Page 58 of The Bonventi Rise
The pieces start falling into place. Sandra's sudden rise, her aggressive anti-corruption stance, her fixation on Marco and his family. She's in bed with the Russians. That corrupt bitch. And she had the nerve to approach me like she did.
I grab my phone, my fingers shaking as I pull up Marco's number. The anger I felt before seems trivial now in the face of this revelation. I hit the call button.
"Alina?" Marco's voice comes through, a mix of relief and concern. "Where are you? Are you okay?"
"I, um, the harp. It's so beautiful, Marco,” I manage to say, my voice showing my emotions.
"Oh, so you're at your apartment?" he asks, his voice softer than I've ever heard it.
"Yes." I run my fingers along the strings again, producing a sweet, gentle cascade of notes. "It's a concert grand. You didn't have to. This must have cost?—"
"Don't," he cuts me off. "Did you read my letter?"
"I did." My voice cracks. Damn it. I swallow hard, trying to keep my composure. “And I played it just now. The harp. I haven't played in a bit, and I didn't realize how much I needed to."
"I meant what I wrote," he says. "Wherever you go, I'll make sure it follows. No more borrowed instruments, no more making do with whatever's available. This one is yours."
A fresh wave of tears spills down my cheeks. I don't bother wiping them away. "Thank you," I whisper. "Not just for the harp, but for understanding why it matters."
"I need to see you. Can I come over and hear you play?"
I take a moment to think over his question, but there's no doubt I want to see him. One, because I think I just discovered something big about Sandra, and two—I just want him.
"Yes. There's something I need to talk to you about as well."
"Me too. I'm on my way," Marco says, and I can hear the urgency in his tone. "Give me fifteen minutes."
30
ALINA
Istrum the strings of the harp mindlessly as I think about what to tell Marco when he arrives. I know I need to tell him about the Russian guy—it seems dangerous—so I'll have to explain how I found out. He'll have to understand that I'm on his side.
When the knock comes, I nearly jump out of my skin. I rush to the door, my heart pounding. As soon as I open it, Marco's there, holding a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses wrapped in white paper tied with a matching red bow.
"Here," he says, holding them out. "These are for you."
"Marco, I…" I say as I grab them and instantly inhale their scent. It's what the most perfect rose should smell like.
"Oh my gosh, these smell wonderful," I say, holding out my arm for him to hug me. "I missed you."
"Firefly," he says, hugging me. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have?—"
"Marco, listen. We need to talk about Sandra Reeves," I say, cutting him off.
His expression shifts, concern replacing relief. "What about her?"
I lead him to the couch, and we sit down. I place the roses gently on the table. I'll get water for them later.
I catch a whiff of his cologne, and it makes my body tighten. Focus, Alina.
"So, I called her office," I begin, watching his face carefully, "and?—"
There's a sharp intake of breath from Marco. "Alina, what did you —”
"Let me finish," I cut him off gently. "I called, and they said she was in a meeting with someone named Vashchenko. I did some digging, and, Marco, I think she's working with the Russian mob."
Marco's face goes through a series of emotions. I reach out and grab his hands.
