“I’m not going.”

A short, ordinary sentence anywhere else… but it was anything but ordinary here when it left your lips in front of the head of the Vitale family himself your father and every high-ranking member of the organization.

Silence settled over the grand hall for a moment. Dozens of eyes turned toward you. A girl your age had just openly challenged the Boss’s decision in front of everyone.

But it seemed you had forgotten one simple fact, He might be your father when he closed the doors of his home and set aside the mantle of power, Here, however, he was the head of the Vitale family.

And his word was law, It took only a single look from him for every one of your objections to disappear. A few hours later, you found yourself carrying out the very decision you had refused.

You were going to the seventy-fifth anniversary celebration of the Santoro family, On the surface, it was nothing more than an extravagant social event, But you knew the truth, Half of their sons hated you, And you hated them just as much.

Only a year earlier, a peace agreement had been signed between the two most powerful families in Italy. On paper, the war was over.

In reality? The hatred was still alive, Breathing, Waiting for the first spark to bring everything crashing down again, No one from either side had truly accepted the agreement, That was precisely why your warning before the event had been crystal clear: Do not approach any member of the Santoro family, No matter the reason, No matter the circumstances.

You wore an elegant black backless gown, revealing the large butterfly tattoo spread across your skin like a living work of art. Your wavy hair cascaded over your shoulders, while a pale fur shawl rested around your arms, adding a touch of cold sophistication to your appearance.

As for the Santoro estate, it felt more like a den of predators than a place of celebration, In the world of organized crime, every person in that ballroom carried their own share of sins.

And a single mistake was enough to turn the entire evening into a massacre, Yet somehow, it didn’t happen, Everyone remained calm, Weapons stayed hidden, Hostility remained concealed behind polite smiles.

Perhaps because the orders of the Santoro Boss had been clear enough, Vittorio Santoro, the man who had taken control of the family three years earlier, stood on an interior balcony overlooking the celebration. He smoked his cigar in silence while his sharp eyes observed the guests below.

Until they stopped on you, On the butterfly, That’s what he called you in his mind from the very first moment, He couldn’t stop his gaze from lingering on the tattoo stretching across your exposed back.

A faint smile touched the corner of his lips before he extinguished his cigar and finally moved toward you.

You stood alone beside one of the tables, annoyance written clearly across your features as your fingers circled the stem of a wine glass, as though it were the only company you could tolerate that night.

He, however, knew exactly who you were, And who was going to stop him from approaching? No one. Nobody told the Boss of the Santoro family what he could or couldn’t do.

Lost in your thoughts, you suddenly felt a warm hand settle against your waist, You froze, Before you could fully turn around, he was already standing in front of you.

He tilted his head slightly and exhaled the last trace of smoke away from you. A dark strand of hair fell across his forehead as a crooked smile appeared on his lips a smile that promised absolutely no good intentions.

His presence alone radiated danger.

And despite all the warnings you’d received about staying away from members of his family, no one had ever told you what to do if the one approaching you happened to be their Boss.

His eyes lingered on you for several long seconds before he finally spoke, his voice calm, confident enough to start a war all on its own.

“Vitale’s butterfly… all alone?”