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

Aliya stood in front of the mirror, turning her head slightly from side to side, admiring the fresh cut of her hair.

Gold now, instead of the dark brown it used to be. Shorter too, falling just past her shoulders in soft waves that curled the way Sienna’s did. She had somehow wanted to look like Sienna; maybe Viktor would look at her then. She would never admit that out loud.

”You look beautiful, my dear,” Don Capri said from the doorway, watching her with the kind of pride a man might have for something he’d built himself.

”You should call Don Konstantin,” he added, stepping further into the room. ”Ask him to send more money. More men. I hear Viktor is distracted right now. This is the time to get rid of them.”

Aliya’s reflection smiled back at her, slow and satisfied.

”I want Viktor, Dad,” she said. ”Not a war I don’t need to fight.” She turned slightly, admiring the way the new dress fit her. ”And it seems luck is already on my side. That little gutter rat is working with the government now. I hope she catches the virus die with her sick little friend.” She shrugged one shoulder, light and careless.

”I don’t even need to do anything at all. Viktor will be all mine soon enough.”

”Well,” Elena said from the armchair near the window, not looking up from her nails, ”let’s hope Viktor doesn’t get infected and die along with them.”

Aliya shot her an irritated look.

Marcel said nothing. He sat near the window, staring out at nothing in particular, his jaw tight.

”Marcel,” Aliya said, catching the silence, a teasing edge creeping into her voice. ”Don’t tell me you’re worried about Sienna.”

”This is serious,” Marcel said, finally turning to look at her. ”It’s a state emergency. How are none of you worried at all? Anyone could get infected.”

”Well,” Aliya said, waving a hand dismissively, ”we have the money to buy the best medicine. Even a vaccine, if it comes to that. So why worry?”

She turned back to the mirror, tossing her new golden curls over one shoulder. That was when the door opened.

Don Konstantin walked in, dressed head to toe in white, Carina close behind him, flanked by several more guards, all in the same pale, immaculate white that seemed to follow him everywhere he went.

The room went still.

Don Capri froze mid-motion, his head dipping low in an instinctive, practiced bow. Aliya and Marcel both turned, confusion flickering across their faces for a brief second, neither of them recognizing the man standing in the doorway.

But Elena did. And so, clearly, did Don Capri.

”Aliya,” Don Capri stammered, his voice suddenly smaller than it had been moments ago. ”I mean, Katalia. That is your father. Don Konstantin.”

Aliya’s eyes widened. Whatever surprise flickered behind them vanished almost instantly, replaced by something practiced, something sweet.

”Daddy!” she said, crossing the room quickly, her voice warm and light. ”You came without telling me? You should have called. I would have picked you up from the airport myself.”

”Come here,” Don Konstantin said, opening his arms. ”Hug your father. I really can’t believe it’s you.”

Aliya ran into his embrace, and for a moment he simply held her, one hand resting against the back of her head.

”Let me look at you,” he said finally, pulling back, studying her face carefully.

The hair threw him for a second. In every photograph he’d kept of his daughter, buried away in drawers he rarely opened anymore, she had long curly blond hair. But this... this shorter, golden version standing in front of him carried something else in her features now, nothing that reminded him of the woman he had loved his entire life as little Kat did.

”Let me see the necklace,” he said.

Aliya reached beneath the collar of her dress and pulled it free, holding it out for him. He took it gently between his fingers, turning it over, feeling the familiar weight of it.

The same one.

”Oh, my Kat,” he murmured, his voice catching, something wet gathering at the corners of his eyes. ”You must have suffered so much.”

”Daddy,” Aliya said softly, ”finally we meet. Now that you’re here, no one will dare bully me again.”

She hugged him tighter.

”Of course,” he said, his hand smoothing over her hair. ”I will give you anything, my little princess. Everything you want is yours.”

”I want nothing, Daddy,” she said, letting her voice tremble slightly, letting a few careful tears slip down her cheeks.

”Having you is all I want now. Viktor and that wife of his, they bullied me. They forced us out of the mansion. Viktor almost killed me, and my only fault was loving him deeply, Daddy.” She looked up at him, wide-eyed. ”Am I wrong? He is my betrothed, after all.”

Don Konstantin’s expression darkened.

”Daddy is here now,” he said. ”He will take care of everything.” He paused, studying her face again. ”You truly don’t remember your childhood?”

Aliya bit her lip, letting her eyes fall, shaking her head slowly, carefully.

”You must have been so traumatized.” His voice softened with guilt. ”I’m so sorry it took me this long to find you, my princess.”

”Viktor will be yours,” he said, resolve hardening in his tone. ”And I will get rid of that wife of his.”

Aliya smiled.

Across the room, Marcel’s jaw tightened, something bitter and helpless passing behind his eyes. Don Capri and Elena, on the other hand, looked positively gleeful with the kingpin himself standing in their living room now, fully invested in his daughter’s cause, Viktor’s fate seemed all but sealed.

The don had never laid eyes on Sienna. He didn’t care to. As far as he was concerned, she was nothing more than an obstacle standing in his daughter’s way, and obstacles, in his experience, were simply things that needed removing.

”You might not even need to lift a finger, Daddy,” Aliya said, a satisfied little smile curling at her lips. ”She’s working at the isolation center right now. Caring for people infected with that strange virus.”

Don Konstantin’s smile widened.

”Good,” he said.