Page 86 of The Bonventi Rise
"Congratulations, Senator Bonventi," someone in the audience yells.
"Thank you," he nods back, and the room cheers again.
"I want to thank everyone who made this night possible," he begins. I lean forward, hanging on his every word. "My family, my team, the people of Chicago who put their trust in me."
He pauses, and for a moment, I find myself praying he'll mention me.
"And my wonderful fiancée, who unfortunately is sick and couldn't be here tonight. We did it, honey," he says, looking at the cameras.
I feel a pain in my core. It’s somehow worse that he mentioned me like that. Especially, with how I know he feels about me right now.
"Together," he continues, "we're going to bring real change to this city, to this state." The crowd erupts in applause.
I reach for my phone, my fingers hovering over Marco's name. What would I even say? Congratulations? I'm sorry? Oh, by the way, I'm pregnant with your child?
I toss the phone aside again, disgusted with myself. I've made enough of a mess already.
On screen, Marco's wrapping up his speech. "This is just the beginning," he says, his voice full of promise. "Thank you, to the great people of this state. Let's get to work!"
The crowd goes wild. I watch as the camera pans out and Enzo, who's actually smiling, Livia, and Gio start to walk into frame, probably to celebrate for the perfect post-candidacy win photo op.
I close my eyes, my head spinning. And then, I hear it.
A faint pop, almost indistinguishable from the sound of champagne corks or celebratory party poppers. My eyes shoot open and focus on Marco. He looks confused for a split second, his hand moving toward his chest.
There's another pop, sharper this time. Marco's body jerks backward.
Then my heart stops, and all hell breaks loose.
The third shot rings clear as day. Blood suddenly appears across Marco's navy suit. His hands come up, red-stained fingers spreading wide as if in disbelief. More shots ring out, echoing through the room. I watch in horror as Marco's body jerks.
The camera shakes violently, the image on my TV screen flickering to static for a heart-stopping moment.
"MARCO!" I scream at the TV, as if he could hear me.
When it comes back, Marco's on the ground, his hands pressed against his chest, blood seeping between his fingers. The microphone picks up the chaos—screams, stampeding feet, someone shouting, "GET DOWN!"
Enzo and Gio sprint toward him, fury and fear etched into their faces. Gio's hand is already at his waist, pulling out a gun.
He fires—once, twice, three times. The camera pans wildly, catching a glimpse of the gunman falling, Gio's bullets finding their mark with deadly accuracy.
"Oh God," I choke out, fumbling for my phone. My fingers shake so badly I can barely dial 911. "Please, please, please..."
The operator answers as the TV shows Enzo kneeling beside Marco, his hands pressed firmly against the wounds. I can see his lips moving, but the audio is drowned out by the screams.
Gio stands over them, his gun still raised, eyes scanning the crowd for any further threats.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"Marco Bonventi," I sob into the phone. "He's been shot. At his victory speech. Please, send help?—"
The image cuts to the news anchor, his face shocked and unsure what to say. "Uh, we're receiving reports of shots fired at Senator-elect Bonventi's victory speech. We're going to take a quick?—"
A commercial for laundry soap flashes across the screen.
"Ma'am, we're already sending units. Are you there?"
"No," I yell into the phone. "Just please hurry. Please don't let him die."
