Cleopatra, The Mafia Queen

I got home and the first thing I did was kick off my high-end Veloura high heels. As much as I'm a shoe fanatic and fashion lover, even luxury shoes don't earn immunity from being flung aside after a long day. Before I got tangled up in the mafia, when I used to live alone, I would have left those shoes wherever I kicked them off. Now, I couldn't.

Living here meant living differently. A couple hundred—if not a thousand—maids were waiting for me to bark an order at them, but that wasn't who I was. Unless it was official mafia business, I never ordered anyone around. This confused the workers, who worried I saw them as useless—far from the truth. To prove their worth, they scrambled for every little thing, even racing to grab my discarded shoes when I first moved in. It got so ridiculous that I started carrying them inside myself. Letting someone else handle something as simple as my shoes just felt wrong.

I climbed the stairs of my five-floor mansion, exhaustion pulling at every step. The dim lighting and the faint, rosy scent of candles greeted me. My favorite fragrance filled the space, a comforting touch that I sometimes requested after grueling days like this.

The silence was welcome. No sign of life stirred in the mansion, and I was grateful the maids were already off duty. Bedtime in this house was 8 p.m., and I made it clear that if I wasn't back by then, they could retreat to their quarters. No need to stay up for me.

I glanced at the time as I dragged myself up another flight of stairs. 12:30 a.m. Not bad. Early, even, by my standards. Usually, I'd stumble home closer to 1 or 2 a.m. On gruesome nights, I wouldn't get back until the maids were bustling around with breakfast preparations at 8 a.m.

Finally, I reached the second floor where my bedroom was. The hallway stretched before me, and at the end of it, I spotted someone standing near my door. My old nanny, Maria.

"Cleopatra, you're back," she said, worry etched into her face. Maria was the only person I brought with me from the main house. She practically raised me—a necessity, considering my father was too busy, and my mother… she passed away long ago.

"Yes, Aunt Maria. I'm back. Why are you up this late?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Worried about you, of course. What did I tell you about getting too little sleep?" she chided.

I smiled faintly. "That it will give me early wrinkles?" I teased, recalling her childhood warnings.

"What nonsense! Not that!" she snapped. "Little sleep leads to mistakes. And mistakes in your line of work will…" She stopped short, unable to finish the thought.

Maria never had the heart to say it. Heck, she'd barely accepted my decision to become the new head of the Santiga family.

"Lead to my death. I know, Aunt Maria. I promise I'm careful. I stay up because it's my duty to protect all the innocent people who got dragged into this because of my father and grandfather. They had the power to shield them, and now that they're gone, it's my responsibility. No one else in the family will do it," I said with a sad smile. Maria was the one person I could be real with. She knew my intentions, my struggles, and my reasons.

She didn't say anything. Instead, she wrapped me in a hug. I winced, but she didn't notice. Despite my injuries, her warmth made me forget about the pain, even if just for a moment.

"It's okay to miss them. You don't have to act brave all the time, Cleo. Miss them. Tell them you miss them," Maria whispered.

She was right. I missed them—my father's stern face, my grandfather's playful glint when he reassured me after a scolding. But they were gone now, and the weight of holding everything together fell squarely on my shoulders. There was no rest for me, no letting my guard down.

"I know, Aunt Maria. Thank you. Now, off you go. Get some rest," I said, smiling at her.

"Okay, okay. Don't chase me away; I'm going," she replied, then paused. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about your husband. Did you get the chance to visit his home this year?"

Her words froze me in place. Right. I had a husband. How had I forgotten?

We'd been married for three years, but it was purely a marriage of convenience. I needed something from his family, and they needed something from mine. The deal was sealed with a marriage, and that was that.

Maria crossed her arms, waiting for my answer. I knew what was coming.

"Cleopatra! Why?!" she huffed. "It's been three years, and you haven't acted like a wife, not even once! Back in my day, a wife moved in with her in-laws, not the other way around. Your husband has been living in the main house for three years, and you haven't spent a single night there! My darling, I am judging you!"

I stifled a laugh. Maria was nothing if not consistent. A traditional woman through and through, she'd been repeating the same lecture since the day I got married.

"Aunt, you know it's just a marriage of convenience, right?" I reminded her.

"I know, my doll, but you should still make an effort. It's not too late to work on your feelings for one another," she said.

"Uh-huh," I replied, nodding tiredly.

"All right, all right. I won't hold you up. Go on, go to bed. See you tomorrow," she said, finally walking away.

I watched her leave before turning toward my bedroom. Husband? Sure, he was my husband on paper, and I was his wife in name. We'd never done anything remotely husband-and-wife-like… not even talked much. I'll admit, though, however shallow it might sound—I married him for one reason. He was an extremely handsome man.