Cleopatra, The Mafia Queen

Cleopatra

I woke up suddenly, my body jolting upright as if my soul had been yanked back into my body. I blinked, staring into the sterile white walls around me. "What just happened?" I muttered, my voice hoarse.

"Boss, you fainted at work. The doctor says it's because of low blood sugar," a familiar voice said. I turned to see Harley, my right-hand woman, standing beside the bed with concern etched on her face. From the antiseptic smell in the air, I realized I was in a hospital.

"Alright," I said, my mind still foggy. "Take care of the discharge procedures."

"Yes, boss," she replied, nodding before leaving the room.

Was it all a dream? I chuckled to myself. Surely it was. The ridiculousness of it all. How could I, of all people, let wild fantasies take hold of me like that?

"Maybe I should stop reading webcomics," I muttered. "They're clearly messing with my mind."

The dream—if it was even a dream—had been bizarre. Don, my so-called mafia husband, killing me over a lingerie party. Don, the same man who swaggered confidently on stage, but turned into a nervous wreck when facing his family or mine. It didn't make sense.

I laughed at the absurdity of it.

But then Harley returned with the doctor, his face a mix of relief and concern. "Mrs. De Luca, I'm glad you're feeling better, enough to laugh," the doctor said with a radiant smile.

Mrs. De Luca? I froze. I had never used that surname, and yet hearing it made me want to burst into laughter.

The doctor paused, his smile faltering as he looked at me. "Ma'am, are you feeling alright? Hypoglycemia can affect your brain activity. If anything feels off, you should tell me."

I waved a hand in front of his face dismissively. "I'm perfectly fine, doc. Just had a weird dream."

"A dream, you say?" He signed some papers, probably my discharge forms.

"Yeah, you know. That my husband of three years killed me for wearing lingerie to a lingerie party hosted by one of my friends." I grinned, as if this was perfectly normal.

The doctor blinked, clearly not getting the humor. He was probably wondering what kind of person would find something so dark funny. I saw Harley freeze in the corner of the room, but I didn't address it yet. I was more curious about the doctor.

"Are you married, doc?" I asked suddenly.

The doctor froze, visibly uncomfortable. "I'm not supposed to discuss personal matters here," he muttered, shifting nervously.

I leaned forward, a playful grin on my face. "Oh, come on. Patient confidentiality is a two-way street, you know? Whatever you say here stays here."

He chuckled awkwardly, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from anything personal. I signaled to Harley, who stepped forward with a dazzling smile.

"Well, since you're young and handsome, maybe if you're single, I could introduce you to my little sister."

The doctor nearly jumped out of his skin, his face pale. Harley's charm had the usual effect.

I grinned. "So, I guess that means you're married, huh?"

"Y-yes, happily married for five years," he stammered, clearly flustered now.

"And what would you have done in my shoes?" I asked, crossing my legs and resting my chin in my hand, pretending to be deeply intrigued.

The doctor paused, clearly thinking it over. "Honestly, I don't know. But killing someone over it? That seems extreme."

"Well, it was just a dream," I replied, waving my hand. "But you're right, killing's a bit extreme."

Then, with a mischievous twinkle in my eye, I added, "Maybe I should divorce him and marry you instead. I mean, he's in the mafia, so I guess killing's easy for him."

The doctor looked like he might keel over, his eyes wide as he stammered. "No, no, I love my wife and my life. You... you should focus on your health."

"Right, right," I said, suppressing a laugh. "I'll take care of that. Anyway, thank you for your time, doc."

Before he could escape, I grabbed the discharge papers he'd handed over. "A nurse will help you fill out the rest of these," he said quickly, clearly eager to leave. He almost ran out of the room.

Harley turned to me, her expression serious now. "Boss..." she started, her voice filled with concern.

I raised an eyebrow. "What is it, Harley?"

"You've only been married for a year," she said softly, eyes wide.

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. My mind raced as the weight of her words settled in.

I recovered quickly, my experience in the mafia and webcomics kicking in. I glanced at her calmly. "Harley, what year is it?"

"2022," she answered, still unsure why I was asking.

I nodded slowly, a grin forming on my lips. "2022, huh?"

And then it hit me like a freight train. A rebirth.

I had been given a second chance at life.