Page 49 of The Bonventi Rise
He's silent for a moment, his fingers playing with the handle of his mug. "I wanted something that was mine," he says finally, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable. "In my family's business, even when I was young, Enzo and Gio always had their thing, always had their position, so to say. Politics was my way of finding my place, of proving that I could be just as useful, just as powerful."
His words strike a chord deep within me. I know that feeling—that desperate need to prove yourself to your family and find your place in the world while doing it.
"Oh, wow, that's actually pretty deep."
"I was inspired by what you told me when I saw you play the harp, about your father. So if you're a little vulnerable with me, the least I can do is show some cracks."
"I like the cracks," I say over my mug as I sip my coffee.
"Yeah, that's part of why winning is so important to me. Proving this is what I do. This is what I'm good at. My skills to the family. And when I wanted to win, I knew I'd need the best, so I called you."
His words make my heart flutter. The way he wanted me specifically, sought me out for my skills—it fills a void I didn't realize was so deep. For once, someone sees my value, appreciates what I can do. Not just tolerates me or compares me to others.
I trace the rim of my coffee mug, gathering courage. "My father..." I start, then pause, swallowing hard. "He never saw methat way. Never saw what I could do. It was always about what I couldn't do, what I wasn't good enough for."
Marco's brown eyes fix on me, intent and focused.
"Every achievement, every victory—it was never enough. When I graduated top of my class, he asked why I didn't pursue law instead. When I told him about managing Governor Harrison's campaign, do you know what he said?" I let out a laugh. "He asked me when I was going to get a real job."
The words taste sour in my mouth, the memory still raw. I can feel the familiar pain in my chest, the desperate yearning for validation that never comes.
"And now, with this engagement, with your campaign..." I trail off, struggling to find the words. "He thinks I'm making a mistake. That I'm throwing my life away for a man he believes to be in the mafia."
Shit, should I have said that? It just came out.
I look up at Marco, searching his face for any sign of judgment or anger, but all I see is, oddly, a hint of sympathy.
I can't take the silence, and I need to move on from that word—mafia.
"I don't know. Every time I achieve something, I'm already looking for the next mountain to climb. Because maybe, just maybe, if I climb high enough, he'll finally look up and see me."
Marco reaches over and squeezes my hand. I didn't realize I was trembling until his grip steadies me.
"You don't have to prove anything to anyone," he says firmly. "Your worth isn't measured by his approval."
"I know," I whisper. "But knowing doesn't make it hurt any less."
Damn it, maybe I needed this talk more than I realized. Now I'm on the verge of tears, and my plan for answers goes right out the window.
Marco's jaw clenches. "Listen to me, Alina," he says, his voice intense. "Any man who can't see what an extraordinary woman you are doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you. You're brilliant and more talented than most. Your father?" He shakes his head. "I'll refrain from my true thoughts out of respect for you, but he's a fool if he doesn't recognize how amazing of a daughter he has."
He reaches across the counter and takes my hand, his grip firm and possessive. "You'll be alright, because you have me now. And while I can't make lesser men understand how great you are, I can promise you'll never have to prove your worth to me. I see you, Alina. All of you."
He stands and checks his phone, his expression softening. "I'm sorry, but I have to get going," he says, clear reluctance in his voice. He rubs his forehead, looking torn. "I wish I could stay and talk more, but there's this meeting."
I close my eyes, forcing the tears to remain where they are. "Yeah, no, I know. I set it up," I saw with a forced smile.
He comes around the counter and pulls me into his arms, kissing me with a fierce tenderness that makes my knees weak. "I'll text you later," he says against my lips, before pulling back to look into my eyes. "You’re mine to protect now, Firefly, so if you ever need anything, just ask," he says heading toward the door.
"Firefly," I say, walking to meet him. "Why do you call me that?"
He hesitates for a moment. "Do you not like it?"
"No, no, that's not it. I like it, actually. A lot, in fact. I just don't know why you call me that."
"When we met, I was so taken back by how brilliant you were. You were like a beacon of light that entered my life. And once I saw that light, I wanted to catch it, to keep it," he says, taking a step toward me. "Have you ever tried to catch fireflies?"
I nod. "Once, I think, when I was little."
