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

”That man is powerful.” Marcus kept his voice low, like Ivanov’s name alone was something to be careful with.

”How do we send men into his territory, fishing for information, without poking his tail? That’s the kind of attention we don’t want.”

”I know.” Viktor didn’t slow down. ”Put Rocky on it. Quiet. I don’t want a war started over a few questions I just want to know how far his reach goes now. How wide his influence has spread.” He paused at the top of the stairs.

”And see what we can find about his missing daughter.”

Marcus raised a brow. ”You want to help find your missing fiancée?” There was no mocking in it, just genuine confusion.

”What happens to Mrs. Kessler once she’s found?”

”Not find her.” Viktor’s voice went cold and even, the way it always did when a decision had already been made, and there was nothing left to discuss.

”Use her. Make a deal with her, if she’s alive to make one with. Or get rid of the problem entirely.” A short pause. ”Either way, there’s no marriage deal.”

”Now leave,” he added, already walking, already done with the conversation.

Marcus didn’t push. He knew that tone too well by now knew when a door had closed as firmly as the one upstairs just had.

Viktor went down the stairs alone, phone buzzing in his pocket, some call he hadn’t asked for and didn’t want.

He answered it anyway, because he needed somewhere to put what was building in his chest Sienna’s face when she’d said it, the door shutting on him, the twenty-year-old ghost of a girl he’d never met suddenly standing between them. He needed to be cold at someone.

—

Aliya sat sprawled across the length of the couch, cigarette between two fingers, smoke curling up toward a ceiling she wasn’t looking at. There was a lightness in her that hadn’t been there in days.

”Still no word on Sienna,” she said, mostly to herself, mostly pleased.

”Which means it worked.” She let her head fall back, a slow smile spreading.

”I’m in a good mood. A very good mood.” Her eyes slid sideways to Marcel, something wicked in them.

”I think I owe you a reward. Whatever you did to me last night, it must’ve been good, because look how easily I let a little secret slip.”

She took a slow pull from the cigarette, let the smoke sit in her lungs a beat too long before letting it go.

”That bitch is probably dead by now. Or wishing she was. Either way works for me.” A shrug, careless, like she was talking about spoiled fruit.

”She’d better have died in that accident, though. Because dying by my hand later would be so much worse.”

Marcel sat forward, the color draining out of his face.

”You planned an attack on Sienna’s life?” His voice cracked on the last word.

”That wasn’t the plan, Aliya. The plan was to scare her. Make her run. Not...” He couldn’t even finish it. He wanted Sienna. Wanted her alive, wanted her afraid of Viktor and running straight into his own arms. A dead Sienna was no use to him at all.

”Relax.” Aliya waved the cigarette lazily through the air, not even bothering to sit up. ”I didn’t do anything.” The lie came easy, smooth, practiced the way all her best ones did.

The door to the hall banged open. Don Capri stood in the frame, face gray, voice pitched low and fast.

”We have company.”

”Shit.” Aliya was on her feet before the word finished leaving her mouth, cigarette forgotten between her fingers, ash trailing to the floor. ”Who?”

She didn’t have to wait long to find out. Three men filled the doorway behind her father, black coats, no hurry in their steps, the kind of men who’d stopped needing to rush a long time ago.

”Don Capri.” The one in front didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. ”Your debt is still unpaid. And I’ve run out of patience.”

”I’ll settle it.” Capri’s hands lifted, placating, the smile on his face too wide, too desperate to be convincing. ”Once my new deal goes through, you know me, I always settle what I owe. Just give me a few more days.”

”Alright.” The man tilted his head, almost pleasant about it.

”A few more days. But your daughter comes with me until you do.” His eyes slid past Capri, found Aliya standing frozen by the couch. ”Settle the debt, she walks free. Don’t she work it off herself.”

”No.” Capri’s composure cracked clean down the middle, the smile gone, something close to begging bleeding into his voice instead. ”No, no, you can’t do that. Not her. Please,”

Aliya’s spine went rigid, chin snapping up, the fear in her chest curdling fast into something louder and uglier.

”Who do you think you are?” Her voice climbed, sharp enough to cut.

”Me? Work for you? A degenerate like you? I have two master’s degrees and a PhD. You expect...” She let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

”You must be out of your mind. You should be showing me respect. I’m still Aliya Capri. You’re not even worthy to wipe my shoes, and you want me working for you?”

The man in black didn’t so much as blink. He looked at her the way a man looks at weather something to be waited out, not argued with.

”Please.” Don Capri’s hands were clasped now, shaking, all pretense gone. ”Not my daughter. Give me time, just a little more time,”

”Take her.”

The words came out calm, almost bored, and that was worse than if he’d shouted them. His men moved in before Capri could get another word out, hands closing around Aliya’s arms.

”Let go of me! Let go!” She thrashed against their grip, twisting, kicking, spitting out threats that nobody in the room seemed remotely afraid of. ”You have no idea who you’re dealing with. I will end every single one of you, I will...”