Page 56 of The Bonventi Rise
"Yeah, so whatever this is, table it. If it's serious, you can deal with it later," Gio says firmly. "We need you focused. Win the election, secure the family's position. After that, if you still want to pursue something real with her, do it. But right now, we've got bigger things to deal with."
But even as he says those words, a part of me is already planning how to fix things with Alina. How to make this right.
Because the truth is, if Sandra's met with her, that means the Russians might be watching her, so I have to protect her.
"Well," Gio says as he stands. "I'll see you at Enzo's tonight. Livia's making dinner. Some Victorian thing, I don't know, but Enzo says it's good."
"She could put dog food on a plate and he'd praise it," I say, laughing.
Gio smiles. "True. Big bad Enzo, huh? Still can't believe it sometimes," he says and walks out.
As the door closes behind him, I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. The weight of everything—Sandra, the Russians, Alina—it's all pressing down on me. Two of those things I can't do much about right now, but one thing I can.
I pull out my phone and dial. It rings once before going straight to voicemail. Shit. I try again. Same result.
"Dammit, Alina," I mutter, frustration bubbling up inside me. Has she blocked me? Or just turned off her phone?
I tap out a text message:
Alina, we need to talk. Please call me back.
I stare at the screen for five minutes, willing a response to appear. Nothing. Thoughts start to creep in. What if she's in danger right now because I was too stupid to listen?
I try calling again. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail.
With each failed attempt, my anxiety grows. I should have just listened to her and not lashed out.
I type out another text:
Firefly, please. I'm sorry. I overreacted. There's more going on than you know. We need to talk.
My phone remains silent in my hand. I try calling again, straight to voicemail. This time, I decide to leave a message.
"Alina," I say after the beep. "I reacted badly. There are things you need to know. Just call me back. Please."
As I sit there, staring at my silent phone, I realize just how much Alina has come to mean to me. She's become something so much more, and the thought of losing her—of her being in any kind of danger because of me—is unbearable.
I grip my phone tighter, resisting the urge to throw it against the wall. The Russians are watching her, and she has no idea. She's out there somewhere, probably thinking I'm the biggest threat to her safety, when really, she's entered my world without even knowing it.
29
ALINA
Ipull into my parking spot, cutting the engine with a sigh. The weekend with Natalie was exactly what I needed. It was a whirlwind of champagne, takeout, rom-coms, and girl talk. Of course, that included boys, and I'm sure I sounded a bit crazy—going from "Fuck Marco" to "Oh, damn, I kind of miss him," and back to being mad.
With the weekend over and Natalie safely on her flight back to D.C., reality crashes back in as I grab my overnight bag from the passenger seat.
I walk into the elevator and press my floor.
As it takes me up, I fish my phone out of my purse. Marco's texts glare up at me, a digital reminder of the shitstorm I left behind. I scroll through them again, my jaw clenching.
Alina, we need to talk. Please call me back.
Firefly, please. I'm sorry. I overreacted. There's more going on than you know. We need to talk.
Plus that voicemail I still haven't listened to. I have that slight Friday voice that says screw his apologies and screw whatever "more" is going on, but the calmer, post-weekend voice is starting to win now, and I know that anger won't serve me in dealing with things.
As I step off the elevator, I fumble with my keys, my mind still churning over Marco's messages.
