Cleopatra, The Mafia Queen

Damien

I stared at the pictures on my phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Each time, the rage inside me simmered closer to a boil. It was her—Cleopatra Santiga. The unconscious woman tied to the chair in front of me was the same one in these incriminating images.

The pictures were damning. The first showed her in a red, flimsy nightdress that left little to the imagination. Her black, waist-length hair was tied in a messy bun, large earrings dangled against her cheeks, and makeup accentuated her striking features. What she thought she was covering with that dress, I had no idea.

The second picture showed her in a long black coat, cinched tightly at the waist. She looked composed, almost regal. I could only assume this was taken before she entered the hotel, before her adulterous rendezvous with the mysterious man. A man I couldn't trace, no matter how hard I tried. I wasn't jealous—far from it. I was disgusted.

Cheating. Lying. They were acts I loathed beyond reason. I wanted to send both of them to hell, to let them continue their unfaithful acts for eternity in the place they deserved.

"How long until she wakes up, Mike?" I asked, my voice cold and detached.

Mike, sitting cross-legged on the floor, was fiddling with a makeshift TV—something he'd cobbled together to avoid using store-bought electronics that could be traced back to us. "About two hours," he replied, barely glancing at me. "You used too much of the substance. I told you to be careful, but you never listen."

I ignored his snark. My plan had been straightforward—hide in her room and knock her out when the opportunity presented itself. But Mike had insisted on gassing the room instead, arguing it was less risky. Personally, I didn't think Cleopatra deserved that much thought or effort. She wasn't worth the brainpower. Why waste time meticulously planning a kidnapping for a woman who had betrayed me?

"Fine," I said, turning toward the door. "I'm going for a walk. I need to clear my head."

"Wait!" Mike's voice was high-pitched, almost panicked. "You're seriously leaving me here? With her? Cousin, don't you love me?"

I turned back to him, raising an eyebrow. Cleopatra sat slumped in the chair, her body restrained by thick black ropes. Her arms, legs, and torso were secured, and tape covered her mouth. I had even gone so far as to ensure she was decently dressed before taking her—a task that had cost the life of a maid who'd helped.

Her head hung low, her hair cascading over her face in messy strands. We had searched her for weapons and found none, but her presence alone carried a weight, a power, that Mike clearly found unsettling.

"What exactly are you scared of?" I asked, gesturing to her bound form. "She's tied to a chair."

"Tsk." Mike clicked his tongue in irritation. "You don't get it. Just because she's quiet now doesn't mean she won't be a bear when she wakes up. Quiet when sleeping, scary when provoked."

I rolled my eyes. "There are tranquilizers in the bag over there. If she starts acting like a bear, use one."

"What? She's a woman! I'm not shooting her with tranquilizers!" Mike exclaimed, his voice rising.

"Great. That means you'll handle her without my help. Stop whining."

I stepped out, ignoring the stream of curses Mike hurled after me. The cool morning air hit my face like a slap, crisp and sharp. I took a deep breath, letting the wind carry away the remnants of my frustration.

The deck of the cargo ship stretched out before me, the horizon a pale line against the endless water. It was the perfect location—far from prying eyes and ears. We were heading to an uncharted island twenty kilometers southeast of the coast. Isolated. Secure. A place where no one would find us.

And her. The adulterer.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I hated people like her the most. Adultery was unforgivable. If there's no love in a marriage, divorce is the answer—not betrayal. Cheating wasn't just an act; it was a dagger to the soul.

My mind drifted back to my childhood. My mother's affair had shattered my family even before my twin brother and I were born. As a result, they ripped my twin brother preventing him and I from getting a chance to know each other. It had destroyed us, destroyed me, leaving a trail of pain and loss. And now she and my brother are both dead, and I am all alone.

That's why I despise infidelity. Why, I can't let Cleopatra's actions slide.

She had crossed the line. And no amount of pleading, no amount of ransom, would convince me to let her go.