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Chapter 353: Cleopatra’s Thoughts.

Cleopatra reclined in her leather chair, a cigarette balanced delicately between her manicured fingers, smoke curling lazily toward the vaulted ceiling of her private study. A smile played at her lips—not the predatory grin she wore when hunting prey, but something more satisfied, almost content. The kind of expression a chess player wore when watching their carefully laid trap spring closed exactly as planned.

Things were playing out beautifully. Kyle was exactly where she needed him to be—caught in the machinery of the families, surrounded by killers and liars, forced to dance for his survival. He was an important piece in her puzzle, perhaps more important than he realized. A catalyst. A variable that could destabilize everything Marcello had built if played correctly.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. She would never have found Kyle if he didn’t have connections to her sister. Ella—sweet, damaged, talented Ella—had led Cleopatra straight to him like a bloodhound pointing at game. Life had a funny way of working these things out, connecting threads in patterns you couldn’t predict. She took a long drag from her cigarette, savoring the burn, letting the nicotine sharpen her thoughts.

But what really surprised her—what genuinely caught her off guard in a way few things did anymore—was that Ella had actually fucked him.

Cleopatra had laid hands on Kyle herself. Had him restrained, vulnerable, at her mercy in her own estate. The conditions had been perfect. She could have done whatever she wanted, taken whatever she desired, and he couldn’t have stopped her. But she’d shown restraint. Played the long game. Let him leave with his dignity mostly intact because a man who felt he’d escaped was more useful than a man who’d been broken.

Yet Ella? Ella had apparently thrown caution to the wind and taken him to bed.

The question gnawed at Cleopatra more than she cared to admit: Did Ella not care about Jane?

Cleopatra stubbed out her cigarette in the crystal ashtray, immediately lighting another. She didn’t know the specifics of their relationship—Jane and Ella were close, that much was obvious. Best friends, probably closer than sisters given how Ella spoke about her. And Kyle? From everything Cleopatra had gathered, he was Jane’s boyfriend. Her man.

So what did it say about Ella that she’d fucked him behind Jane’s back?

The thought was amusing to Cleopatra. Maybe the poison was natural to their family. Maybe it ran deep in their veins, coded into their DNA—this compulsion to betray those closest to them, to take what wasn’t theirs, to destroy the bonds that should have been sacred. Their mother had been the same way. A beautiful, terrible woman who’d taught them that loyalty was weakness and love was just another tool for manipulation.

Cleopatra had embraced that lesson. Weaponized it. Built an empire on the backs of people foolish enough to trust her.

But Ella? Ella had tried so hard to be different. To be good. To escape the family legacy of corruption and cruelty. And yet here she was, apparently fucking her best friend’s boyfriend like morality was just a suggestion.

Cleopatra shook her head slowly, a mixture of disappointment and satisfaction coloring her expression. It was a pity, really. She’d almost respected Ella’s attempt to be better than their bloodline. But apparently, you couldn’t escape what you were. The apple never fell far from the poisoned tree.

She exhaled smoke through her nose, watching it dissipate. "Such a waste," she murmured to herself.

And Kyle—God, what a shame she wouldn’t get to have a proper taste of him. She’d felt that body, seen the evidence of what he was packing, watched him maintain composure under circumstances that would have broken lesser men. He would have been exquisite. A toy worth keeping. But sometimes you had to sacrifice immediate pleasure for long-term gain.

She knew the kind of woman Isabeau was. Had done business with her long enough to understand exactly how the French bitch operated. Calculated. Ruthless. Willing to use any tool at her disposal, including her own body, to achieve her goals. If Isabeau had taken Kyle into her custody—and Cleopatra knew she had—then things had almost certainly gotten... complicated.

But that was part of the test, wasn’t it? Cleopatra wanted to see if Kyle could escape this sticky situation. If he had the intelligence, the adaptability, the sheer survival instinct to navigate a den of vipers and come out alive. The odds were stacked against him—Isabeau’s manipulation, Marcello’s paranoia, Viktor’s dual-personality brilliance, the families’ collective desire for blood.

If he survived? He’d be worth the investment. Worth the protection. Worth incorporating into her larger plans.

If he didn’t? Well, she’d lost nothing but a potential asset.

Cleopatra reached for the remote and clicked on the television mounted on the opposite wall. The screen flickered to life, showing a press conference in progress. She recognized the man at the podium immediately—the politician she’d had that... productive conversation with last week. Senator Marcus Webb, his silver hair perfectly styled, his suit immaculate, his expression radiating righteous indignation.

[[—will not stand for corruption in our city!" he declared, his voice booming with manufactured passion. "For too long, criminal enterprises have operated with impunity, poisoning our communities, corrupting our institutions. But I promise you, the people of this great state, that I will dedicate every resource at my disposal to rooting out this cancer!]]

Cleopatra laughed—a genuine, delighted sound. The hypocrisy was breathtaking. This was the same man who’d accepted a briefcase full of unmarked bills from her just a few days ago. The same man who’d promised to redirect law enforcement resources away from her operations in exchange for campaign contributions and blackmail material on his rivals.

He was good, she’d give him that. The conviction in his voice, the fire in his eyes—if she didn’t know better, she’d almost believe he meant it. He was making promises he couldn’t keep, swearing oaths he’d already broken, painting himself as a crusader for justice while his hands were buried wrist-deep in the same filth he condemned.

"It wouldn’t be bad to have such a man as my lapdog," Cleopatra mused aloud, tapping ash into the tray.

Actually, she already did. Webb just didn’t fully realize it yet. He thought he was being clever, playing both sides, taking her money while maintaining plausible deniability. He didn’t understand that the moment he’d accepted that first payment, he’d become hers. Every interaction since had just been tightening the leash. But Webb had no problems with this, he had sought her support after-all beyond money.

Politicians were so predictable. Give them money and power, stroke their egos, provide them with vices they couldn’t find elsewhere, and they’d rationalize away any compromise. They’d convince themselves they were still good people, still serving the public interest, even as they sold their souls piece by piece.

Webb droned on about accountability and transparency, his voice fading into background noise as Cleopatra’s mind drifted back to Kyle. Back to Marcello. Back to Isabeau and the delicate web of alliances and betrayals she’d woven.

Everything was proceeding according to plan. The pieces were all in motion. Soon, very soon, the board would tip in her favor.

She just had to be patient. And if there was one thing Cleopatra had learned from years of playing this game, it was that patience—combined with the willingness to act ruthlessly when the moment arrived—always won.

Cleopatra’s phone soon buzzed and she looked down to see who it was.