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

The bar was dim and half empty the music stayed low enough to talk over but loud enough to hide behind. Aria sat alone at the far end of the counter, a half-empty glass in front of her, another already gone, her fingers turning the rim of the glass around and around in slow, restless circles.

”That’s enough drinking for the night, Miss Aria,” Manuel said, appearing beside her, his eyes moving from her face to the empty glasses lined up in front of her.

”Oh, come on. Drink with me,” Aria said, her words already beginning to slide together at the edges, soft and loose.

”You are very handsome,” she went on, tilting her head to look at him properly, her eyes glassy but focused enough to hold his.

”But please. You work for my uncle, so let’s not pretend you’re all innocent.” Her voice cracked slightly on the next words, something raw slipping through the drunken haze.

”Why won’t you make me feel something? I just want to feel something.” The words came out closer to a cry than a request, her hand gripping the edge of the bar.

”That’s enough,” Manuel said, gently but firmly, reaching for her arm. ”Come on. We’re leaving.”

”Don’t come any closer,” Aria said, pulling her arm back sharply, though her balance wavered as she did it. ”Tell me it’s not like you haven’t done it before.” Her voice rose, sharp and hurt, daring him to argue.

Manuel said nothing. He simply reached past her protest and took the bottle from her hand instead, setting it firmly out of her reach.

”Fine,” Aria said, her chin lifting, a brittle defiance settling over her face. ”If you won’t, I’ll find someone who will. I’m sure there are plenty of guys in this bar I won’t have to beg.” She pushed off her stool, swaying slightly, already scanning the room.

”That’s enough,” Manuel said, and before she could take another step, he bent and lifted her, careful but firm, settling her over his shoulder and turning toward the door, ignoring the small crowd of eyes that turned to watch them go.

Aria was far from quiet about it. She kicked and protested the entire way, her fists thumping lightly against his back, and somewhere in the middle of all that struggling, her stomach turned against her. The motion, the alcohol, all of it rising at once. She felt it coming and could not stop it.

By the time Manuel set her down outside, gently, on her feet, she was already sick, her whole body bent forward, and he stayed close, one hand gathering her hair back and out of the way, holding it there without a word of complaint while she emptied her stomach onto the pavement.

When it was finally over, Manuel shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders anyway, holding her steady against his side as they made their slow way toward the car.

”I’m sorry,” Aria said, her voice small now, quieter, some of the fog beginning to clear from behind her eyes as the cool night air worked its way through her.

She was starting to think again, and with the thinking came something heavier, something that sat low in her chest and did not want to leave.

”No problem,” Manuel said, his eyes and hands staying steady on the road as he drove, the streetlights sliding past the windows in slow, even stripes.

He glanced at her once, briefly, then back to the road. ”You’re hurting,” he said quietly. ”Why don’t you talk to Sienna? She’s your best friend, and she’d do anything for you. That much I already know. She even agreed to take on the council members for you, and she didn’t have to do that at all.” He said it gently, as a friend might, no judgment folded into it.

Aria stared out the window at the passing lights. ”I know that too,” she said, her voice quieter now, stripped of the sharpness from the bar.

”But I’m angry. And as long as that man is alive, my anger isn’t going anywhere.” Her hands twisted together in her lap.

”The things I want to do to him, the man who unfortunately turned out to be my best friend’s father, make me angry just thinking about it. That his blood runs through her veins. My Sienna, carrying his blood.” She gulped, her throat tight.

”I don’t know. With all of it, I can’t kill the don. And if his daughter had been anyone else, I would have gone after him already. I would have taken my revenge.” Tears slid down her cheeks now, quiet and steady.

Manuel could not see her face fully from where he sat, but he could feel the weight of it in her voice, in the silence that followed.

”I understand,” he said. ”But she’s Sienna. She’s nothing like that man. She hasn’t even acknowledged him as her father.”

”I know. I know,” Aria said, wiping at her face with the sleeve of his jacket still wrapped around her.

”I shouldn’t even be thinking like that. But I don’t know. You’re right. I’m probably just drunk.” She let out a small, tired laugh at herself, though it did not quite reach her eyes.

”It’s fine,” Manuel said gently. ”We’re here.”

He pulled the car up in front of the Kessler mansion, the tall gates already swinging open ahead of them.

Aria sat up straighter, smoothing her hair with both hands, blinking the last of the tears away, and by the time the car came to a full stop, she had already arranged her face into something bright and easy, her best smile settling into place like a mask slipped on without thought.

She walked inside. Sienna was in the hall, curled into a chair with her laptop balanced on her knees, the glow of the screen lighting her face. Nearby, Viktor stood with his phone pressed to his ear, speaking low, already making his own arrangements for whatever came next.