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

Sienna was left alone in the middle of a hall full of men.

She could feel their eyes. They came from every side, over the rims of glasses and across the tops of plates. Some were curious. Some were hungry. A few were already smiling, sure of themselves, as if she were a door about to be opened.

The Don had stepped away. He stood with Helena at the head of the table, talking to a guest, and he did not look back.

”Shall we dance?”

Shemmel’s voice was low and cold.

It was not a question. He had not smiled when he said it. He said it as a man says things when he has always been obeyed, and before she could answer, his hand had found hers.

His fingers closed around her wrist. They were rough and strong, and they pulled.

She went with him because she had no choice. He led her into the middle of the floor, where the tables had been moved back, and set his other hand on her waist. The band began a slow waltz.

Across the room, Viktor tried to turn.

He got one step. Then the ring tightened, and a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Kalisto’s voice murmured something in his ear. The Don’s friends and rivals closed in from every side, smiling, polite, and impossible to push through. He could see Sienna over their heads, a white shape in a purple man’s arms, and he could do nothing at all.

”So, Miss Katalia.”

Shemmel’s voice was close to her ear.

He danced well. He moved like a man who had learned how and then forgotten how to enjoy it. His hand was firm on her waist, and he kept her very close.

”I heard you were beautiful.”

Sienna said nothing.

”It seems they were underrating you.” His eyes moved over her face with no shame at all. ”You are more breathtaking in person.”

”Thank you,” she said stiffly.

”And I want you.”

She almost stopped moving.

He said it plainly, calmly, as if he were ordering a drink. ”Everything I want, I get. I wanted to tell you that early. It will save us time.”

For a second, Sienna could only stare.

Her body kept moving, one step and then another, because she was in a ballroom and a hundred people were watching. Her smile stayed painted on her mouth. But inside, something very old and very tired had begun to rise.

She had been called a gutter rat. She had been hunted. She had watched a man die today, and been shown a woman on her knees with a cloth. She had a pulse that would not behave, and eyes that did not look right in the mirror, and a father who had just handed her an empire like a wrapped toy.

And now this man, this arrogant stranger with his oiled beard, was telling her she was something he had decided to take.

”I thought I could not be surprised any more tonight,” she said, in a pleasant voice. ”And yet. Look at me. We are not even halfway through.”

His brow creased.

”The stupidity,” she went on softly, ”of your manly ego.”

Then she lowered her voice to a whisper that was almost sweet.

”Go fuck yourself.”

And she brought her heel down.

She aimed it exactly. The pointed tip of her shoe landed on the top of his foot, right on the bones, and she put every ounce of her weight behind it. She felt something crunch.

Shemmel’s face went white.

He let go of her at once. He staggered, and a high, ugly sound tore out of his throat. It was not a man’s growl. It was a whine, thin and sharp, like a kicked dog.

Nobody had ever thought a man built like that could sound like that. A few guests turned their heads. A woman near the wall covered her mouth with her glove.

Sienna stepped back.

She put her hand to her chest and made her face go wide and sorry.

”I’m so sorry,” she said loudly. ”I’m terrible at dancing. Please excuse me.”

She turned and walked away. Her back was straight and her chin was high. She did not look at the man hopping on one foot behind her, and she did not hurry.

At the table, Helena let out a long, slow breath.

She stood with a glass of wine in her hand, and she lifted it to her lips to hide her mouth. Behind the rim, one corner of it curved.

Viktor broke through the ring.

He did it politely. He said a word to one man and put a hand on another’s shoulder, and he slid through a gap between a gold ring and a scarred cheek as if he had been going that way all along. Kalisto’s eyes followed him. The Don was occupied with a guest, and nobody tried to stop him a second time.

He found her near the edge of the floor, by a tall window, with her back to the room.

”Are you okay?”

She was breathing hard. Her hand was pressed flat on the cold glass, and her knuckles were pale. He did not say anything about her face. He only stepped into her space and blocked the room with his shoulders, so that nobody could see.

”I want to kill all of them,” Sienna said.

She said it quietly. She said it without a trace of shame.

Viktor blinked.

Then, to his own surprise, he began to laugh.

It was a short, rough sound, surprised out of him. He pressed his lips together to stop it, but it came again, shaking in his chest. He could not help it. This was the woman who had once cried over a stray dog hit by a car. Who had stayed up all night with a sick neighbor. Who would choose mercy over justice every time, and who, in the cell, had said killing them will not change anything.

And now she stood in a crown with her teeth gritted and said she wanted to kill them all.

It showed him how far she had been pushed. It showed him how thin her patience had become, stretched and stretched until it was almost transparent.

”Yes,” he said softly, still looking down at her. His eyes were warm. ”Let’s kill them all.”

She looked up. For one second, they only stared at each other. Then they both smiled.

It was a small, crooked smile, tired and a little wild, the kind two people share over a bad joke at a funeral. It did not last. But it was theirs, and nobody else in that room could have shared it.