Page 57 of The Bonventi Rise
I open the door to a dark apartment. I walk inside and shut the door. I hit the light switch with my elbow and freeze. There, in the middle of my living room, bathed in the soft light from above, stands a breathtaking harp. The wood is beautiful, shining rich mahogany, the strings catching the light like strands of gold.
"What the hell?" I whisper, my bag slipping from my shoulder and hitting the floor with a thud.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I walk over to it. My fingers hover over the strings, almost afraid to touch something so perfect. It's at least six feet tall, and I know just by looking at it that it's a concert grand—a very, very expensive one at that.
I look down at the stool right next to it and see an envelope with the wordFireflywritten on it.
As I pick it up, something falls out, landing in my palm with a familiar jingle. My office keys. I stare at them for a moment before opening the envelope and unfolding the letter inside.
Firefly,
I'm sorry.
I overreacted, and I was wrong. The truth is, I can't do this without you—any of it. The campaign, the Senate, none of it matters if you're not by my side. You've become so important to me that I sometimes find it hard to know where I end and you begin.
I saw how the harp at the youth center lit you up from the inside out, and I promise you'll never have to travel without one again. This one is yours. Wherever you go, I will make sure it finds you.
Please come back to me.
Marco
I read the letter twice, then a third time, my vision blurring with tears. The words swim before me as I sink onto the stool. The letter crumples slightly in my grip as tears spill down my cheeks.
I place the letter in my lap, and my hands find the strings. I begin to play, all the pent-up emotions of the past few days pouring out through my fingers. I let the music say everything I can't put into words. The notes fill my apartment—joy, anger, fear, hope—all of it coming through as I cry.
When I finish, an idea pops into my head. This gesture is so amazing. So thoughtful, so sincere. He listens and observes me, and I him, too.
I know Marco wants to win this badly, not just to prove his worth to his family, but to himself. It's a risk, but I think this could secure his win. As they say, fortune favors the bold.
I wipe the tears from my face and find my phone.
I type the number into my phone and hover over the call button, thinking over what I am about to do. I look at the harp and press the button. I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure this man wins.
On the third ring, a cheerful voice answers, "Sandra Reeves' campaign office, how may I help you?"
I clear my throat. "Hi, this is Alina Carter. I need to speak with Ms. Reeves. She's expecting me, I'm sure."
There's a pause. "Please hold."
A minute or two later, just as my mind is telling me to hang up, a different voice gets on the line. "Hello, Ms. Carter! We're very interested in speaking with you. Unfortunately, Ms. Reeves is in a meeting right now with one of her top advisors, Mr. Vashchenko. Can I have her call you back?"
"Oh yes, Mr. Vashchenko," I say, acting like I know who the hell that is. "Sure, please let her know I called."
I hang up and immediately pull out my laptop, opening a new browser tab and typing in the name. My eyes widen as search results populate the screen. Headlines flash before me:
"Yuri Vashchenko Linked to International Crime Syndicate"
"Does Vashchenko Really Run the Russian Mafia?"
And the last one stands out the most, so I click the link:"Will Vashchenko Outbid the Bonventis for New High-rise?"
I scan the article and see a picture of Yuri Vashchenko with a group of other men and another picture of Enzo Bonventispeaking to cameras with Gio in the background. It seems like this Mr. Vashchenko has been going after the same buildings in Chicago that the Bonventis want or wanted.
Okay, so if Marco's family are the Italian mobsters like in the movies, then this Yuri fellow runs what? The Russian mafia? Is that a thing? I mean, everyone associates Italians with the mob, but do other nationalities do it too?
It takes me all of five minutes to learn that basically everyone has a mafia-style crime family, so yeah, the Russian mafia is a thing.
"Shit," I say out loud.
