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.
