A stormy night. The city sleeps, but its underworld doesn’t. Somewhere in a dimly lit penthouse, high above the streets, Vincenzo Moretti sits in the shadows, one hand resting on a glass of whiskey, the other holding his phone.

He’s never done this before. Never entertained the idea of reaching out. But she changed that. She changed everything.

For days now, she’s been stuck in his head. The way she moved in the rain—so free, untouchable, intoxicating. The storm had drenched her, but she hadn’t cared. And now? Now she’s become his new obsession, the centre of his world, the love of his life. His butterfly.....

He knows he should stay away. Should let this go. But Vincenzo Moretti doesn’t do “should.” His jaw tightens as he types the first message.

📲 Vin: Still awake Butterfly?

A pause. A minute passes. Then two. Then, his phone rings.....

📲 Her: Should I be worried that you do?

He replied:

📲 Vin: You should be worried about a lot of things, Butterfly. But me? 📲 Vin: Not yet.

Then, his phone vibrates again.

📲 Her: Why are you texting me, Vin?

A sharp exhale. His name. A smile creeps across his face as she uses his name. The name she calls him to rile him up, but in reality the name makes his heart swell.

His fingers hover over the screen, before finally typing:

📲 Vin: Because I don’t like debts. And you owe me a reason why you were dancing in the rain like the world wasn’t watching.

📲 Her: And if I don’t give you one?

📲 Vin: Then I guess I’ll have to ask in person.

📲 Her: Are you always this dramatic?

📲 Vin: Only when something’s worth it.

Vin exhales through his nose. Damn her for being so sharp. He should leave it there. Should delete her number. Should forget the way she looked under the rain. But instead, he leans back in his chair, swirling the whiskey in his hand, and types his final message for the night.

📲 Vin: Go to sleep Butterfly.

Because this? This is only the beginning.