The Shattered Hand

Sophia was gone.

My hand shaking, I grabbed the burner phone and dialed the emergency number.

"Isabella?" My grandfather's voice was instant and sharp.

"Grandpa... help..." I was so weak I could barely form the words. "Sophia... poisoned me... the baby..."

"I'm sending men now!" his voice roared with a fury that promised retribution. "Hold on, child!"

Ten minutes later, three men in black suits were in my room.

"Miss Rossi," the leader said, his eyes taking in the blood. "We need to get you to a hospital."

"No," I grabbed his arm, a new, icy resolve hardening inside me. "Vincent will find out. Stick to the plan. The death has to be real."

"But, Miss, your condition..."

“The blood?” I forced myself to sit up, a grim smile touching my lips. “It just makes the story more convincing. We do it now.”

With my last ounce of strength, I smeared more blood on the sheets.

Then I opened the safe and took out the divorce papers I'd prepared.

Isabella Torrino.

I signed my old name for the last time.

I placed the papers on the blood-soaked bed, then took out the faded photo from the church.

On the back, I wrote: The one who really saved you was never Sophia.

"Is the double in place?" I asked.

"She's ready, ma'am. She'll take your car to the designated spot."

"Get me out of here."

We heard an engine outside.

Vincent was back.

"Go! Now!"

The men helped me out a back exit just as a woman wearing my clothes and a wig sped my red Ferrari out the front gate and onto the road.

We were in an unmarked car on a dark stretch of I-94.

I listened to the operation on a secure radio.

"Target vehicle is approaching the overpass."

"The asset is clear of the vehicle."

"Initiating countdown. Ten... nine... eight..."

I clenched my fists, thinking of the child I'd lost.

"Seven... six... five..."

Sophia had taken everything.

"Four... three... two..."

Now, Isabella Torrino was going to die.

"One. Detonate!"

A massive explosion lit up the distant sky, a fireball roaring into the night.

I stared at the flames, and for the first time, I didn't cry.

Isabella Torrino was dead.

And a new woman was born from her ashes.

——————

Vincent's POV

I walked into the mansion at 10:30 p.m. to the sound of a maid's piercing scream from upstairs.

"Sir! It's the missus... she's..."

I took the stairs three at a time.

The scene in our bedroom was a nightmare.

A horrifying amount of blood soaked the white sheets.

"Isabella!" I roared, tearing the room apart. "Where is she?"

"We can't find her, sir!" the maid cried. "There's just the blood, and... and this..."

She handed me a document.

Divorce papers.

Signed.

My hands trembled as I opened the folder.

Tucked inside was a faded photograph.

The church, fifteen years ago.

A picture of me and a little girl... but the face wasn't Sophia's.

It was Isabella.

The words on the back twisted in my gut like a knife:

The one who really saved you was never Sophia.

The memory hit me like a freight train.

The rain, the fear, her small hand in mine.

It was Isabella.

It was always Isabella.

"No... no, it can't be..." I collapsed onto the blood-stained floor.

My phone rang.

It was my second-in-command, Marcus, his voice frantic.

"Boss! Mrs. Torrino's car... it exploded on I-94. The feds are on scene... Boss, they're saying... there are no survivors."