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

He leaned back slightly, his hands resting loosely on his knees. Outside, the afternoon light had begun to shift, growing thinner, casting long shadows across the floor.

”We all care about you,” he went on. ”The boss cares about you.” He paused, as if deciding whether to say the next part at all. Then he did. ”I have never seen him smile in my entire life. Not once. Not until you came along.”

Sienna’s chest tightened at that, in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

”So I don’t mind,” Marcus continued, ”as long as you are safe. As long as the boss can finish this and come out unscratched.”

”You mean I’m his weakness, then,” Sienna said, a small smile creeping onto her own tired face.

Marcus considered this for a moment, tilting his head slightly, as though weighing the word before deciding whether it fit.

”Yes and no,” he said finally. ”You are his weakness. But you are also the only thing holding him together. Before he destroys himself.”

The words settled over the room slowly, like dust after something has fallen.

”If it was the old Viktor,” Marcus said, his voice quieter now, almost distant, like he was looking back through years he did not enjoy remembering, ”He would have killed all of them. And got himself killed in the process. The moment they walked into his house the way they did today, the old Viktor would not have thought twice.”

Sienna was quiet for a moment, absorbing that.

”I get your point,” she said softly. ”It doesn’t make this any easier though. He can’t think clearly if he’s constantly worried about me.”

She pulled the blanket a little higher over her lap, her eyes drifting toward the window, toward the pale gray light beyond it.

”How long have you known Aliya?” she asked, almost as an afterthought, though something in her voice suggested it wasn’t really a small question at all.

Marcus’s expression shifted, just slightly. Something passed behind his eyes memory, maybe, or old caution.

”Well,” he said slowly. ”When she was about fifteen.”

He did not say anything more right away. The silence that followed felt heavier than the one before it, full of things he had not decided yet whether to share.

”Okay,” Sienna said. Right then Viktor returned, a tray balanced carefully in his hands. Steam still rose faintly from the bowl on it.

He crossed the room slowly, set the tray beside her on the small table near the bed, and then simply stood there for a moment, watching her the way one watches something fragile that has just been handed back to them.

She picked up the spoon. She could feel his eyes on her the whole time, tracking every small movement, as if watching her eat might somehow prove she was really okay.

”I want you to promise me something,” he said finally.

Sienna glanced up at him but said nothing. She kept eating.

”Promise me you will not go after Don Konstantin,” he said. ”Let me handle this, Sienna. Please. That man is dangerous.”

She scooped another spoonful into her mouth, chewing slowly, deliberately, buying herself time. Because the truth was, somewhere behind her calm face, her mind had already begun turning quietly, carefully toward exactly the thing he was asking her not to do.

”Sienna,” Viktor said again, when she didn’t answer.

She swallowed, finally, and spoke around the last bit of food still in her mouth. ”Aria texted me,” she said. ”She said they’re moving to the Middle East.”

Viktor blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change of subject. ”Really,” he said slowly. ”I’ll call her mother later.” He paused, his eyes narrowing gently.

”But you still have to promise me. Or I will have to take your machines away.”

”Fine, fine,” Sienna said, laughing lightly, holding up one hand as if in surrender. Behind her back, out of his sight, the fingers of her other hand were crossed.

Because she had no intention of stepping back, every man had a weakness, she thought. And a man like Don Konstantin, a man who had built an empire out of fear and old debts and blood, a man like that carried more skeletons than most graveyards held.

Find the right one, pull it loose, and the whole structure could come apart. Enough to disrupt him. Enough, maybe, to destroy him completely.

She was going to find it. Just then, a knock sounded at the door light, almost playful.

Aliya stood in the hallway when Viktor opened it, one hand resting lazily against the frame. She had claimed the room next door for herself, the one that used to be Viktor’s.

”What are you doing here?” Viktor asked, his voice flat, guarded.

Aliya tilted her head and looked at him, almost pouting. ”Will you not at least pretend to be nice to me?” she said. ”Pretend you care. And maybe I’ll let Sienna off the hook a little easier.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

”Viktor,” Aliya went on, stepping just slightly closer, her voice dropping into something colder, something more certain, ”I have you by the neck. All your men bow to my father now. The companies, they all know who really holds the power. Me.”

She let that sit in the air a moment, savoring it.

”At some point,” she said, ”you will have to answer to me, Viktor. You need to be sorry for what you did to me.”

There was a stillness in the way she said it, a quiet confidence, the kind that only comes from someone who already knows exactly how much power they hold and intends to use every bit of it.

Viktor’s eyes stayed fixed on Aliya, cold and unmoving.

”That’s the problem,” he said. ”It would have been easy, even to try, even a little, to pretend to get close to you. But I can’t. You make me sick. Your presence makes me want to murder you. So, truthfully, you don’t have to worry about me pretending to like you, because I couldn’t even manage that.”