Little Butterfly

Chapter 66 - The Predator

The Predator~

"Sir, your wounds are healing more slowly than I anticipated," my doctor remarks, his tone as professional as ever, though there's an edge of concern hidden beneath it. His fingers press gently around the scar tissue beneath my shoulder blade, the pain sharp and immediate. I grit my teeth but say nothing, barely registering the sting of antiseptic that follows. My body flinches involuntarily when he starts wrapping the bandage, but my mind is far from this sterile room, trapped in the relentless storm of that night.

The wound is healing. The pain, however, lingers—a burning reminder of how close I came to losing everything. Killing Terrence should have closed the book on that chapter, but it opened a floodgate instead. What I didn’t know at the time—what I couldn’t have anticipated—was that the worthless son of a bitch was more than just a criminal dabbling in human organs. He was Carlos Blanco’s son. The father of human trafficking across Italy, a man with reach far deeper than I’d realized. That changed everything.

I thought eliminating Terrence would send a message—make it clear that no one, not even the son of a powerful crime lord, was untouchable. That’s why I didn’t hesitate. The moment I had him cornered, I ended it swiftly and without remorse. After disposing of the body, I felt the weight lift. I thought I had covered all my tracks. But a week later, they came for me.

The memory crashes back, vivid and raw.

It was late, and the night felt unnaturally quiet as I approached my car. There was something off, a shift in the air that sent a ripple of unease through me. The kind of stillness that precedes a storm. I didn’t see it coming, not at first. My instincts flared too late. I’d just locked the door and was about to start the engine when I noticed it—a shadow out of place, a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye.

I didn’t have time to think. Years of survival honed my reflexes. I reached for the gun tucked at my side, fingers tightening around the cold metal as I stepped out of the car, senses on high alert. The alley was dark, but my eyes adjusted quickly, picking out the shapes emerging from the shadows. Three men—tall, armed, and radiating the kind of lethal calm that told me they were no amateurs.

Their eyes locked on me with cold precision, their intentions clear. Professionals sent to finish what Terrence’s death had started. They didn’t say a word, and neither did I. There was no need for talk.

The first shot rang out, a sharp crack that shattered the silence. My bullet found its mark, dropping the closest man instantly. Another shot, another body. Quick, clean, efficient. The third man lunged toward me, but I was faster. I pulled the trigger again, and he crumpled to the ground like the others. For a moment, everything went still.

But then, the pain came. A flash of agony tore through my back. I hadn’t seen him—the fourth man, the one who’d been waiting in the dark. The knife sank deep, once, twice, three times. Each strike was brutal, precise, and I could feel the warmth of my blood spilling down my spine.

I staggered, barely able to stay on my feet. My vision blurred, but I heard them—the voices, rough with accents I couldn’t place.

“Dante, don’t kill him yet. The boss wants him alive.”

The words were a sharp hiss, filled with frustration and urgency. My head swam as I tried to make out the shapes around me. They were hired guns, professionals from different corners of Blanco’s empire. They thought they had me cornered, thought I was finished.

They were wrong.

I wasn’t about to die in a filthy alley. Not like this. My body screamed in pain, but my mind stayed sharp. I reached for my watch, pressing the emergency button hidden beneath the face. It sent a silent signal, one my men would recognize instantly. They were on their way. I just needed to buy time.

I shifted, moving with the last bit of strength I had left, and fired. The first man dropped, blood spraying as he collapsed. The second one took a bullet to the leg, but I couldn’t finish him off. My body gave out, and I fell, gasping for air as I crawled back into the car. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, but I didn’t care. I had to get out. Had to survive.

I managed to drive several kilometers before my vision started to black out. My mind was racing, only one thought burning in the chaos: Sophie. I had to get to her. She was the last person I wanted to see if my life was about to end. The thought of her gave me strength, a singular focus that pushed me through the pain. If I could just make it to her, I’d be safe.

When I stumbled through her door, barely conscious, her face was the first thing I saw. The shock, the fear in her eyes. But she didn’t hesitate. Sophie, my little butterfly, dropped to her knees beside me, hands trembling as she pressed against the wound. Her voice was shaking, but she didn’t stop, tearing strips of fabric clothes to bandage me.

My men arrived soon after, cleaning up the mess I left behind. Dante survived, barely. He was the one who confirmed the truth—that Terrence was Carlos Blanco’s son. I hadn’t just killed a man; I’d ignited a war.

The doctor's voice pulls me back to the present. “Whoever patched you up that night did well,” he says, his tone carrying a hint of admiration.

I let out a low grunt, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral. "Yeah."

I don’t mention it was Sophie who saved me, her hands stained with my blood, her tears falling silently as she worked. She had no idea what kind of man I truly was, what darkness she was trying to save.

But maybe she did. Maybe she knew exactly who I was, and that’s what terrifies me most. She didn’t run. She stayed. She kept me alive.

And now, I’ve dragged her into this. She’s caught in the crossfire, tangled in a war that will only end in more blood. Blanco won’t stop, not until I’m dead. But if they come for her—if they so much as lay a hand on her—I’ll show them the true meaning of fear.

But then again, maybe she did. And that's what terrifies me the most. She knew, and she stayed. She stayed because something in her saw past the blood and the violence, saw something worth saving. And that thought haunts me, even more than the knowledge that Carlos Blanco is now after me. The reality of it settles into my bones, a chilling reminder that the war I started with Blanco's empire is far from over. I started this to protect Sophie, but now it's become something else. A game of survival, a test of wills. And I'll be damned if they find her from me.