Cut by the Don

The hospital room was chaos. Sophia was sobbing, pointing a trembling finger at me. "It was her! She did this! She's jealous! She ruined me!"

Vincent's face was a storm cloud. "Isabella. Apologize to her. Now."

"I need to examine her to determine what happened," I said, my voice cold, professional.

"No! I don't want her near me!" Sophia shrieked, clinging to Vincent. "I'm so scared, Vincent!"

The director called in Dr. Marco, a colleague who'd always been envious of my position. After a brief procedure, Marco held up a forceps. In its grip was a small, bloodied piece of gauze.

"Care to explain, Dr. Rossi?" Marco asked, his tone slick with faux concern. "A simple oversight? Or something more... personal?"

Vincent's eyes turned to ice. "You did this deliberately."

I was suspended, then fired. Vincent's doing, of course.

As I left the hospital, a crowd had gathered--egged on by a viral video of Sophia accusing me.

A former patient, whose boyfriend had discovered her surgery, broke through and slapped me hard across the face. "You incompetent bitch!"

Others joined in, spitting, throwing things. I was on the ground, covered in filth, when Vincent's car pulled up.

He shielded Sophia's eyes. "Don't look, darling. It's unpleasant." Then, to his bodyguard, "Bring her to Sophia's room when you're done."

Dragged into the private suite, I saw Vincent carefully arranging a blanket over Sophia. "There, my love. Are you comfortable?" The tenderness in his voice was a knife to my heart. It was everything I'd ever wanted from him.

Sophia saw me and erupted into fresh hysterics. "Vincent! Make her go away!"

Vincent held Sophia close, his gaze on me murderous. "I told you, Isabella. Behave, and you remain Mrs. Rossi. But you touched her. You crossed a line."

Sophia looked up, tears sparkling. "Can I... can I make it fair? Can she feel the shame I feel?"

Vincent didn't hesitate. "Of course." He turned to the bodyguard. "Get a doctor. Now."

My blood ran cold. "Vincent! I'm your wife!"

"An eye for an eye, Isabella," he said, his voice chillingly calm. "You should have thought of that."

I was forced onto a gurney. The doctor examined me, then looked nervously at Vincent. "Mr. Rossi... your wife... she's... physically fine. This procedure would be... purely symbolic, but deeply humiliating."

"Please, Vincent, don't do this!" I begged, the professional composure finally shattering.

He paused, but Sophia's wail--"I feel so violated! I'll never be the same!"--sealed my fate.

Vincent's resolve hardened. "She. Will. Pay." He pointed to the doctor. "Mark her. Do something that shows her failure. Now."

He marked me. A crude, painful brand low on my abdomen. Permanent. A declaration of 'imperfection'. Of 'failure'. A cruel mockery of my skill, and of his sick obsession. The humiliation was absolute.

Marco entered after, a vile smirk on his face. "The great Dr. Rossi. Marked as flawed." He made sure the wound would scar.

Later, thrown into a pitch-black, windowless storage room in the Rossi estate's basement, I curled into a ball. He knew about my claustrophobia. He knew.

"Vincent! It's too dark! Please!" I screamed, scratching at the heavy door until my nails bled.

Outside, I heard the temperature control beep. The air began to bite, turning frigid. Zero degrees. Five below. My breath misted. Hypothermia began to set in.

I heard Sophia's giggle. "Vincent, isn't she cold? Should I turn up the heat?"

His reply was a low murmur, followed by a kiss. "You're too kind, my love. Let her freeze. I have a vacation to plan for us."

The cold seared my bones. The sounds of their kisses echoed down the hall.

My vision began to dim. With my last ounce of strength, I spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. "Vincent Rossi... I will never... forgive you."

Consciousness slipped away. Just before the darkness took me, I heard the distinct sound of the lock turning.

...

Vincent stood on the terrace of his Sicilian villa, a glass of whiskey in hand. The sunset was spectacular.

Sophia's laughter drifted from inside, bright and careless. He took a sip, the liquor smooth on his tongue.

His mind, unbidden, flickered to a different silence. To Isabella reading in his study, the lamp casting a quiet glow. To the steady, calm presence that had simply... always been there.

A strange restlessness seized him. He turned abruptly. "Luca!" he barked to his consigliere. "Find Isabella. Bring her to me. Now."

Luca nodded and vanished.

Vincent paced. He'd bring her back. She was his wife. The thought settled something in him.

It felt like only moments before Luca returned. He stood stiffly, his face ashen.

"Well?" Vincent demanded, a thread of impatience in his voice. "Where is she? At the Moretti estate? What do they want?"

Luca didn't answer. He couldn't meet Vincent's eyes. His hand trembled as he held out a single, crisp piece of paper.

Vincent stared at it. A document. Official.

"Luca?" Vincent's voice dropped, a cold knot tightening in his gut.

Luca's words were a hoarse, broken whisper. "I'm sorry, Vincent... We found her medical records... from a clinic in Switzerland..."

He swallowed, the sound loud in the tense silence.

"She didn't make it. The infection... from the... the marking... It was too much.

"Isabella... she's gone."