6、Queens in the Shadows
1346 Words
The south gate lights flickered as the cars came in.
For a moment, I thought it was Raphael's men–another show of dominance. But when the doors swooped open, it wasn't guards stepping out. It was women.
Dozens of them.
Lucia, Camille, Maria…and more unexpected faces–wives of capos, girlfriends of guards, sisters who lived in silence and pain at the edges of this empire. They entered the estate in silence, carrying nothing but hand bags and weary eyes.
Lucky frowned and held his gun tightened his fist on his gun. “What the hell is this?”
I felt a surge of gladness inside me. “It's my move,” I whispered.
While Raphael and Vincenzo played their games with blood and bullets, I was building something else.
I led the women into the dining hall. The long table, where men usually shouted orders and laughed over whiskey, now held bottles of wine and plates of bread. A softer battlefield.
Lucia broke the silence first. “I thought you said this would be small.”
“It will never be small again,” I replied, looking around the room. “You think you're powerless because men keep you and order you as they want. But I see something else. You hear what they say In their sleep. You watch them make secret calls. You know the harsh words they mutter when they are drunk.”
The women shifted uncomfortably but they were listening.
“My father believed women had no place at the table,” I continued. “Raphael thinks the same. But I'm not asking for a position or a seat at the table. I'm building my new table, and it begins with us.”
Maria shot out a hand shyly. “But if they find out–”
“They won't,” I cut in. “And if they do, then they will learn what happens when they under-look us.”
For a moment, silence stood still in the room. Then Camille removed her sunglasses, revealing a bruise that stretched purple under her eye. Her voice was low but steady. “Raphael thinks he controls me. But if you want me, Abigail, I'll be your queen.”
A ripple of murmur filled the hall. One by one, heads began to nod.
I smiled faintly. My father had ruled with fear. Raphael had ruled with dominance and ambition. I would rule with both and something stronger: loyalty.
******
Later that night, I stood by Matteo’s bedside. His shoulder was bandaged, his face pale but peaceful in unconsciousness.
I removed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, then cautioned myself. Why was I doing this?
Because beneath the blood and betrayal, he was the first man who had risked his life for me. And that scared me more than bullets.
Lucky entered quietly, he was carrying two glasses of whiskey. He set one beside me. “You shouldn’t have too much pity for him.”
I shot him a look. “He saved me.”
“He also betrayed you,” Lucky countered. “Even if he was not having a choice, it makes him weak, and he is still a betrayal”
I clenched my jaw. “And what does that make me, Lucky? For caring?”
His expression changed. For once, the hard edges of his face melted, and he said quietly, “It makes you human.”
The words hung still. Dangerous words.
Before I could reply, the door opened again. Raphael.
He filled the room with his presence, his black suit sharp against the walls. His gaze moved from Matteo’s unconscious body to me, and something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
“You should’ve let him die,” Raphael said calmly.
My stomach turned. “You wanted me to bury an innocent man just to keep your seat safe.”
He stepped closer, his voice like a dark whisper. “There is no innocence in our world, Abigail. There is power, influence, and there is weakness. Keep too many weak men around you, and you’ll drown in their failures.”
I stood my ground. “Maybe I don’t want to rule the way you do. Maybe I want to be more better.”
He tilted his head, studying me as if I were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Then unexpectedly he reached out, brushing a speck of glass from my hair.
For a split second, I felt my heart betray me.
“Be careful, Abigail,” he murmured. “Your desire for something better is what makes you dangerous… and what makes me want you.”
Before I could respond, Lucky cleared his throat loudly. The moment shattered.
Raphael smirked and left the room without another word.
Hours later, Sophia came to the study. She spread files across the desk—bank records, phone logs, property deeds.
“I traced the cars that were watching the estate,” she said. “Not the police. Not the government. Private contractors. Paid off through shell companies. And guess who owns them?”
My stomach churned. “Raphael?”
“No.” She slid a paper toward me. “Vincenzo.”
The name was like poison on my tongue. Don Vincenzo. My father’s old ally. The man who toasted at my father’s funeral like it was a business deal.
“He’s moving faster than we thought,” Sophia whispered. “And Abigail—he’s not alone. Someone inside your walls is giving him information.”
I swallowed hard. Matteo wasn’t the real traitor. Which meant the spy was still out there.
Someone close. Someone watching.
I thought of Raphael’s warning. You’ll burn. I thought of Matteo’s plea. They have my sister.
And I thought of my own reflection, split by red lipstick words: Your Father was only the beginning.
My hands trembled as I whispered the truth aloud.
“This isn’t just a battle. This is personal.”
******
The next evening, I arranged a meeting with the women again—my queens.
This time, I didn’t pour wine. I poured out my strategy.
“Lucia, your husband leaves at midnight every Saturday. Where does he go?”
Her lips trembled. “To the port. Vincenzo’s men meet him there.”
“Good,” I nodded. “Camille, Raphael keeps you on a short leash. I need you to slip me his schedule.”
She hesitated, then nodded.
Maria stepped forward. “What about me?”
“You’ve served this house since I was a child,” I said gently. “You see what others ignore. I need you to watch. To listen. To bring me whispers. The men think they can't be harmed.”
The women exchanged glances. Fear lingered, but something else sparked in their eyes. Fire and determination.
I leaned forward, my voice sharp. “Tonight, we stop playing victims. Tonight, we become players.”
At midnight, I stood at the balcony, watching the lights of the port in the distance. Somewhere out there, Vincenzo was moving his pawns.
But he wasn’t the only one playing anymore.
A knock sounded at my door. I turned—and froze in fear.
It wasn’t Lucky. It wasn’t Sophia.
It was Raphael.
He leaned casually against the frame, but his eyes was filled with something darker than usual.
“You think you’re clever,” he said softly, adjusting his body against the frame. “But you’re not the only one who can build alliances in the dark.”
I stepped closer, staring at him. “Are you warning me?”
“No,” he whispered, his lips parting into a curve. “I’m reminding you. Every queen on the board can still be sacrificed.”
And with that, he handed me an envelope and walked away.
My hands trembled as I opened it. Inside was a single photograph.
Not of me.
Not of Matteo.
But of Sophia.
She was tied. Gagged. A gun to her head.
And a faint handwriting scrawled across the bottom of the photo in red ink:
Choose.
- Writer
