Cleopatra had returned to her mansion, one of the many owned by her family, yet for soone who had nearly lost her life, she appeared unnervingly calm.
Such composure wasn’t normal, but it revealed the kind of woman she truly was.
Three n stood before her. Not just any n—supermodel-tier n, their chiseled physiques bare for her viewing. They were stark naked, and Cleopatra regarded them with nothing more than a glass of wine in hand.
To her, they were no more than an exhibition, beautiful ornants on display. They would never be granted the honor of touching her.
Her thoughts, however, were elsewhere.
If Kyle could make such bold moves, then what of Marcello? He was a man with the power to unite people, but his rise had been marred by betrayal and blood. Because of that, there would always be those within his own ranks who despised him.
Who could resist the temptation of power? Cleopatra was no fool. She knew exactly what had to be done.
The reason behind her eerie calm would soon be revealed. For now, the n stood like dolls awaiting her admiration.
Who was she to ignore God’s craftsmanship? Their sculpted bodies were the finest examples of physical beauty, art in living form.
It was all a power play.
Then, the doorbell rang, its echo traveling through the massive estate.
The guard on intercom quickly relayed the na of the visitor.
Cleopatra didn’t look displeased at the ntion. If anything, she seed expectant.
Setting her empty glass aside, she gave the order to let her guest in.
Kyle could never take Marcello’s head—not yet. The truth was, even Cleopatra herself couldn’t reach him. Marcello was too careful, too thorough in covering his tracks. He only appeared when he wanted to, and attacking him during a family gathering would be nothing short of suicide.
The door creaked open, and in stepped the guest Cleopatra had been waiting for.
Sothing about her felt familiar.
"Welco, Mada," Cleopatra greeted smoothly.
The woman who entered was none other than Isabeau, head of the Delacroix family.
"Cleopatra, I see you’ve gone through lengths to make sure I’m entertained," Isabeau murmured, her eyes already fixed on the naked n arranged before her.
She liked what she saw. Which made it clear—this wasn’t about Cleopatra. The performance was for Isabeau.
"You know too well," Cleopatra replied. But she noticed Isabeau’s gaze shift toward the estate’s fortified periter. Security had been tightened.
"It seems you’ve finally considered my proposal," Isabeau said, snapping her fingers. At the cue, the n encircled her like living statues.
"Marcello ca after my head," Cleopatra stated with a weary sigh.
"I told you it was only a matter of ti. I even gave you the warning, did I not?" Isabeau reminded her, voice sharp. Isabeau relationship with Cleopatra was wildly unknown as there was no telling how they t each other in the first place.
She had indeed. Marcello was moving toward sothing drastic, though he had no idea that Cleopatra and Isabeau were tied together.
It was Cleopatra who had helped Isabeau ascend to her position, and for that reason, Isabeau’s loyalty had always belonged to her.
"You did warn , but I didn’t expect Marcello to act so foolishly. Now, I’ll have to kill him," Cleopatra declared, as if it were the simplest task in the world. She watched carefully for Isabeau’s reaction.
"I cannot allow that," Isabeau objected instantly.
"Oh? Then I’ll just kill you along with him if you stand in my way." Cleopatra’s lips curled as she sipped her wine. She had no problem getting rid of this woman as she would just be an unfortunate casualty of war, no hard feelings.
"He is my boss. I’m bound to him. You know this," Isabeau countered—but then hesitated.
The naked n exchanged wary glances, silently questioning if they should even be hearing such words.
"But..." Isabeau finally added. That hesitation alone spoke volus. She had warned Cleopatra in advance, despite knowing the risk. Her loyalty to Marcello wasn’t as unshakable as she believed.
At the end of the day, she had ambitions of her own and the direction Marcello was taking the Mafia wasn’t one she agreed with.
"Now that," Cleopatra said with a grin, "is what I wanted to hear."
Nakamura sat in his office, left to his thoughts after Kyle’s departure. The smile tugging at his lips made it clear: nothing good was on his mind.
This wasn’t new territory. Though he no longer bore his family’s banner, Nakamura’s Yakuza roots ant he understood the underworld better than most.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly why he had sent Kyle after Marcello’s daughter.
Not only was it to remove Kyle from the imdiate equation, but also to protect him from the storm brewing ahead.
If Marcello learned that his daughter’s location had been leaked, there was no doubt he’d send his most trusted n overseas to England to guard her. He already had watchful eyes around her, but this was different. This was war.
The idea was to reduce the n around him that he could trust, making it easier for the sword of the traitor to reach his neck.
Marcello had gone to great lengths to keep her true location hidden—even from the other family heads.
The twisted part? The girl seen at his side wasn’t even her. It was a body double, a decoy used to fool anyone watching too closely as Marcello couldn’t have that.
But Nakamura had pieced it together. He always studied potential threats thoroughly.
And unbeknownst to Kyle, the woman who had tried to orchestrate his death wasn’t Marcello’s daughter at all. She was the double.
The real daughter had never laid eyes on Kyle, and now he was walking straight into her world with the wrong impression.
Nakamura knew this truth. He simply chose to keep it to himself.
After all, if Kyle learned it now, his judgnt might falter—and Nakamura couldn’t allow that.
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