Kyle pulled up to the wrought-iron gates of the estate, the engine of his sedan idling softly as ard guards in crisp black suits eyed him through the tinted windows. The place sprawled like a fortress disguised as luxury—high stone walls topped with razor wire, floodlights sweeping the manicured lawns, and what looked like sniper nests perched on the rooftops. Soone might mistake it for a military official’s retreat, complete with helipad and armored vehicles parked discreetly in the distance. Kyle’s grip tightened on the wheel. How many such strongholds did Cleopatra own? This wasn’t her main mansion; it felt like a backup lair, one of many in her web of hidden assets. He flashed the code Isabeau had texted him, and the gates swung open with a hydraulic whisper.
A guard escorted him inside, the man’s hand never straying far from his holstered pistol. The foyer glead with marble floors and crystal chandeliers, but the air humd with security—caras in every corner, subtle alarms blinking red. Kyle’s pulse quickened; this wasn’t a casual et. As they approached a set of double doors leading to a private dining room, he braced for Isabeau. But when the doors parted, revealing a long oak table set for two under soft ambient lighting, it wasn’t the French mafia head waiting. It was Cleopatra, lounging at the far end in a simple white robe, her dark hair damp and loose around her shoulders.
Kyle froze mid-step, the guard lting back into the shadows. Cleopatra looked up, her lips curving into a pleased smile that didn’t reach her calculating eyes.
"Kyle. You ca." She set down a glass of red wine, gesturing to the seat across from her.
"I’m glad you took up on the offer. Though I have to admit, I didn’t expect you so soon," Cleopatra admitted.
He moved forward cautiously, lowering himself into the chair. The table held platters of fresh fruit, cheeses, and artisanal bread—simple, elegant, like she hosted unexpected guests often.
"This isn’t what I expected," Kyle said, scanning the room for exits.
"How many places like this do you have? It looks like a president’s bunker," Kyle couldn’t help but ask her this all important question.
She chuckled softly, leaning back in her chair with an arrogant smirk, looking right at Kyle.
"Enough to stay ahead. Power demands options." Cleopatra boasted. The estate’s guards patrolled outside the windows, their silhouettes visible against the twilight. It scread fortified wealth, not just a ho but a command center. Kyle wondered if governnt ties explained the setup—bribes, alliances, or sheer influence making it untouchable. But he was beginning to understand why Nakamura was more cautious around her than the Mafia.
As he settled, the first thing that hit him was her scent: fresh, like citrus and clean linen, as if she’d just stepped from a shower. Her skin glowed under the light, dewy and unmarked, no trace of the near-fatal ambush she’d survived. She couldn’t have known he was coming; the invite from Isabeau had been last-minute, and Cleopatra had only left that vague door open in their prior talk. Yet here she was, composed and ready, like she’d anticipated every move.
Cleopatra t his gaze directly, her eyes sharp and unyielding. She showed no sign of soone who’d dodged death— no tremor, no shadows under her eyes. It was her norm, this brush with violence, a life where hits and counterstrikes were Tuesday’s agenda. Kyle hated to admit it, but she looked stunning without the dark gothic makeup that had defined their first etings. Her natural face was striking: high cheekbones, full lips bare of color, skin flawless and warm-toned. No heavy eyeliner or pale foundation to hide behind—just raw allure that drew his stare longer than intended. He blinked, forcing his focus back.
"I’m surprised you ca," she said, tilting her head. "Did things not work out with Ella?"
Kyle frowned, caught off guard. "What do you an by that?"
She leaned forward slightly, her robe shifting just enough to hint at the curve beneath. "Don’t play dumb. I know you want to fuck my sister," Cleopatra said in a knowing tone. It was obvious from the footage she had gotten from the CCTV cara, there was sexual attraction between those two.
He paused, the words hitting like a gut punch. His mind flashed to last night: Ella’s body arching under him, her nails raking his back as he thrust deep, the flashback was intense considering he could recall every little detail aning he could relive the mont right down to the feelings and sensation it incurred.
Cleopatra’s grin widened, predatory and knowing. She leaned in closer, elbows on the table, her voice a teasing whisper. "Or... have you already?"
His silence stretched a beat too long, answering for him. She sat back, satisfied, but Kyle cleared his throat, steering hard.
"That’s not why I’m here. I t Viktor. He tested —attacked, like sizing up a threat but I think I might have ssed up," Kyle paused briefly.
Cleopatra’s expression shifted to confusion, her brows knitting.
"Viktor? A head family reaching out to you? That’s odd. Why would he bother with sothing so silly?" Cleopatra blurted out.
Her eyes narrowed, interest piqued, but before she could probe, her phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at the screen, then stood with fluid grace.
"Excuse a mont." She excused herself smoothly, slipping through a side door, her robe trailing like a whisper. Kyle couldn’t help but sneak a peak ay her round buttocks walking away wondering how soone so evil could have this physique.
Kyle waited, tension coiling in his gut. He had no clue why she’d left, but unknown to him, it was the call with Isabeau—plotting in hushed tones about his approach as they were still in league, her secrets teetering on exposure.
And it beca clear Isabeu had asked Cleopatra to keep him here but what was the agreent they reached?
She returned shortly, composure intact, sliding back into her seat as if nothing happened. "Now, where were we?"
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