Page 93 of The Bonventi Rise
We all laugh.
"I'm too wild to be tamed," Gio says, brushing his shoulders in a playful manner.
"We'll see about that," Livia says.
Alina squeezes my hand, and I catch her wiping away tears with her free hand. The sight of her now, knowing she's carrying my child, fills me with a fierce protectiveness I've never experienced before.
"Alright, alright," Enzo says, his usually stern face softened by a rare smile. "We're on our way out. Let's give the happy couple some space. Marco needs his rest."
They file out, Gio pausing at the door. "I'm glad you're okay, brother."
I nod, and he shuts the door.
I turn back to Alina. "Come lay next to me," I say, carefully shifting to make space beside me on the bed.
"Marco, I don't want to hurt you?—"
"You won't. Please."
She carefully settles beside me, and I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close despite the dull ache in my chest.
"Nothing about us has been straightforward, Firefly. But it's been perfect anyway."
She laughs softly. "Even the getting shot part?"
"Well, maybe not that," I admit, pressing a kiss to her temple. "But everything else? The campaign, you, this baby? I wouldn't change any of it."
We lie there in comfortable silence, my hand finding its way to her still-flat stomach. In this quiet moment, everything else falls away—the Russians, Sandra, all of it. I'll focus on my revenge later. Right now, it's just us and the miraculous future we've created together.
EPILOGUE
As the limousine drives through the bustling streets of Chicago, I can't help but steal glances at Marco. I'm still amazed at how far he's come since the shooting. The doctors said his recovery would take months, but here he is, almost back to his old self after just eight weeks.
"What's going on in that head of yours, Firefly?" Marco asks, his eyes meeting mine.
I feel a blush creep up my neck. "Just admiring the view," I quip, trying to cover my sentimentality with humor. But the truth is, I can't stop thinking about how lucky I am. If one of those bullets were a few inches to the left, he wouldn't be here with me.
The past few months have been a whirlwind of hospital visits, physical therapy sessions, and late-night conversations filled with fears and hopes for our future. I've watched Marco fight through the pain, pushing himself harder each day to regain his strength. His determination has been awe-inspiring, and I've fallen in love with him all over again.
I continue to stare at him.
"You're doing it again," Marco laughs, reaching over to squeeze my hand.
"Sorry," I say, not sorry at all. "I just—I'm so grateful you're?—"
"Back to being your incredibly handsome, powerful fiancé?"
I laugh, rolling my eyes. "Yes, exactly."
The car slows, and I realize we've arrived at our destination. As we pull up to the curb, I notice a small crowd gathered outside a new modern-looking building. There are cameras, reporters, and—is that someone holding an oversized pair of scissors?
"Marco," I start, confusion coloring my voice, "what's going on? You didn't mention any press events today."
He smiles. "You'll see," he says cryptically, as the driver opens our door.
As I step onto the sidewalk, there's a buzz of excitement in the air. People are murmuring, cameras are flashing, and kids are running around. I scan the crowd, trying to make sense of everything.
"Senator Bonventi!" a reporter calls out, and I'm reminded once again of Marco's new title.
