Page 62 of The Bonventi Rise
"I'm listening," I say cautiously to buy me more time to think.
Sandra's voice drips with what I now know is a false sweetness. "I'm offering you a chance to work with me, Alina. We could keep it discreet if you want to maintain your little engagement. I'm not interested in meddling with that little charade."
The condescension in her tone makes my blood boil. But I force myself to stay calm, to think strategically. And while the engagement did start out as a charade, I think it's beyond that now, but she doesn't need to know that. Heck, I know she's even unsure about the entire thing since she keeps bringing it up to see my reaction. I won't give her an inch.
But this is a chance to get close, to gather intel that could help Marco, and if I can do anything to help that man, I'm going to do it.
"I appreciate the offer," I say slowly. "But I'd need to know more before making any decisions. Perhaps we could meet?"
"Excellent," Sandra replies, sounding smug. "Be at my headquarters in an hour. We have much to discuss."
Like how you’re actually a corrupt bitch working for the Russian Mafia? I think to myself.
God, I wish I could say that to her.
The line goes dead. I stare at my phone, heart pounding.
What's my end game?
I'm not 100% sure, but I'm protecting Marco. I'm fighting for us, and that's all that matters.
I swing my legs out of bed, wincing at the delicious soreness. As I head for my closet, my mind is already plotting. One meeting. Just enough to gain something, anything, that could give us an edge.
The drive to Sandra's headquarters gives me time to think. What exactly am I hoping to accomplish here? Information, yes. But what kind? And how far am I willing to go to get it?
I park a block away and feel the guilt take hold as I walk toward her office.
Sometimes it's better to ask for forgiveness. This is for us. This is for us, I keep saying.
Sandra's headquarters is housed in a sleek, modern building—all glass and chrome. Very different from the charm of Marco's campaign office. I'm greeted by an impossibly perky receptionist who leads me straight to Sandra's office.
"Alina!" Sandra rises from behind her massive desk, arms open like we're old friends. "I'm so glad you came."
She's wearing a red Armani suit and enough diamonds to fund a small country. I wonder how much of her outfit was bought with Russian blood money.
"Thank you for the invitation," I say, taking the offered seat. "I have to admit, I'm curious about your proposition."
Sandra's smile—that icky political smile she has. "Of course you are, dear. You're far too smart to hitch your wagon to a sinking ship like Marco Bonventi."
My hands clench in my lap, but I keep my face neutral. "Oh, is that what you think I've done?"
"Oh, honey." She leans forward. "We both know exactly what kind of man Marco is. Surely you've noticed the inconsistencies? And how the Bonventis have their fingers in every dirty deal in Chicago."
"I notice a lot of things," I say carefully, shifting in my chair, the leather creaking beneath me. "Like how quickly you've managed to fund your campaign and gather poll points. Very impressive. Outside influences, is what I'm hearing."
Her smile freezes for just a fraction of a second. If I hadn't been watching for it, I would have missed it.
Got you.
"I don't know what you're implying," she says, her voice carrying an edge now I hadn't heard before. "But I'm offering you a chance to be on the right side of history. To expose the corruption that's rotting this city from the inside out. The only real question here is—are you ready to do something about it?"
I maintain my silence, watching Sandra closely.
She leans back in her chair, perfectly manicured nails drumming against the glass surface of her desk. "You'd have full control of the campaign, of course. Complete autonomy."
I twist my engagement ring absentmindedly, thinking of Marco—a subconscious reminder of where my loyalties truly lie.
"And whatever Marco's paying you?" She laughs lightly. "I'll double it. No questions asked."
