The Mafia King of Philadelphia: From witness to his doted wife

The moment Viktor left the room, Sienna rushed to the door and locked it immediately. The soft click of the lock gave her almost no comfort. A lock meant nothing in a house that belonged to Viktor Kessler.

If he wanted to enter, he would. Still, it made her feel slightly less helpless. Sienna leaned against the door for a few seconds, breathing hard. Everything felt unreal. Her body still trembled from fear, exhaustion, and the emotional shock of the entire night.

A dead body. A kidnapping. A forced marriage. And somehow she was now inside the bedroom of a hitman, a man she just witness kill someone. Her eyes burned with fresh tears.

”I need to get out of here,” she whispered to herself. But first. She needed to think clearly. And right now she smelled like blood, smoke, and rain.

Slowly, Sienna walked toward the bathroom and turned on the shower. Warm water poured down around her moments later, washing away the bloodstains from her skin. But not the fear.

Nothing could wash that away. She stood there quietly under the water while her thoughts raced endlessly. Simon would notice she was missing by now. Right? He was supposed to pick her up from the library.

The police had probably already found the body, too. Surely someone would connect everything. Surely Simon would look for her.

That thought became the only thing keeping her calm. Simon will find me. He has to.

Even if deep down, another voice quietly reminded her that what if no one finds her. Sienna pushed the thought away immediately.

She couldn’t deal with disappointment and kidnapping at the same time.

After showering quickly, she wrapped herself in a towel and walked back into the bedroom carefully. The room felt too quiet now.

Too large. Too unfamiliar. She moved toward the dresser Viktor had pointed at earlier and slowly opened one of the drawers.

Men’s clothes Nothing but men’s clothes. Shirts. Dark pants. Watches. Expensive cufflinks. Of course. Sienna sighed softly.

For some reason, a small part of her had expected to find women’s clothes inside. Then again... Maybe it was better this way. Because if Viktor already had women’s clothes prepared in his room...

That would mean other women had stayed here before her. Maybe unwillingly. The thought made her stomach twist painfully. How many people had this man hurt? How many people had disappeared because of him?

And if he could kill so easily... Then yes. He could absolutely kill her whenever he wanted. That terrifying truth settled heavily in her chest.

Sienna grabbed one of his white shirts from the drawer. It was huge on her, the sleeves swallowing her hands, and the fabric hanging down to her thighs. She looked ridiculous.

But at least it was clean. And warm.

She climbed carefully onto the massive bed afterward, though she hesitated the moment her head touched the pillow. It smelled like him.

Smoke. Dark cologne. Something masculine and dangerous, she was beginning to recognize already. Sienna frowned slightly.

”I hate you,” she whispered softly to the empty room. But despite everything. The bed was warm. The room was cold. And her body had finally reached its limit. If she wanted any chance of surviving this nightmare, she needed sleep.

Real sleep. So eventually, after pulling the blanket tightly around herself, Sienna allowed her exhausted eyes to close.

And within minutes. The kidnapped librarian fell asleep in the mafia king’s bed.

—-

The dream was merciful, the way only dreams can be, soft-edged and golden, the kind of thing you wanted to press between your palms and keep forever.

Sienna was laughing. Really laughing, the kind that starts in your belly and climbs all the way up your throat. Simon’s arm was warm around her shoulders, his voice low and familiar, saying something ridiculous that she couldn’t quite catch but didn’t need to. She was happy. She was safe. She was and suddenly her eyes flush open. She was awake.

The laugh died somewhere in her chest before it ever became sound.

She lay perfectly still for three full seconds, staring at a ceiling that was not her ceiling, high and coffered and obscenely expensive, and let the truth settle over her like cold water. No peeling paint above her dorm bed. No Simon. No laughter. Still here.

God. She was still here. Sienna sat up slowly, jaw tight, refusing, refusing to let the panic win. She’d already wasted last night on panic. Tears and locked doors and pressing her spine against the headboard until the wood bruised her. That was last night. Last night was over.

She swung her legs off the bed . And stopped.

The dress stood on the garment stand across the room like it had been there her entire life. A white long bodycon dress. Bridal in a way that made her stomach turn. Silk, if she had to guess the kind of silk that cost more than her monthly rent.

Beside it on the mirror ledge: shoes. Ivory heels, modest block heel, the kind someone had chosen deliberately for a woman they didn’t want falling on her face. And fresh underwear folded and precise.

Sienna stared at them. Then she looked at the door. It was open, standing ajar. A thin bar of light falling across the dark floor.

She had locked that door. She remembered it with the clarity of someone who had been terrified the click of the bolt, her hand still shaking, the small, stupid comfort of it. Locked. She had locked that door.

Her eyes moved back to the dress. Seven days, she thought. That was what the man had said last night, his voice even, almost bored, like he was scheduling a dentist appointment rather than dismantling her entire life. Seven days to the wedding

Seven days before a murderer forced her down an aisle. She could fall apart. She could sit here on this big bed in this huge room and cry until someone came to collect her. Or.