Chapter 25 Sophia
SOPHIA
The numbers on my vest blur as I stare at them through tears.
My father’s voice echoes in my memory, so clear it’s like he’s standing beside me.
I’m seven years old again, sitting at our kitchen table while he shows me a tangle of colored wires.
“It’s like a puzzle, baby girl,” Dad says, his rough hands gentle as he guides my small fingers. “See? Red wire, blue wire, green wire. But you only need to find the right one.”
“Which one, Daddy?”
“The one that doesn’t belong. The one that’s just for show.” He grins at me, and I don’t understand why we’re playing this game, why he looks so serious despite his smile. “Remember this, Sophia. Someday it might save your life.”
I thought we were playing. I thought it was just another one of Dad’s weird games.
But he was preparing me for this exact moment.
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My hands shake as I examine the vest more closely, forcing myself to focus past the panic.
Lorenzo’s mocking laughter filles the old Moretti house as he leaves us behind, his men clearing out. Guns no longer trained on him, Mikhail rushes to me, dropping to his knees as he works to free me.
I stay focused on the bomb.
The design is simpler than the bomb in my memory. Almost too simple.
Three wires—red, blue, green—but only one connects to the actual explosive.
The others are decoys, meant to confuse someone trying to defuse it in a panic.
Dad taught me how to find the fake.
“The weight,” I whisper to myself, feeling along the wires with trembling fingers once Mikail has freed them. “The fake ones are lighter.”
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“Sophia, don’t move!” Mikhail’s whispered plea cuts through my concentration, sharp with fear.
But I can’t stop now. My fingers find the green wire, and I test its weight against the others.
Lighter.
Definitely lighter.
The blue wire feels the same.
That leaves red.
“She’s trying to be a hero,” a camera speaker fills with Lorenzo’s voice. He wants to watch us explode. “How touching. But you’re running out of time, little Moretti. Better say your goodbyes.”
I look at Tony, still bound to his chair, his eyes wide with regret. I’m not sure he meant this as a trap. Lorenzo followed him somehow.
“Mikhail, Tony,” I hiss. “You need to untie him.”
Mikhail’s green eyes meet mine, and I don’t think he’ll go.
Love, terror, rage, helplessness swirl in his expression, but also determination.
If we’re going to die, at least we’ll die together.
But we’re not lost yet.
“Please.”
“No.” He remains, his determined hands working on cutting me from the vest.
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I grip the red wire with both hands, my fingers slick with sweat.
If I’m wrong, if Dad’s lesson was incomplete or I’m remembering it incorrectly, this ends now.
I die. Mikhail dies. Tony dies.
And Lorenzo wins.
But if I’m right…
“Trust yourself, baby girl,” Dad’s voice whispers in my memory. “You’re smarter than you know.”
I pull.
The wire comes free with a soft click, and the timer stops.
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Frozen. Not counting down. Not exploding.
“Mikhail, the red wire. If it’s lighter than the others, that’s it,” I hiss as he discards the bomb and pulls me into his thick arms.
Lorenzo’s curse echoes through the speakers.
“Kill them! Kill them all!”
His men open fire through the walls, and Mikhail is already dragging me away.
“How did you—” He doesn’t finish. His body shields mine as bullets ricochet around us, and we dive behind an old couch.
“My father,” I gasp, my hands shaking with adrenaline. “He taught me. I didn’t realize until now.”
Mikhail’s jaw clenches, and I see something flicker in his eyes. Regret. Guilt. Understanding.
But there’s no time for that conversation. Not now.
“Tony!” I peer around the couch, my heart lurching when I see my brother still strapped to his chair, the vest on his chest still counting down.
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“I’ve got him.” Mikhail presses his Glock into my hand. “Cover me.”
He’s moving before I can argue, sprinting across the living room in a crouch.
I rise and fire at Lorenzo’s men as they approach from the hallway, my aim steadier than I expect.
I don’t think about the fact that I’m shooting at people.
Don’t think about anything except keeping Mikhail alive.
A man falls back, then another.
The kickback from the Glock rattles through my arms, but I keep firing until the magazine clicks empty.
Mikhail reaches Tony and tests the bomb’s wires. I can see his lips moving, can imagine what he’s saying. Stay still. Trust me. I’ve got you.
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“Mikhail!” My scream cuts through the gunfire.
He pulls the red one. The timer stops at two seconds.
Two seconds from losing both of them.
Mikhail cuts the vest away and the zip tie binding Tony’s wrists.
For a moment, they just stare at each other.
Then Tony’s gaze shifts to the open front door, where Lorenzo is standing at the threshold, a gun in each hand.
“You should have died,” Lorenzo snarls, advancing on us. “You should have both died, and Mikhail should have watched it happen. That was the plan!”
“Your plan failed.” Tony’s voice is different now—clearer, stronger. The fog of Lorenzo’s conditioning is still lifted, and my brother still himself. “Everything you told me was a lie.”
“I saved you!” Lorenzo’s face twists with rage. “I gave you purpose! I gave you a family!”
“You gave me nothing but lies and manipulation.” Tony stands, and despite the blood seeping through his shoulder bandage, he looks stronger than I’ve seen him. “Sophia is my family. She’s always been my family.”
Lorenzo raises both guns, aiming at Tony and Mikhail. I’m already running.
My empty Glock is useless in my hand, but I’m moving anyway because I can’t watch them die.
A shot rings out.
But it’s not from Lorenzo’s weapons. It’s from behind him, from the rising sunlight where Ricardo Castellano emerges with his men, their weapons drawn and trained on Lorenzo’s remaining soldiers outside the house.
“Drop them,” Ricardo commands, his voice echoing off the metal walls.
Lorenzo spins toward the new threat. In that split second of distraction, everything shifts. Mikhail launches himself forward, tackling Lorenzo to the ground.
The guns skitter across the wooden floor as they grapple, two men locked in a brutal struggle.
Tony pulls me out of the line of potential fire, his eyes tracking the man who claimed to be his savior fighting with murderous rage against Mikhail.
“He never cared about me,” Tony whispers, and I hear the regret thick in his voice. “He never tried to save me. He only wanted to use me.”
“Tony.” I reach for him, but Mikhail groans, a shattered sound.
Lorenzo has Mikhail pinned, his hands around my husband’s throat.
A scream rips through me, but Tony is already moving, undeterred by the men raining bullets at him.
Tony tackles Lorenzo, his grip loosens slightly, giving Mikhail enough advantage to break free.
Lorenzo manages to scramble free as another wave of fire explodes through the room, grabbing one of his fallen guns, his face twisted with desperation.
Ricardo’s men open fire, not at Lorenzo but at his remaining soldiers.
The property erupts into chaos again, bullets lodging in walls and furniture, men shouting and falling.
Lorenzo grabs his gun and runs, not toward us but away, toward the hall and a back exit. He’s abandoning his men, abandoning his plan, choosing survival over victory.
“After him!” Mikhail staggers to his feet, blood dripping from his split lip.
“No.” Tony grabs his arm. “Get Sophia out, Ricardo’s got him.”
But Mikhail shakes him off, his green eyes blazing. But he seeks me out, letting Ricardo’s men give us cover as we escape out the front door.
Outside, Lorenzo’s men are dead, and we can finally hold still and just breathe.
The gunshots inside slow, until they finally stop.
Ricardo guides us to a medic van, where two men begin attending our injuries.
“Is he dead?” Mikhail’s grip around my shoulders tightens as he pins Ricardo with a cold stare. “He destroyed my sister. He destroyed your family. He needs to pay.”
“No.” Ricardo waves across the property.
There are no neighbors for miles around the old estate, and a convoy of black SUVs drive over the overgrown grass from the back.
Ricardo nods at them as they pull onto the long driveway that winds to a distant road.
“My men had every exit covered, and the full property. He’s being taken to a secure location. ”
Just as the convoy disappears onto the road, and explosion rips through the estate grounds.
Fire and smoke plume from the convoy, and gunfire erupts.
The men around me tense their grips on their weapons, their eyes watching for sign of a new wave of threats, but none comes.
Soon the sound of gunfire and shouting fades, leaving behind only silence.
Ricardo gets a message through his radio and nods. “He’s in the wind. Ambush. But we’ll find him.”
Mikhail’s arm drops from me, his hands clenching into fists.
His whole body vibrates with frustrated rage.
I move to him, placing my hand on his arm, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin.
“We’re alive,” I tell him quietly. “All of us. We won.”
“Lorenzo escaped,” he growls.
“For now.” Tony moves to my other side, and power surges through me. This is the first time the three of us have stood together like this. United. “But he’s lost everything else. His men, his resources, his leverage. He’s running scared.”
Mikhail looks at Tony, really looks at him, and I see something pass between them.
An understanding.
A truce.
Maybe even the beginning of trust.
“You saved my life,” Mikhail says. “Thank you.”
Tony nods slowly. “Sophia saved us both. And she was right about you. You’re not the monster Lorenzo wanted me to believe you were.”
“I’m not sure about that.” Mikhail’s voice is rough with emotion. “But I’m trying to be better. For her.”
The moment stretches between us, heavy with everything unspoken. Then Ricardo clears his throat.
“We should go. Police will be here soon, and none of us want to answer their questions.”
We move together as we treat the injured so we can transport them.
The early morning air is cold and bites into my skin, but I take a deep breath, letting the reality of our survival sink in.
We won.
Lorenzo may have escaped, but we destroyed his plans, saved each other, and broke the chains of his manipulation. Tony is free. We’re all free.
Ricardo’s men left standing are cleaning up, moving with practiced efficiency.
Body bags.
Gasoline to burn evidence.
I should be horrified, but I’m too numb.
“Come on,” Mikhail says, his arm around my waist. “Let’s go home.”
Home. The word sounds strange but right. Not my old apartment or my dorm room, but the mansion where Mikhail and I have built something unexpected and complicated and real.
Tony walks beside us, and I reach for his hand. He squeezes back, and despite his wounded shoulder and the blood staining his shirt, he smiles at me.
My brother.
Alive and himself again.
We’re almost to the vehicles when I notice the broken window on Ricardo’s black SUV.
The glass is shattered, scattered across the ground like diamonds.
“When did that happen?” I ask, but even as the words leave my mouth, I see it.
The red dot.
It appears on Tony’s chest, small and precise, and my heart stops.
“Sniper!” Mikhail’s shout comes too late.
Tony sees the laser sight tracking from his chest toward me, and his eyes go wide.
“No!” He shoves me hard, sending me stumbling backward into Mikhail’s arms.
The shot cracks through the still air, impossibly loud.
And Tony crumples to the ground, blood blooming across his chest.