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

Viktor’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, some of the fight in him settling, if only slightly.

”Promise me you’ll call me if something happens,” he said. ”I promise.”

”Marcus will go with you,” he added, already glancing toward the door.

Sienna didn’t argue. Marcus had been by her side these past few days, steady and quiet, and there was something almost comforting about his presence now, even if he complained the entire time.

”Okay,” she said.

The two of them stepped out of the room together, leaving Viktor behind. He exhaled slowly once the door shut, then turned back toward his desk, back toward the work that never seemed to end.

Out in the hallway, Sienna slowed her pace and glanced sideways at Marcus.

”I want to be alone, Marcus,” she said.

”I can’t.” He shook his head firmly. ”The boss, if something happens to you, he will kill me.”

”Well then,” Sienna said, ”keep a very long distance. Follow behind. Come find me when you see I’m actually in danger.”

Marcus stopped walking. He studied her face for a moment, suspicion creeping into his expression.

”What are you thinking?” he asked slowly. ”I don’t like this.”

”Aliya won’t take action if she sees you with me,” Sienna said simply, already stepping ahead of him.

Marcus let out a long breath, rubbing a hand down his face. ”God. The boss is going half crazy trying to protect you from all of this, and you want to go poking the devil to start trouble.”

”Well,” Sienna said, ”we need to expose them. How do we do that if we don’t poke them?”

Marcus sighed, long and heavy, the sound of a man who already knew he’d lost this argument. ”Fine,” he said. ”I’ll be over there. Watching you.”

”Okay,” Sienna said, already turning away, a small satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

She walked into the garden alone.

It was not a random walk, not really, though anyone watching might have thought so, a tired wife stepping out for fresh air, wandering aimlessly between the hedges. But Sienna knew this garden. She had spent enough quiet afternoons here, back when the world still felt simple, cataloguing every flower, every plant, every quiet, useful thing growing beneath the surface of something so ordinary and pretty.

She moved between the beds slowly, her fingers brushing over leaves and petals until she found exactly what she was looking for. She plucked a few, careful, precise, choosing only the ones that were just right not too young, not too old.

She carried them inside, through the side door that led to the smaller kitchen the staff rarely used this time of day.

There, alone, she began to work. She mixed the flowers together, grinding them down slowly with a mortar and pestle she found tucked in a drawer, her movements calm and methodical, like she’d done this a hundred times before, in some other life, in some other version of herself the world had not yet caught up to.

The scent rose up around her, sharp and faintly bitter. That was when she heard it. Aliya’s voice.

Sienna moved fast but smooth, scooping a portion of the ground powder into a small napkin and folding it away before wiping the counter clean with a few quick strokes.

By the time she rinsed her hands under the tap, there was no trace left behind nothing but a faint, bitter smell hanging in the air, easy enough to mistake for herbs.

She filled the kettle, poured herself a cup of tea, and began stirring it slowly, unhurried, when the door opened.

Aliya walked in.

”Hey,” she said, breezing past like she owned the room, which, these days, she practically did. ”Make me a cup of coffee.”

Sienna turned slowly, cup in hand. ”You can make your own coffee,” she said. She took a small sip. ”Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

Aliya let out a short laugh, more mocking than amused. ”I almost forgot you live here,” she said, wandering further into the kitchen, her fingers trailing along the marble counter.

”I thought you’d be hiding in your room all day.” She leaned against the counter, crossing one ankle over the other.

”I’ve been busy, you know. Putting things in order. For Viktor. For our wedding.” A slow, satisfied smile spread across her face.

”Apparently, we don’t even need you to divorce him. My father can simply have the marriage annulled.”

Sienna said nothing.

”I even pity you,” Aliya added, spreading her hands wide across the counter, leaning in slightly, savoring every word.

”Oh, you do,” Sienna said calmly, lifting the cup back toward her lips, her expression unreadable.

”Yes.” Aliya’s smile sharpened. ”You’re here, parading around as Mrs. Kessler, when you hate Viktor. When you’ve always wanted to run from him.” She tilted her head.

”I even heard you tried to kill him once.” A pause, deliberate, cruel. ”And oh... I found your pretty little boyfriend. I invited him over. He’ll be staying for a few days.” She watched Sienna’s face closely, hungry for a reaction. ”What do you think?”

Sienna’s hand froze mid-air. The cup slipped from her fingers and cracked against the counter, tea spilling out in a slow, spreading stain.

Aliya’s smile widened. She leaned further in, palms flat against the marble, close enough now that Sienna could smell her perfume, sickly sweet, cloying.

Sienna’s mind raced, fitting the pieces together fast. Simon. Her ex. Somehow, Aliya had found him, had dragged him into this house, into this war, like a piece on a chessboard she meant to use however she pleased.

Sienna had trained herself, over these past weeks, to stay composed. To keep her face still even when her insides burned. She could do that with Aliya’s threats, with Don Capri’s warnings, even with the memory of that cold, gravel voice on the phone.

But Simon.

Simon was different. Simon was the one name, the one memory, that did not sit quietly wherever she tried to bury it. It was the single button that, once pressed, sent something hot and violent racing straight through her veins.

”What, still keeping it cool?” Aliya said, rubbing it in, her voice dripping with satisfaction.