Page 2 of The Bonventi Rise
ALINA
"To the mastermind who saved Governor Harrison's campaign!" Jen says, raising her martini glass.
I force a smile, but my stomach is in knots. The leather booth feels too warm, too confining, despite the openness of Morton's Bar & Lounge. Ice clinks in my half-empty Old Fashioned as I swirl it, watching the bourbon create a small whirlpool.
"And the way you handled those women?" Natalie says, raising her champagne flute. "Pure genius. Made them look like desperate gold diggers without ever saying the words."
"Those women never knew what hit them," Stacy chimes in, her words slightly slurred. "Pure genius, Alina."
Pure something. I knock back the rest of my drink, letting the burn of alcohol chase away the memory of tear-stained faces at press conferences, of trembling voices silenced by carefully crafted counter-narratives.
"Okay, okay, but seriously," Jen says, "what's next for the birthday girl? Now that you're the most sought-after campaign manager in the US?"
"Yesss," Stacy's drunken voice cuts through. "With a governor's race under your belt. You're on your way, girl."
I shrug, my eyes scanning the bar. It's filled with the usual crowd—politicians, lobbyists, and the occasional journalist looking for their next big scoop.
"Who knows?" I say, keeping my voice light. "There's always another campaign, another race to win."
I come off calm, but inside, my mind is racing. I know exactly where I want to go—straight to the top. Running a presidential campaign, that's the dream. But I'm not there yet. I need more wins, more high-profile victories to cement my reputation.
"Oh, come on," Natalie whines, leaning in closer. The scent of her perfume is almost suffocating. "You must have some idea. You're not the type to rest on your laurels."
I turn to her and smile. "You're right. I'm not. But this last race, having to deal with those lying women, it took a mental toll. I'll figure it out soon. It's only been a few weeks."
"Yeah, I'm sure it was tough. But as they say, politics, right?" Jen says with a supportive smile.
"Politics," I say, nodding.
As my friends dive into a discussion about voter demographics for next year's elections, their voices fade into the background as I check my phone for the hundredth time tonight. I've been checking it obsessively for days. Waiting. Hoping.
But no missed calls. No messages. Nothing. Just like the night of my high school valedictorian speech when I stared into the crowd, searching for his face. My mom had said he got stuck at work. I believed her then. Now, I know better. Work’s always been his excuse. The truth? He just didn’t care enough to show up.
And now, the one person whose approval I've chased my entire life couldn't even be bothered to pick up the phone and congratulate me on the biggest win of my career. And the fucked-up thing is that even if he did call, the conversation would go just like it always does. He'd sigh, interrupt me, and ask why I wasn't doing whatever it was like my brother is doing.
"Earth to Alina!" Stacy waves her hand in front of my face. "Where'd you go?"
I lock my phone, shoving it into my clutch. "Sorry, just checking some emails."
"On your birthday? God, you never stop working." Stacy giggles, but there's an edge of judgment in her voice.
I force another smile, but it feels fake even to me. The truth is, I'd rather focus on work than acknowledge what's consuming my thoughts. At least in my career, I know where I stand. Success is measurable, quantifiable. Unlike family relationships that seem to operate on rules I’ve never quite understood. Maybe that's why I crave power and control to prove I’m worth something. To prove him wrong. Or maybe, just maybe, to finally earn his respect.
"Hey." Natalie's voice softens as she leans in. "You okay? You seem a little off tonight."
"I'm fine." The words come out sharper than intended. I take a breath. "Just tired. The campaign was intense."
"Yeah, I know," Natalie says and smiles. "At least you know there has to be something big on the horizon."
I feel a flicker of genuine excitement at the thought, but even as I imagine it, I can hear my father's voice in my head, dismissive and cold.Don't get ahead of yourself, Alina. You sure you're ready for that?
"Maybe," I say noncommittally, swirling the ice in my glass. "We'll see what opportunities come up."
"Well, I know a rising star is in your future. I can feel it," Jen says, finishing her drink.
I sit forward and finish the rest of mine. I'll be damned if I'm going to let any thoughts get me down. It is my birthday, after all.
"You know what, ladies? Let's dance," I say.
