Chapter 1 - The Mark of the ButterflyAlessandro Moretti stood before the gold-framed antique mirror.
For three decades, the reflection staring back at him had been a symbol of absolute power and ruthless execution. Men bowed to that face. Enemies bled at the sight of it. Yet today, his menacing jawline was adorned with a clumsy orange sun, a yellow flower, and a crooked blue butterfly stretching across his forehead.
The silence in the grand drawing-room was deafening. Vincent, the silver-haired steward, kept his eyes lowered, his body rigid with fear. He knew how Alessandro handled insults. He had seen men executed for looking at the Don the wrong way.
Behind Alessandro, Sophia stood frozen, her chest heaving as she shielded three-year-old Emma behind her skirts. She braced herself for the roar, the cold fury, or the guard’s gun being drawn. She mentally bade farewell to her daughter, cursing her abusive ex-husband Marcus for forcing her to flee to work with Emma in tow today.
Alessandro raised a single finger and touched the yellow paint on his cheek. He turned slowly, his sharp, dark eyes locking onto Sophia’s bloodless face.
"Did you do this, Sophia?" his deep voice echoed through the marble hall.
"N-no, Don Alessandro," Sophia stammered, falling to her knees, her hands trembling violently. "It was Emma... She’s only three! She didn't mean any disrespect! Please, punish me. Do whatever you want to me, but please spare my daughter!"
Alessandro looked down at the kneeling woman, then shifted his gaze to the little girl peeking from behind her mother’s dress. Emma wasn't crying. She held her ratty stuffed rabbit tight against her chest and looked at the dangerous mafia Don with wide, innocent brown eyes.
"I used water-based paint, Mister," Emma whispered softly. "It washes off with soap. You looked like you had bad dreams."
A heavy beat passed. Vincent gasped quietly, expecting the worst.
Instead, the ghost of a smirking smile touched the corner of Alessandro’s painted lips. It vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual unreadable expression. He bent down, his massive frame looming over the child, and knelt on one knee until he was at eye level with Emma.
"No one has ever dared to paint me before, little girl," Alessandro said, his tone devoid of anger, carrying a strange, heavy quiet.
"Did I do a good job?" Emma asked, taking a step forward despite her mother's desperate, muffled tug at her shirt.
"The butterfly is crooked," Alessandro replied gravely. "But the sun is acceptable."
Sophia let out a tearful breath she didn't realize she was holding. Alessandro stood up, wiping a streak of yellow from his face with a silk handkerchief. He looked at Vincent.
"Clean the tea. Bring the child some pastries," Alessandro ordered coldly. "And Sophia... clean my face."
Sophia scrambled to her feet, her heart hammering against her ribs. She grabbed a damp cloth from her cleaning cart and approached him with extreme caution. As her shaking hand raised the cloth to his forehead, she caught the scent of cedarwood, expensive tobacco, and something distinctly dangerous.
"Your hands are shaking, Sophia," Alessandro murmured, staring directly into her blue eyes.
"I... I was afraid you would hurt her," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper as she gently wiped away the blue butterfly.
"I kill monsters, snakes, and traitors, Sophia," Alessandro said quietly, his gaze locked onto hers with unsettling intensity. "I do not wage war on children."
Before Sophia could process his words, the heavy double doors of the estate slammed open.
"Alessandro!"
A sharp, arrogant voice cut through the air. It was Julian Moretti—Alessandro’s younger cousin and the Underboss of the family—flanked by four heavily armed guards. Julian stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes darting from Alessandro’s painted face to the maid holding the wet cloth, and then to the small child eating a pastry at the side table.
"What is the meaning of this circus?" Julian sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. "You're playing house with the housekeepers while the syndicate falls apart?"
"Watch your mouth in my house, Julian," Alessandro warned, his voice turning to pure ice. "Why are you here?"
Julian stepped forward, a cruel smirk spreading across his handsome face. He pulled a heavy leather folder from his jacket and tossed it onto the glass coffee table.
"I’m here because your 'innocent' maid isn't who you think she is," Julian announced loudly. "Ten minutes ago, the police found her ex-husband, Marcus, dead in his car two blocks from here. His throat was slashed."
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Sophia froze. The damp cloth slipped from her fingers. "What...?"
"And that’s not all," Julian continued, pointing an accusing finger directly at Sophia. "Her DNA was found under his fingernails, and a blood-stained knife was just recovered from her locker in the servant's quarters."
