Page 78 of The Bonventi Rise
I turn to look at Marco and realize how different he looks when he sleeps. The hard edges of my powerful mafia prince soften, making him appear almost vulnerable. His dark hair is messy, falling across his forehead, and his full lips are slightly parted. The sheet has slipped down to his waist, exposing his muscular chest rising and falling with each deep breath.
I lean down, pressing my lips softly against his chest, right over his heart. His skin is warm, and I can feel his steady heartbeat beneath my kiss. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with his unique scent fills my senses.
Carefully, I slip out of bed, trying not to wake him. As I stand, I wince slightly at the soreness between my legs. The plush carpet muffles my footsteps as I tighten my robe and slip out into the living room.
I step into the kitchen and rummage through the drawers and cabinets until I find what I'm looking for—a coffee pot and some pre-packaged grounds. It's not the stuff I'm used to, but right now, I need coffee desperately, so caffeine is caffeine.
I set up the coffee maker, pour the grounds in, add water, and flip the switch. The machine gurgles to life, and soon the rich aroma of brewing coffee fills the air.
I grab two mugs from the cabinet, setting them on the counter. One for me, one for Marco. Marco. My stomach flips at the thought of him, still asleep in the other room. My protector, my lover, and now, partner in crime—both literally and figuratively, I suppose.
The coffee finishes brewing, and I pour myself a cup. The steam rises as I make my way to the island and sit on one of the stools, cradling the warm mug in my hands.
As I take my first sip, the rich bitterness floods my mouth. It's not great coffee, but it's hot and strong, and that's all that matters right now. I close my eyes, and two thoughts pop into my head. First, despite all that's happened, even now, after having slept on it, the thought of leaving Marco never crosses my mind. I mean, I could high-tail it out of here—no one's stopping me. But I know I can't leave because I've tasted a kind of love I never knew existed, and I'm not sure I can live without it now. Marco is my person. Whether he's a mobster, senator, or carpet cleaner, he's mine, and if he's in my life, then I'm complete.
The second thought that pops into my head, the one that brings some anger from deep within, is Sandra Reeves.
Just thinking her name makes my blood boil. That sanctimonious bitch. Every interaction with her plays back in my mind like a highlight reel of manipulation.
I see her perfectly styled hair, that practiced political smile, the way she'd lean during our meetings as if we were girlfriends sharing secrets. But her eyes—there was always something cold there, calculating, like a snake sizing up its prey.
She'd tried to lure me away from Marco, dangling promises of power and prestige like a carrot on a stick. But I saw right through her act.
My stomach churns as I realize how close I came to death because I'd ghosted her. After our third meeting, when I'd seen through her façade and knew I couldn't get any information for us without risking too much, I'd stopped responding to her calls and messages. I couldn't stomach another moment of her fake concern and thinly veiled threats disguised as friendly warnings.
I mean, did she really think I'd leave Marco for her? I laugh and take a sip of coffee, as if she ever had a chance.
It's clear to me now that I've had time to think. Sandra has to be part of this Russian mess. She's in bed with them, and now that I won't be a part of her vision, she wants me out of the picture. Permanently.
My fingers drum against the countertop as I think. Marco must have—or be able to get—proof that Sandra is connected with the Russians. With elections months away, now would be the perfect time to leak that information to the press. Her whole anti-corruption platform would go right out the window.
If she wants to play hardball, let's fucking play hardball.
I suddenly feel energized, and I'm not sure if it's the coffee or my mind running wild with possibilities. We could destroy her, Marco and I. We could crush her by exposing her own hypocrisy. She'd be nothing; her campaign would fall apart at the seams, and she'd be done for.
"Trying to take me out?" I say to the empty kitchen. "Let's see how you handle a taste of your own medicine, Sandra."
I can almost see it now—the headlines, the shocked faces of her supporters, the fall from grace. It would be glorious. The people would learn she's exactly what she vows to rid the city of.
Damn, I'm pumped. I need to talk to Marco. We need to plan, to strategize. Together, we'll bring Sandra down and secure his victory.
A movement from the bedroom catches my attention. Marco's awake. Perfect timing.
The sound of his footsteps draws me from my scheming. My body instantly responds to his presence as he enters the kitchen, wearing only his boxer briefs. Even after everything we've shared, the sight of his muscled chest and arms still makes my mouth go dry. Memories of last night flash through my mind, and I'm happy to see him.
He moves behind me, and his lips brush against my neck before he places a soft kiss there that sends electricity through me. My eyes flutter closed for a moment, savoring the contact.
"Morning, beautiful," he says in my ear.
"Morning, handsome," I say with a smile.
He pours himself a cup of coffee and sits across from me at the island. I can feel his sharp eyes scanning my face, studying me intently.
"You've been thinking," he says, a hint of curiosity in his tone. He knows me too well already.
I take a sip of my coffee, buying myself a moment to gather my thoughts. "Sandra needs to go down," I say, my voice hard with determination. "And I don't mean just losing the election. I mean completely destroyed."
Marco flashes a dangerous smile, one that I now know isn't just a politician's smile, but one from a man capable of making problems disappear. "Tell me what's on your mind, Firefly."
