Empress Of Wrath, Blood And Desire

Chapter 29: An Empress

My eyes flutter open, heavy and sore, after being forced shut by whoever knocked me out.

So, this is how my day- no, my whole week is going. Just fucking fantastic.

As my vision adjusts, the dim room around me begins to take shape. We're in what looks like a run-down motel, the kind that reeks of neglect.

The walls are a dull, faded beige, scuffed, and chipped in too many places to count. The faint smell of stale cigarettes lingers in the air, mixed with cheap cleaning products that clearly didn't do much.

I push myself up, feeling a slight ache in my head, trying to make sense of my surroundings.

A single, dim overhead light casts a yellowish glow, barely illuminating the space.

The bed I sit on with my back against the headrest, covered in a thin, patterned bedspread that's seen better days, dominates the room.

The mattress sags slightly in the middle, and the pillows are flat and lifeless. A small, wooden nightstand sits beside the bed, holding a cheap alarm clock and a stained, mismatched lamp.

Across from the bed is a modest dresser with a scratched surface, its drawers slightly misaligned.

On top of the dresser rests an old, boxy television, the kind that only gets a few static-filled channels. A worn armchair, its fabric frayed at the edges, is pushed against one wall, and next to it, a small table holds a phone and a notepad with a few scribbled numbers.

A single window is covered by heavy, outdated curtains that block out most of the natural light, and a tall gruffly man peeking through every second.

Two others stand at either side of the door looking out in space but I know they are aware of what's happening.

In the corner, a small door leads to what I assume is a bathroom. I can't help but mutter, "This place could've been better, especially considering you're supposedly watching over a queen..."

"Don't flatter yourself, Your Highness." The sarcasm in her tone is unmistakable, and I can already tell I'm not going to like her very much. "This is for your own safety. We have to keep a low profile so that the many people who know who you are, and hate you, don't find and kill you."

A woman in a designer dress and coat strolls in through the front door and settles into a chair across from me. She's in her early thirties, with dirty blonde hair pulled back sharply. "You have quite the list of enemies."

"Comes with the territory. Now, stop with the small talk and tell me who the hell you are."

She rolls her green eyes at me, clearly unimpressed. "I am Ferrari Estabar's daughter."

I blink, waiting for her to elaborate. "I'm sorry, but did you actually expect me to know who you're talking about?" I raise an eyebrow, feigning interest.

"You're so full of yourself you don't even bother to remember the names of the leaders in the very mafia you claim to rule over..."

"Oh, them," I say with a dismissive wave. "I don't keep track of the lowborn."

Her expression turns icy, offense flashing across her face.

"Lowborn?" She hisses. "We're not so different, you and I. The only thing separating us is circumstance and the whims of fate. You look down on us now but remember, it wouldn't take much for the tables to turn. When that happens, the titles you cling to won't mean a thing."

I smile sweetly. "So, remind me again, why are you here?"

"To bring the rightful empress back to the mafia throne."