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

Marcus found Viktor in the makeshift command room he’d set up near the isolation center, monitors glowing with updates from the growing outbreak.

”Don Konstantin is in town,” Marcus said.

Viktor’s head snapped up. ”That bastard.” His hands curled into fists against the desk. ”I should kill him and take the vaccine straight from his hands.”

It wasn’t that he particularly cared about the people flooding into the isolation wards, the strangers whose names he didn’t know, whose faces blurred together on the news reports playing quietly in the corner.

Maybe some small part of him did, a little. But mostly, it was Sienna. Sienna, who had barely slept in days.

Sienna, who kept walking into that building every morning wrapped in nothing but a thin protective suit and sheer stubborn will, putting herself directly in the path of a virus that had already burned through an entire lab and killed the people who created it.

That was what made his chest tighten. That was what made him want to burn Don Konstantin’s empire to the ground.

He stood, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair.

”Let’s go see him,” he said. ”Maybe we can strike a deal.” He paused at the door, jaw tight. ”Or I buy the vaccine from him outright. Whatever it costs.”

—

Don Konstantin had taken over the top floor of the hotel, settling into the suite with Aliya beside him and Carina standing quietly near the window, her expression carefully neutral.

Diamond necklaces and bracelets lay spread across the table between them, sent up by the finest jewelers across the globe, each piece glittering under the soft light.

Aliya moved from one to the next, holding them up to the mirror, tilting her head this way and that, utterly absorbed in her own reflection.

”Oh, look at this one,” she said, lifting a heavy diamond bracelet, turning it so the light caught every facet. ”I love it, Daddy.”

”Anything for my princess,” Don Konstantin said, watching her with the soft, doting expression of a man determined to make up for decades of lost time.

Carina stood off to the side, arms folded, saying nothing. Years ago, when she was still a child herself, she had met Katalia’s mother once, briefly, in passing long before the woman had vanished from all of their lives.

She remembered her clearly. Soft brown eyes. Blond, long curly hair, thick and heavy. Nothing about her had resembled the golden-haired woman currently admiring herself in the mirror.

But the don had made it very clear, in that quiet, dangerous way of his, that he did not want to hear questions about the matter. Not now. Not ever.

So Carina kept her thoughts locked away, tucked behind a carefully composed face, and said nothing at all.

Downstairs, Viktor and Marcus stepped out of the car and into the hotel lobby. The building itself wasn’t a problem it belonged to Viktor, one of several properties under the Kessler name, and the staff recognized him instantly, waving him through without a second glance.

The problem waited upstairs. A wall of the don’s men stood stationed outside the suite, arms crossed, eyes cold and unwelcoming.

”I’m Viktor Kessler,” Viktor said, stopping in front of the nearest guard. ”I need to have a word with the don.”

The guard looked him over slowly, unimpressed.

”You come here and talk like your name means something,” he said. Then he jerked his chin toward the elevator. ”Get lost. The don is not receiving any visitors.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened. The insult landed harder than he let it show. ”Do you know who he is?” Marcus said, stepping forward, his voice low and dangerous.

”Yes, I do,” the guard said, a smug grin spreading across his face. ”Viktor Kessler. The mafia king of West Philadelphia.” He let the words hang there, savoring them. ”Well, guess what? a new king is in this territory now. Which means you’re no king at all.”

The other guards laughed, low and mocking.

So they knew exactly who he was. That only made it worse. Marcus’s hand moved instinctively toward his phone, already dialing the number for the men who’d arrived in town days earlier, ready to call for backup.

Viktor stopped him with a single look.

”I don’t have time to stand here and trade words with stray dogs,” Viktor said, his voice calm, almost too calm, the kind of stillness that came right before something broke. ”Be useful. Get in there and tell your boss I need a word.” He held the guard’s stare. ”Go. Now.”

The guard’s face flushed red, his hand twitching at his side, clearly one heartbeat away from swinging. Viktor almost hoped he would. He was still owed something for the disrespect shown to him earlier, in his own hotel, and a part of him was more than ready to collect.

But before it could escalate further, the door to the suite opened.

Carina stepped out, having finally reached her limit watching Aliya and the don little bonding over jewelry like nothing outside that room mattered.

She caught sight of the standoff immediately and moved quickly, placing a hand on the guard’s arm before he could do something they’d all regret.

”That’s enough,” she said, then turned to Viktor, studying him for a moment. ”Come. You may come in.”

She glanced past him toward Marcus. ”You stay.”

Viktor looked back at Marcus, who gave a short nod, stepping back to hold his position by the elevator.

Viktor walked past the guard, who was still practically vibrating with barely restrained fury, and followed Carina inside.

Aliya spotted Viktor the moment he stepped through the door, and her lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

”What, you’re here to beg now?” she said with a smile.

Viktor ignored her entirely, his eyes moving past her to the man seated calmly in the armchair by the window.

”Hello, Don Konstantin,” Viktor said, stepping forward. ”Let me introduce myself. I’m Viktor...”

”I know who you are.” The don didn’t bother rising. He simply studied Viktor with slow, unhurried eyes, the same way one might study an insect that had wandered somewhere it didn’t belong.

”Have you divorced your wife yet? Because my patience has run out. I warned you.” His voice stayed level, almost gentle. ”And yet it seems you still make my daughter suffer.”