Mafia Princess

The chandelier above the hall dripped light like molten gold, spilling over black marble floors. Beneath it sat the throne high-backed, iron-edged, carved with roses that looked more like knives. And on that throne sat The Mafia Queen. Her eyes were sharp, cold, carrying the weight of every empire built on blood. She didn’t need to raise her voice to command fear; silence bent men faster than any bullet. To her right, a step below, stood Selene Veyra. The Princess. Her dress was black silk, her heels clicking against marble with each step, but no one dared call her elegant. To the men watching, she was a dangerous storm wrapped in velvet. Yet to her mother, she was still a child. Before them, a group of men stood stiff and tense, their tailored suits hiding the bruises of weeks spent proving themselves. Their leader cleared his throat, his voice hoarse but steady. “We pledge our loyalty to you, Queen,” he said, hand pressed over his heart. The others echoed his words like a chorus: Loyalty until death. Obedience until the end. The Queen’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “Good,” she said. “From this day forward, you are mine.” The men nodded sharply, just a pact of words binding them tighter than chains. Around the hall, the Queen’s loyalists murmured approval. Selene stayed silent. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. Pathetic, she thought. They think a few words make them loyal. They think my mother’s blessing makes them untouchable. Her gaze flicked upward to the crown glinting on her mother’s head. A crown meant for her. The Queen leaned back, satisfied, and let her gaze slide towards Selene. “Remember, daughter,” she murmured low enough for only her to hear. “No one becomes mafia without my approval.” Selene forced a smile, masking the fury boiling inside. For now, she thought. But one day, the pledges won’t be to you. They’ll be to me. And in that hall, beneath the golden light, the Princess in Shadows began to plan her war.