All Chapters of HIS BUTTERFLY (BETWEEN TWO DONS): Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

THE KEY THAT WASN'T ENOUGHVIVIAN.The drive to Dante's mansion felt longer than it actually was.I kept both hands on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the empty road ahead, while the weight of Nico's keys sat in my jacket pocket like a stone. Not heavy in the physical sense. Heavy in the way things are heavy when they mean something you can't take back. This was it. Years of blood, lies, missions, and waiting had all been building toward tonight.I parked two streets away, killed the engine, and sat in the dark for exactly ten seconds. Then I got out. The mansion was almost eerily quiet without Dante and Sofia home. The place felt different — less alive, like a house holding its breath. The remaining guards followed their usual patrol routes exactly as I had memorized them over the last three months.Left corner. East gate. Rotate every ninety seconds.I counted under my breath. "Eighty-eight... eighty-nine... ninety."The guard turned. I moved.I slipped through the blind spot, vau

NICOThe message comes at exactly the right time.Come alone. I have something you need.No name. No explanation. I don't need either. I already know who sent it. Salvatore. For months every meeting with that man has been another piece of a puzzle I never asked to solve — every conversation, every half-truth, every carefully placed piece of information designed to keep me close enough to be useful and far enough away from whatever he was actually planning. But tonight is different. Because tonight I need something from him. Vivian. Answers. He should know at least something about who Shadow really is, and if anyone can lead me to her it's him. I drive to the location he sends me without telling anyone where I'm going. The building is abandoned when I arrive. Of course it is. Salvatore has always preferred places that look like nobody would bother coming to them — the kind of locations that exist in the gaps between things, forgotten by the city around them. I step through the doorway

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

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

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