Page 63 of The Bonventi Rise
I nod, acting as if I'm contemplating.
"All I need is your commitment. Your loyalty," Sandra says, grabbing her phone.
"Shit," she mutters, standing abruptly. She looks back at me, her expression sharp. "Help me rid this state of corruption at every level. Be a good person, Alina. Do what's right."
The irony of her words almost makes me burst out laughing.
"I'm sorry, I have another meeting to attend. You know how it is, running for office," she says, gathering her things. "Think about it. The power, the money I'm offering. Opportunities like this don't come twice." She pauses at the door, her gaze locking with mine. "Get back to me within twenty-four hours."
I'm actually stunned for a moment by her abrupt departure. A few seconds later, the same perky assistant comes in and escorts me out.
When I step outside, the cool air feels sharper than usual. I head back toward my car, but something feels off. I slow my pace, my eyes scanning the street.
Then I see him.
A man in a black suit sits on a bench, wearing dark glasses and smoking a cigarette. He's not on his phone, not waiting for anyone. He's just looking at me. Watching me.
My heartbeat quickens, and I glance away, pretending I haven't noticed him, but every instinct I have is screaming at me to run. I glance back, and his head has turned slightly. Yep, he's definitely watching me.
I reach my car and slide into the driver's seat, locking the doors the second they close.
The man keeps staring at me. As I start the engine, he stands, tosses his cigarette to the ground, and crushes it under his shoe. He stares at me for a moment longer before turning and walking away.
Did Sandra already put someone on me? Or worse—did Marco?
33
MARCO
Ilean back in my chair, looking over the latest polling data Alina placed on my desk before leaving. There's a yellow Post-it note on top that I take off and read.
All positive. Steps in the right direction :) Don't stay too late. See you tonight.
I smile and scan the latest polling numbers. We're leading by a comfortable margin—8 points ahead of Sandra Reeves. That margin was smaller just two weeks ago, so I'll take it.
My eyes drift to the framed photo on my desk—Alina and me at a campaign rally last week. A recent gift from her.
We stand close, her smile radiant, her eyes sparkling with that fierce intelligence that first drew me to her. Christ, she's beautiful. And brilliant. Our current lead? It's all thanks to her strategy.
I look at my watch and realize I am staying too late. It's Friday, so I need to hurry and finish here. Since I bought her the harp,we've made an agreement that she plays for me every Friday evening. These past few weeks, I've really come to love watching her come alive, the way her fingers dance across the strings, her eyes closed, completely lost in the music—it's just so beautiful. It also doesn't hurt that she's done it a few times wearing some very nice lingerie.
Overall, I'm just so relieved we're in the place we are. It's been weeks since I almost lost her. I still wake up sometimes, gripped by the fear that it was all a dream. That she's gone. But then I wake, and she's beside me, or I reach for my phone, and there's always a message from her."Good morning, handsome."Or"Kick some ass today, Senator."And just like that, I can breathe again.
There's no doubt Alina's changed my world.
I finish sending some emails confirming my appearance next week and some scheduled events and shut my computer down. I turn to grab my bag, and I hear some commotion in the hallway.
Suddenly, my office door slams open without warning, startling me from my thoughts. Gio bursts in, his face etched with rage and worry. My body tenses instantly, the politician's mask I wear slipping away. My jaw tightens, shoulders squaring as I rise from my chair. The transition is seamless—Marco the Senator becoming Marco the Bonventi.
"What happened?" I ask, my voice low and serious.
Gio approaches my desk, breathing heavily. "The fucking Russians, Marco. They hit our warehouse on the North Side."
My stomach drops. "How bad?"
"Four million in merchandise, gone," Gio spits out.
"Fuck," I hiss, slamming my fist on the desk. The framed photo of Alina and me rattles. "What about our men?"
