Bound by Honor

18. Rocco

18

ROCCO

I jolt awake, the room pitch black except for the sliver of moonlight slicing through the blinds. The cool sheets beside me are empty, Sofia's usual warmth conspicuously absent. Panic stabs at my chest as I call out her name, my voice sounding foreign in the thick silence. "Sofia?"

There’s no answer. The bedside clock glows at 2:17 a.m.

I fumble for my phone on the nightstand, its screen a blinding beacon in the darkness. No messages, no missed calls. Heart pounding, I throw off the covers and scramble out of bed. My feet hit the cold floor, and I rush from room to room—kitchen, living room, bathrooms—each as empty as the last. Her purse is still in our room, and her coat remains on the hook by the front door. Wherever she is, she couldn’t have gone far—unless she didn’t have a choice.

"Sofia!" Desperation laces my shouts now.

It’s unlike her to leave without telling me, to vanish in the dead of night. Someone must have taken her. There’s no other explanation.

Then, as if on cue, my phone erupts into a frantic symphony of rings and vibrations on my nightstand. The caller ID says the number is private, but I know who’s on the other end. My grip tightens around the phone, knuckles whitening.

"Where is she?" I spit out before anyone can speak.

"Ah, Rocco."

I immediately recognize the caller as Antonio Bello.

His oily and calm voice slithers through the speaker. "Concerned about your dear Sofia? You should be."

"What have you done with her?" I demand to know. If he so much as leaves a bruise, I’ll slit his throat from ear to ear.

"Nothing yet," Antonio says coolly. "But that could change depending on how cooperative you are."

The threat hangs in the air like smoke, choking me. "If you hurt Sofia?—"

"Come now, Rocco,” Antonio interrupts with a tsk-tsk sound that makes my blood boil. “You’re not really in a position to make threats." He pauses for effect. "Meet me at the old shipyard at sunrise. Come alone if you want her to stay pretty."

The line goes dead before I can respond.

A blazing fury ignites within me, like an unquenchable fire raging through dry brush. It consumes all rational thought, leaving only a burning desire for action in its wake. Without hesitation, I hastily throw on the first clothes I see and storm out to the garage.

Under my seething command, the engine roars to life. The vibrations reverberate through my body, matching the fierce intensity of my emotions. My knuckles whiten as I grip the steering wheel, ready to unleash my wrath on the open road.

Tires screech as I peel out of the driveway. Sofia's unknown fate hangs heavy in the air, a constant reminder of what's at stake. Every turn feels like a risk, every decision a gamble as I race against time to save her. Both our lives depend on it.

The shipyard looms ahead, its dark silhouette outlined against the hazy horizon. Every step toward it feels like an eternity, filled with torturous thoughts of what could be waiting for me when I arrive. My mind spins with wild scenarios of Bello's cruel intentions and the potential harm he could inflict on Sofia, all while trying to prove a point.

"I'm coming, Sofia," I whisper to myself as if she can hear me over the distance that separates us. "Hold on."

As I approach the shipyard's rusty gates etched against a barely graying sky, anguish and wrath intertwine within me, pulsing and thrashing like barbed wire. I feel their sharp edges digging into my soul, ready to tear through any obstacles that stand between me and my Sofia.

The air smells of salt and oil, a stench that sinks into your skin and marks you long before you see the East River. I pull my collar up against the early morning chill, eyes scanning the sprawling docks for any sign of movement. It's too quiet, the kind of silence that screams danger. But there's no turning back now—Sofia is here somewhere, and every second counts.

As I slip through the gate, my ears strain against the stillness, picking up faint sounds—the distant lap of waves against the docks, the soft rustle of wind through old shipping containers. Each step forward is calculated, as though walking on a tightrope strung with alarms.

Then I hear it: a muffled sob, desperate and choking. My heart hammers as I follow the sound toward an old freight shed at the far end of the yard. The door hangs awkwardly on its hinges as if someone had recently forced their way in—or out. Adrenaline surges through my veins like fire—I'm so close now.

Inside, the dim light reveals her—Sofia, tied to a rickety chair in the center of the room, her nightdress torn and blood staining her mouth and cheek. Her beautiful eyes, wide with fear, meet mine, and for a moment, everything else falls away. It's just her and me.

But then reality snaps back as a shadow moves behind her. A tall figure steps into my view: Antonio Bello, his face twisted into a menacing scowl. His dark eyes glint with malice, and his lips curl into a contemptuous sneer.

"Rocco." He spits my name as if it's poison, each syllable dripping with disdain and hatred.

Without a second thought, I launch myself at Bello as his hand dives into his jacket for his gun. Our bodies collide with a thud, and we crash to the ground, limbs entwined as we grapple for control of the weapon. It skitters across the cold, unforgiving concrete floor, slipping just out of reach. As our movements catch the attention of Bello's goons, they burst in with shocked expressions.

But they are too slow to react—weeks of pent-up rage and desperation have transformed me into an unstoppable force. With each punch and kick, I channel all my anger and determination into a ferocious storm of retribution. Despite their skills, tonight, I am something else entirely—a beast defending his mate.

One by one, they drop to the ground with a thud until it’s just Bello and me left standing. He frantically scrambles toward the gun lying on the ground, but I quickly tackle him down before he can reach it. We struggle fiercely, our bodies writhing against each other in a desperate battle for control. Finally, with my hand tightly gripping his throat, he goes still.

In the aftermath of chaos, a haunting quiet settles in as my heavy breaths reverberate off the cold metal walls. My hands shake as I free Sofia from her bonds, and she collapses into my arms, shaking with sobs. A mixture of relief and pain washes over us both as we cling to each other amidst the wreckage that surrounds us.

Sofia shakes with emotion as she whispers, "I knew you'd come. I never doubted it for a second." She clings to me, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck as I lift her and hold her against my chest. Her tears soak into my shirt, but I don't mind. All that matters is that she’s safe, and I’m taking her home.

“I love you, Rocco. I love you,” Sofia whispers between breaths, clutching onto me like a lifeline as I stroke her hair gently, promising that nothing will hurt her again as long as I breathe.

"You are my world," I murmur back to her, my heart overflowing with love and devotion. As I hold her close, nothing matters more than Sofia.