Cleopatra
"Ugh, I'm exhausted, Harley," I whined, resting my head against the cool glass of the car window. The vibrant city lights blurred into streaks as we sped down the highway.
"That's because we've been shopping for hours, boss. And, need I remind you, you just got discharged from the hospital," Harley said, her tone laced with exasperation and concern.
I smirked, shifting to glance at her. "No need to beat around the bush, Harley. Just say it outright—you think I'm getting old, don't you?"
Her mouth fell open, her eyes darting between the road and me. "Boss, I never said that!"
"Yet, you didn't deny it either," I teased, chuckling at her flustered expression.
Harley rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "You're impossible."
She was probably right. But I couldn't help it; teasing Harley was one of the few amusements I had left in my life. After everything I'd been through—near-death experiences, betrayals, and the constant weight of leading the family—I needed these small moments to remind me I was still human.
Today, though, wasn't just about teasing my loyal right-hand woman. Today was about making a statement.
After leaving the hospital, I decided I'd surprise my husband of one year with something special. Something bold, daring... unforgettable.
I glanced at the shopping bags piled in the backseat, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at my lips. One of those bags contained the pièce de résistance: a crimson lace baby doll paired with matching red heels and lipstick. The moment I laid eyes on it in the boutique, I knew it was perfect.
For once, I wasn't just Cleopatra, the Mafia Queen. Tonight, I wanted to be Cleopatra, his wife.
When we pulled up to the grand estate, Harley killed the engine and turned to me. "Boss, are you sure about this? You've been running on fumes all day. Maybe you should rest instead."
I gave her a pointed look. "Harley, I've been shot at, stabbed, and betrayed, yet I'm still standing. Trust me, I can handle this."
She sighed, shaking her head. "Fine. Just... don't overdo it, alright?"
I patted her hand. "Relax. I've got this."
I stepped out of the car, heels clicking against the pavement as I strode into the house. Inside, the staff greeted me with polite nods, but I waved them off and headed straight to the master suite.
Once inside, I locked the door and set the bags down on the chaise lounge. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of bedside lamps casting an intimate ambiance. Perfect.
I unpacked the lingerie, running my fingers over the delicate fabric. It was exquisite—bold yet elegant, commanding attention without trying too hard. Just like me.
I slipped into the baby doll and strapped on the heels, catching my reflection in the mirror. The crimson lace hugged my curves perfectly, the matching lipstick adding a touch of seduction. Grabbing a brown, knee-length coat—one that mirrored the last picture he saw of me before he killed me—I covered myself.
Some time later, I grabbed a small red handbag and walked back to the car, where Harley was waiting.
"Boss," she greeted as I got in.
"Let's go to him. Find out what he's doing and take me there," I instructed, my voice calm but commanding.
Harley checked his schedule. "An interview. He has one in 30 minutes, then he's heading home."
"Let's go there," I said, nodding.
The drive wasn't long. Once we arrived, I told Harley to wait for me in the car.
"Do something while you wait—I don't know how long I'll be," I added before stepping out.
I wore a designer hat and mask to conceal my face, but no one dared to stop me. My aura, cold and commanding, ensured that. I walked purposefully until I found his room.
Standing outside, a shiver ran up my spine. Was I scared? No, it was something else—excitement, maybe. Or a mix of both. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open without knocking.
He was seated at his dressing table, his back to me. I moved closer, my heels clicking on the floor, each step deliberate.
He straightened, his posture tense as if sensing me.
I stopped a few feet behind him, letting my coat fall to the floor. Barefoot now, I took slow, deliberate steps forward.
"Husband," I whispered, leaning in close. My every move grew bolder as I hovered near him.
He didn't respond, his demeanor cold and unyielding.
Frustrated, I reached for the gun in my holster, the weight of it grounding me. Before I could decide how to use it, he moved.
In an instant, he had me disarmed and pinned across his lap. My gun was in his hand, his grip firm.
I laughed softly, exhilaration bubbling up despite myself. This was the man I didn't know i married. This one, domineering and in control of my pistol was the one who had killed me once, without batting and eyelid. The exhilaration i got from seeing him like this again was addicting.
This was him—the Don. He was as cold, deadly, and captivating as ever.