Cleopatra, The Mafia Queen

Cleopatra

As soon as I reached my room, I knew what I needed—solace in a warm bath. The day had been exhausting, and my mind was heavy with the weight of the decisions I'd had to make. With deliberate hands, I peeled off my formal blazer, half-jersey, and shirt. The dull ache just below my ribs flared up again. Aunt Maria's hug had been too tight, and now I could feel the faint sting of a cut.

I moved toward the mirror in the far corner of the room, the one with the antique frame, reflecting the stark simplicity of my space. I didn't want distractions, not in a room meant for retreat. My bedroom was minimalist—one bed with delicate princess-style curtains, a few chairs scattered, a small table for work, and, of course, the walk-in closet and bathroom. It was efficient and clean, just the way I liked it.

Standing before the mirror, I studied the injury. A small cut, nothing to worry about. Probably from the chaos in that warehouse. Bullets flying, sharp edges everywhere. A simple accident, but one that fit the insanity of my life.

I let out a humorless laugh. "Injured without even realizing it... while I was too busy making sure the other guy didn't walk away."

Sighing, I quickly dabbed some ointment on the cut, deciding to reapply it after my bath. Wrapping myself in a soft gown, I moved toward the bathroom.

The room was my sanctuary—quiet, calming. Matte black tiles stretched across the floor, and taupe walls softened the space with their muted tones. The freestanding white stone bathtub sat at the center, its elegant curve inviting me in. A marble sink with gold fixtures added a touch of warmth, and a glass-walled walk-in shower loomed in the corner, with a rainfall showerhead overhead. Gray towels were arranged with military precision nearby.

I approached the tub, testing the water with my toe. Hot. Too hot.

I cursed under my breath, realizing I had forgotten to adjust the temperature balance. More hot water than cold. Damn it.

I gave it a few moments to cool down before returning to my bedroom. The phone I had discarded earlier lay forgotten on the bed. Grabbing it, I plopped back onto the soft comfort of the covers and opened my favorite webtoon app. The cover of the book caught my attention first—a handsome man with deep blue eyes and silver hair. I didn't even glance at the title. I was already hooked.

I tapped to open it. The anticipation was almost ridiculous. I wondered how someone like him would look in real life. Maybe he'd be just as striking, just as intense.

I lost myself in the story for almost thirty minutes, the pages flipping faster than I could keep up. By the time I reached the scene just before the kiss, I realized I had been reading for over an hour.

It was 1:15 a.m.

The male lead's domineering actions made my chest tighten, and I couldn't help but compare him to Don. My husband, on paper, was everything. Handsome, charismatic, a man of power and influence. I should have been grateful for him, for what his name brought me. But behind the facade, the man I married felt like a stranger. He was distant, emotionally unavailable. Ever since our wedding, I had hardly seen him. I often wondered if he even cared, or if he married me simply for the power my family name provided.

But there was still a part of me that wondered, what if? What if Don was different? What if he truly loved me?

I closed the app, the small pang of longing in my chest making my head ache. No matter how good-looking he was, the distance between us was vast. He was a celebrity, adored by millions, but offstage, he was nothing more than a stranger to me. His charm, his confidence—they didn't matter anymore. All of that faded when we were alone.

I got up and moved to the bathroom. The water was lukewarm now, perfect for soaking. I eased myself into the tub, letting the heat of the water embrace me.

I sank lower into the water, closing my eyes. My body ached from the day's events. And tomorrow... tomorrow would be no different. Another day filled with deals, manipulation, and bloodshed. Another day of pretending to be something I was no longer sure I wanted to be.

I scrubbed at my arms, noticing the streaks of blood from earlier. My stomach churned at the sight. It wasn't the first time I'd been stained by someone else's blood.

Why was it always the same? Traitors. I was so tired of them. So tired of having blood on my hands.

I stared at the rose petals floating in the water, trying to distract myself from the disgust building in my chest. But I still have to go on. There's no other choice, I thought.

I muttered to myself, my voice almost lost in the steam. "If I had a choice, I wouldn't be here. But here I am. And I'll keep going."

Then suddenly the soft mist of the bathroom seemed to thicken, and a strange smell reached my nose. At first, I thought it was just the steam from the water, but then it became too pungent, too heavy. Something was wrong.

I opened my eyes, scanning the space. The air felt thicker, almost suffocating. My instincts flared.

Gas.

My breath caught, and panic clawed at my chest. Who? How? How did they get in?

I scrambled out of the tub, my body still damp, and grabbed the bathrobe hanging nearby. I stumbled toward the door, trying to open it, but it wouldn't budge.

The door. It was locked.

I never locked this door. Never. Not once.

Frantically, I pulled at the knob. It was locked from the outside. My mind raced. Someone was outside, controlling this. Who?

"Who are you?" I choked out, my voice hoarse from the gas already creeping into my lungs.

I tried again. "Answer me!"

I slammed my fist against the door, the thudding sound swallowed by the thickening smoke. My breath was ragged now. The walls of the bathroom seemed to close in on me.

With one final, desperate push, I slid down the wall, my legs giving way beneath me. My vision blurred. I could feel my consciousness slipping.

Then, just as the darkness claimed me, I heard the door snap open.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around me, lifting me from the cold tile floor. My body sagged, too weak to fight, too exhausted to even keep my eyes open.