Cleopatra, The Mafia Queen

Damien

"I never thought I'd see the day when the mafia bowed to regular citizens," my annoying partner, Mike, said as he plopped down beside me, swirling a glass of wine like the smug ass he was.

"Thanks for the observation," I muttered, taking a sip of my own drink.

"You can drink, right? Your mask isn't covering your mouth this time, is it?" He chuckled, eyes glinting with mischief.

I shot him a withering glare. "You have eyes, don't you? Or should I book you an appointment with an optometrist?" Mike knew the real me, so I didn't bother playing nice.

He smirked, unbothered. Mike wasn't just my partner; he was my cousin from my mother's side. After her death, when I had nothing and no one, Mike was the one who stood by me. I owed him for that. When I clawed my way out of the slums and moved to the city, he came with me. He stuck around through thick and thin, even now, when things had gotten…complicated.

"Relax," he scoffed, leaning back lazily. "Just don't let these officials catch you sniffing around for your next target. They'll see through that charming façade of yours."

I clicked my tongue in annoyance but stayed quiet. Then his tone shifted, turning grave.

"Anyway, about that lead we got the other day—about your wife." He paused, glancing at me for a reaction. "It's confirmed. A source verified it. It's true."

My grip on the wineglass tightened until it shattered in my hand. Shards of glass and crimson liquid stained my gloves.

"Really?" My voice was calm, dangerously so.

Mike nodded.

"Where is she?" I asked.

"She just wrapped up a messy situation at the isolated warehouse in GrayonStone. After that, she was dropped off at her mansion."

I stood up abruptly, brushing the glass off my hand. "Alright."

"Wait, where are you going?" Mike asked, following behind me.

"The party's over. I've got somewhere else to be—a new identity to step into," I said, my voice low and steady, each word clipped.

So she was cheating on me? She wouldn't see the end of this day.

I left the gala without looking back, discarding my mask and clothes as I walked down a few blocks. Beneath the expensive fabric was a plain black suit i had on when i left my wife's house. I walked to the other side of the road, where a car waited.

"Master Don," the driver greeted as I approached.

I nodded curtly. He was one of Cleopatra's men—loyal on paper, but their disdain for me was thinly veiled. They thought I was just a wild celebrity, a useless figurehead married into their world. I let them believe it. It made slipping away unnoticed that much easier.

"Take me to the Santiga mansion," I ordered.

"The main house?" he asked hesitantly.

"No," I corrected, my tone sharp. "Take me to Cleopatra Santiga."

His eyes widened, but he quickly looked away, murmuring, "Yes, Master Don."

Don Vincenzo De Luca was the first identity I assumed—my twin brother's identity. He was the youngest heir of the De Luca family, adored by our grandfather, who allowed him to pursue his dreams of becoming an actor.

A celebrity. Not exactly my style, but I'd swallowed my pride for revenge. Taking over his life hadn't been easy; his hectic schedule clashed with my plans, but I adapted. It was just another mask to wear.

Three years ago, Don—well, me under Don's name—was arranged to marry Cleopatra Santiga. On the surface, she was a powerful business tycoon, but her true identity as the mafia queen came to light soon after. The De Luca family had orchestrated the marriage as a calculated move, a desperate bid to gain Cleopatra's influence. Don had been chosen because of his looks, a trait they claimed Cleopatra had a weakness for.

The real Don had refused outright. In a moment of desperation, our grandfather revealed his plan to leave everything to him, urging him to make the sacrifice for the family. But such secrets rarely stayed hidden. The walls of the De Luca family had eyes and ears everywhere. Within days, Don was dead—murdered.

That's when our grandfather turned to me. As the illegitimate son, I had no standing, no power. But stepping into Don's shoes and marrying Cleopatra was the only way to stay alive.

So I did.

I became a live-in son-in-law, enduring the humiliation of her family's disdain. They saw me as an annoying celebrity, a puppet without strings. Cleopatra herself barely acknowledged my existence. She lived in her mansion while I stayed at the main house. At first, I thought she was some old hag with a fetish for young men, but I was wrong. Cleopatra was young, sharp, calculated, and deadly.

We had an understanding—until now.

Marriage of convenience or not, infidelity wasn't something I'd tolerate. Not as Damien Falcone.