Page 8 of The Bonventi Rise
"Can I speak with you off the record, as they say?" he asks, cutting me off.
I squint. "Okay."
"Tell me something. Do you always play by the rules?" The way he asks it makes it sound like we’re having a different conversation.
"I don't play dirty, if that's what you're implying," I say firmly, though my heart races. "If that's what you're looking for, you should find someone else."
Marco shifts closer, his presence overwhelming my senses. "The Harrison scandal. The way you covered it all up. The way you handled those women, controlled the chaos,” he says and pauses for a moment. "Makes me wonder what other talents you're hiding behind that professional facade."
Marco's words about Harrison hit like a slap across the face. The nerve of him, to imply I'd cover up something that heinous. I feel my anger rise, and I sit up straight, leaning forward to get closer to him. I'm not afraid of his poor attempt to intimidate me.
"He wasn't guilty," I say firmly, my voice edged with frustration. "I exposed their lies, nothing more." The words taste bitter on my tongue, a reminder of late nights and endless phone calls, of threats and counter-threats. "I think we’re done here. My return flight is tomorrow at noon, and I’ll be on it.
Marco stares at me for a long moment, like a predator sizing up its prey. Then his lips curve into a knowing smile. "Watch the 8a.m. morning news tomorrow," he says. "I have a feeling it might change your mind about, well, everything."
What the hell does that mean? Before I can demand an explanation, he's already standing, smoothing his jacket with practiced ease. When he extends his hand, I hate how my body betrays me, reaching for him despite my better judgment. His grip is firm, possessive, his thumb stroking over my knuckles in a way that calms me.
"Think about my offer," he says. "Chicago has so much to offer a woman like you."
I watch as he walks away, leaving me alone with a half-eaten croissant and a cooling cup of coffee. My hands shake as I reach for my water glass, and I hate myself for showing even that much weakness.
The morning light coming in through the restaurant's windows suddenly feels too bright. Other diners chat and laugh, completely oblivious to the fact that I've just been... what? Threatened? Warned? Both?
The waiter approaches, asking if I'd like anything else. I shake my head, my throat too tight for words. The check's already been taken care of, of course. Another power play in this twisted little game.
I need air. I need to think. I need to figure out what the hell he meant about watching the news.
I exit the restaurant and see my driver, who waves to me. On the way back to the Capstone, my mind won’t stop spinning.
Surprises in politics are rarely good news. They mean scandals, leaked documents, skeletons dragged kicking and screaming out of closets. But whose closet? Mine?
No. I shake my head, trying to clear it. This is exactly what he wants: to get in my head. I will not allow myself to get rattled by smooth-talking wannabe senators with more charm than sense.
But even as I think it, I know it’s not true. Marco Bonventi is more than just charm. There’s something else there, something dangerous and alluring all at once. A part of me—a part I’m not proud of—wanted to say yes at that meeting before things went south, just to see what he has up his sleeve.
I practically blink and find myself in front of my hotel, not quite sure how I got here so fast.
One more night. I’ll stay one more night, enjoy the city, have a few drinks at the bar. And tomorrow, I’ll watch the news, and then I’m on that plane.
6
ALINA
My phone buzzes against the bedside table, waking me from sleep. I groan and fumble for it, squinting at the bright screen. Messages pour in, one after another, their urgency making my stomach drop before I even read them. I unlock my phone as I suddenly feel awake and more alert than I've ever been.
Jen:
OMG ARE YOU SEEING THIS?
Sarah:
Girl, TURN THE NEWS ON
Natalie:
Holy shit, Alina, are you going to be okay?
I sit up and look around the room. That cold feeling you get when your nerves kick into high gear runs through me.
