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CHAPTER FOUR
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2026-03-20 22:54:46“PAIN MADE US STRONGER, TEARS MADE US COLDER.”
DANTE.
The whiskey burns going down, but I barely notice anymore, alcohol over the years became like water to me, which–-well wasn’t such a great thing.
I'm sitting in the guest room of Marco's house—my cousin's house, though I haven't seen the bastard in seven years and honestly don't care to, staring at the only thing I managed to keep safe through all those years in hell. A photograph. Worn at the edges now, creased from being folded and unfolded a thousand times, but still perfect. Still her.
Sofia.
My butterfly,
She's laughing in this picture, her head thrown back, dark hair catching the sunlight. I took it on my phone that last day we were together, the morning before everything went to shit and I disappeared. I had it printed later, kept it hidden, and looked at it so many times the image is burned into my brain.
I trace my finger along the edge of her face and feel that familiar ache in my chest. The one that's been there for seven years. The one that never goes away no matter how many men I kill or how much power I accumulate or how far I run.
Where are you, farfalla?
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I set the photograph down carefully—reverently, if I'm being honest, and answer without looking at the caller ID. Only one person has this number right now.
"Talk to me, Rico."
Rico's voice comes through clear despite the distance. He's back in Colombia, managing things while I'm here playing politics with people I can't stand. "Boss. Just checking in. Things are quiet here. The cartel's been behaving since you made an example of Rodriguez."
"Good. Keep it that way." I pour myself another whiskey, not because I want it but because I need something to do with my hands. Something other than putting my fist through a wall. "What about the northern territory?"
"Locked down. No movement from the Greco family. I think they got the message after what happened to their cousins."
The Greco cousins. Sixty men who thought they could double cross me. Sixty men who were very, very wrong. I spent two days hunting them down, and by the end, they were begging me to kill them just to make it stop.
Some people call that excessive. I call it effective.
"Keep eyes on them anyway," I say. "The Grecos are like cockroaches. Think you've killed them all and then three more show up. Fucking bastards. "
"Will do. Hey, boss, you need me to fly out there? You're in Marco Valentino territory without backup. Makes me nervous."
I almost smile. Rico's been with me since the beginning, since those early days when we were both just trying to survive the cartel's initiation rituals. He pulled me out of more than one bad situation. Saved my life at least twice. He's the closest thing I have to family now.
"No," I tell him. "It's Marco and you seem to forget that I am also a Valentino. No cause for alarm. Even if he tries something stupid, he has a wife and a kid now. He wouldn't want to lose them." I take a drink, let the burn settle in my stomach. "Whereas me, on the other hand, I have nothing to lose."
There's a pause on the other end. Rico knows what I'm really saying. That I'm hollow, empty and generally miserable. That I've been like this for seven years. That the only thing keeping me going is momentum and rage and the faint, desperate hope that maybe someday I'll find her again.
But I won't. I can’t not right now, with all the chaos going on. If any of the other candidates for Pahkan find out I’ve a weakness, they would exploit it to no end and I couldn’t afford that– I couldn’t afford seeing her get hurt. But I would find her, even if it means walking to the ends of the earth, I would make her mine again. Soon after I become Pakhan,
"Boss?" Rico's voice pulls me back. "You still there?"
"Yeah. Listen, check on the cartels. Make sure everything's running smooth. And those gun shipments—I don't want the Russians anywhere near that deal. They've been sniffing around, trying to cut themselves in. Shut it down. Whatever it takes."
"Consider it done. When are you coming back?"
"Few weeks. Month at most. Depends on how the succession vote goes." I glance at the photograph again. Her smile. God, her smile could light up a room. "I need to secure Marco's votes and the families in this region. Once I'm named Pakhan, I can stop playing nice with these political vultures."
"And if they don't vote for you?"
"Then it's off with their heads." I say it casually because I mean it casually. I've killed for less. "I'll be visiting the old fight club tonight. The Arena. Rally around for some votes, make some appearances, remind people why I'm the only real choice."
Pinakabagong kabanata
HIS BUTTERFLY (BETWEEN TWO DONS) HIS SWEET ADDICTION--28
NICOThe room is quiet and oddly peaceful, which is exactly what makes me keep my guard up.I scan everything as I enter — the layout, the exits, the positions of anything that could be used or could be a problem. Not paranoia. Habit. The kind that keeps you alive long enough to develop other habits. The Alchemist inviting me here alone was already a problem before I walked through the door. I know it. He probably knows I know it. That is the kind of meeting this is. He sits behind a large dark desk, face hidden behind the same mask I have seen since I arrived. The only things visible are his eyes — sharp, calm, doing the same kind of reading I am doing, just with considerably more patience about it. I take the chair opposite him. Neither of us speaks. The silence stretches for a few seconds and then he leans back in his chair with the ease of a man who has been in this room many times and always controlled what happened in it."You and I both know you didn't come here simply because
HIS BUTTERFLY (BETWEEN TWO DONS) HIS SWEET ADDICTION--27
VIVIANThe first thing I feel is pain.Everywhere, all at once, the kind that has settled into the body rather than arriving fresh, my shoulders aching deep in the joint, my wrists burning where something has held them, my ribs pulling with every breath like they were asked to do too much and haven't forgiven it yet. The fight at the Devil's Jaw lives in every muscle I have.But the worst pain is on my back.A deep burning sensation running from one side of my spine to the other, different from bruising or impact — more deliberate than that, more precise, the kind of pain that was put there rather than happened.I try to move. Metal scrapes beneath me. My eyes open.A chair. My wrists strapped down. My ankles too. I pull once — nothing. Again — nothing. The room is cold in the way that cold is sometimes a choice rather than a circumstance, the temperature of somewhere that wants you to feel it.I lift my head slowly.And then I see him.The Alchemist is sitting across from me, still w
HIS BUTTERFLY (BETWEEN TWO DONS) HIS SWEET ADDICTION--26
NICOThe walk back from the Devil's Jaw is quieter than the walk there, which is saying something because the walk there was silent enough. The difference is that this silence has more in it — things seen that can't be unseen, questions that arrived during the fight and haven't left yet.Luca talks enough for all three of us, which is his natural state and which I am currently grateful for because it means nobody is looking at my face."I still think the second guy was going to win."Kingston looks at him. "He lost.""Barely.""He was unconscious.""That doesn't mean he wasn't winning before that."I glance at him sideways. "You have the analytical skills of a drunk pigeon."Luca grins. "Thank you.""That wasn't a compliment.""I know." Kingston laughs under his breath and we keep moving through the palace corridors, surrounded by guards who barely acknowledge us — not rudely, just professionally, the way people ignore you when ignoring you is part of the job. The place is quieter now
HIS BUTTERFLY (BETWEEN TWO DONS) HIS SWEET ADDICTION--25
NICOThe place is enormous in the way that only certain kinds of power can build — dark stone, high ceilings, armed men positioned everywhere without appearing to be positioned anywhere. The kind of architectural confidence that comes from never having had to justify the space you occupy. Luca has been restless since we arrived. He is sitting across from me in the private lounge, fidgeting with that same small toy he picked up somewhere between the airport and here, turning it over in his hands when he is not actively playing with it. Kingston is watching him the way you watch something you've decided not to comment on because commenting would only make it worse.The door opens before the silence gets interesting. Malachi steps inside, looking exactly as he did when he collected us from the airport — calm, unreadable, tattooed, and carrying the specific energy of a man who has seen enough that very little surprises him anymore. He looks at each of us briefly and then speaks."The Alch
HIS BUTTERFLY (BETWEEN TWO DONS) HIS SWEET ADDICTION--24
VIVIAN.A few moments earlier.The moment Malachi walked through the door, I knew I had made the right decision. And the wrong one. Both things were true simultaneously — I had learned a long time ago that most important decisions live in that space where right and wrong aren't opposites, just two sides of the same coin you're forced to flip. He stood in front of the Alchemist's study waiting for instructions, his expression unreadable beneath the dark lines of ink covering his arms and neck. I looked at him and made the call before I could talk myself out of it."Go downstairs," I told him. "They've arrived."Malachi's eyes narrowed slightly. "They?""The guests."He knew exactly who I meant. Everyone in the Alchemist's inner circle had been informed that an alliance meeting was taking place. What they did not know — what nobody in this building knew except me — was that one of those guests was Nico Barbieri. The man I had left behind in Italy. The man whose house I had walked out of
HIS BUTTERFLY (BETWEEN TWO DONS) HIS SWEET ADDICTION--23
NICORussia. I hate Russia already.Not because of the cold, though the cold is real enough — the moment we entered into Russia, the wind hit like it was personally offended by our presence, cutting straight through three layers of clothing like they weren't there. Not because of the snow blanketing everything in sight or the sky that looked grey and heavy and like it had been grey and heavy for months and intended to stay that way.I hate Russia because Vivian is somewhere in this country and I have no idea where.Three days. Three Fucking days of nothing — no calls, no messages, no trace, no thread I could pull without making it obvious that I was pulling it specifically for her. I searched every angle I could reach without showing my hand and came back empty each time. Which is almost impressive considering Vivian has never been particularly good at disappearing from me. Almost. But not quite. Because she's still gone.I sit back in my seat as the private jet begins its descent an
HIS BUTTERFLY (BETWEEN TWO DONS) CHAPTER SIX
“I HATE THAT I AM STILL HOPING.”SOFIA.The car ride was suffocating.I sit in the passenger seat of Marco's Mercedes, my hands folded in my lap, staring out the window at the city lights blurring past. He's driving in silence, both hands on the wheel, his jaw tight. The only sound is the low hum o
HIS BUTTERFLY (BETWEEN TWO DONS) CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR ~~~
“I WANT HIM TO KNOW THAT I AM HERE FOR HIM WITH OPEN HEART, OPEN MOUTH AND OPEN LEGS.”SOFIADante didn’t waste a second.He dragged me across the seat and into his lap, one big hand cupping the back of my neck as his mouth crashed down on mine. The kiss was deep, hungry, seven years of pent-up nee
HIS BUTTERFLY (BETWEEN TWO DONS) CHAPTER SIXTY THREE
"She walked in and the whole world forgot to breathe. So did I."DANTEI'm standing at the bottom of the staircase checking my cufflinks when I hear her.Not footsteps exactly. More like the air in the house changes. The way a room shifts when something significant enters it.I look up.And I forge
HIS BUTTERFLY (BETWEEN TWO DONS) CHAPTER ONE
SOFIA.IF I TOLD YOU MY SECRETS YOU WOULD NEVER LOOK AT ME THE SAME.The thing about living with a man who doesn't love you is that you become very good at reading silences.I can tell the difference between Marco's "I'm working" silence and his "I wish you weren't here" silence. Between his "I'm t
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