sleepy Bear tea I recently ordered from the market. It’s a small comfort against the unease tightening my chest.

I slip out of bed, careful not to disturb the cool sheets too much, and pad quietly across the room. Even in the dark, my feet know the familiar path down the hall to the kitchen. As I reach for the light switch near the kitchen door, something—instinct, maybe—makes me pause. My hand hovers midair, fingers trembling slightly.

Then I hear it: a faint shuffle from somewhere behind me.

My heart stalls, and a cold prickle runs down my spine. I tell myself it’s probably just one of the guards on a late-night round. But that reassurance does nothing to soothe the tight knot in my stomach.

“Who’s there?” My voice comes out barely above a whisper, betraying my rising panic.

A shadow detaches itself from a darker patch beside the bookshelf as the sound of footsteps becomes crystal clear. “No need to be afraid, Sofia,” the intruder coaxes, before the figure steps into the moonlight streaming through a slit in the curtains. It’s him—Antonio Bello, looking as calm as if he’s merely a guest who wandered down for a midnight snack.

But his eyes give him away. They dart with sharp purpose, scanning and assessing. He’s not alone.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, my voice steadier than I feel.

Antonio smiles, a chilling curve of his lips that doesn’t reach those calculating eyes. “Come now, Sofia. We both know what this is about.”

I take a step back, bumping into the counter’s edge as realization shakes me into panic mode—the guards aren’t making rounds because they can’t—they won’t ever again.

Antonio moves closer, and every instinct screams at me to run, but where would I go? This man has breached layers of security as if they were mere cobwebs. His presence alone is suffocating, like a heavy fog that blurs my vision and clouds my mind. If I shout for Rocco, Antonio will have the upper hand and might shoot him as he rushes downstairs. I can’t take that risk.

“Let’s not make this difficult,” Antonio continues in that same eerie calm manner as he advances another step. There is a faint smile on his lips, but his eyes are cold and calculating. “You’re coming with me, Sofia.”

The threat is implicit, hanging heavy between us like a blade poised to fall. Every nerve in my body is on high alert, and my senses are heightened as I try to think of a way out.

Fortunately, desperation lends courage—or maybe madness—and suddenly, I am moving too. Not away from him but toward and past him, where I know Rocco keeps a concealed gun in one of the kitchen drawers. My feet pound against the floor as I push myself to move faster. Time seems to slow down around me as I reach for the drawer handle, my hand trembling with fear.

Antonio’s eyes widen with realization as his hand grasps the empty air where I stood just moments before.

My heart races with adrenaline as I yank open the drawer, and my fingers wrap around the cold metal handle of the gun, my body twisting to point it directly at Antonio’s head. The weight of the weapon in my hand gives me a newfound sense of power and control. “Now,” I say, using my leverage while struggling to steady my shaking hand. “Let’s talk about where I’m taking you.”

However, my confidence is premature. I don’t see the man behind me until his fist makes contact with my cheek. As I fly backward, someone disarms me seconds before the back of my head smashes into the wall. The last thing I see before the world goes black is the smug grin of Antonio Bello.