Chapter 28 Marco
MARCO
Alina storms out of my office, and I walk over and slam my door shut. I'm so worked up—at her, at myself. "FUCK!" I yell out to no one.
I pace the office, swearing under my breath, wanting to reach out and grab something, break something, anything to channel my anger.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
A text flashes across the screen.
Where are you?
It's Gio.
"The fucking office, that's where I am," I say to my phone as I type a response.
Office.
A few moments later, he responds.
Stay there. Need to talk. Important. On my way.
Dammit. Of course, it's something else. First Alina, and now whatever Gio's going to tell me.
I take a seat in my chair and rub my forehead. Maybe Enzo was right. He warned me to just stick to city council. Easy to manage, control, and I could focus on any blonde or brunette that caught my eye.
My intercom rings, and I press the button.
"Yeah."
"Hi, sir, is everything alright?" our receptionist asks. She probably heard the yelling. Hell, I'm sure the whole office did, and then there was my door slamming.
"Yes."
"Okay, I just thought… well, Alina rushed out of here with her things and left her keys on my desk."
This only adds to my anger. I can't believe she'd just… I can't even finish my thoughts.
"Yeah, that's okay. Just, uh, a difference of opinions about campaign direction."
"I see. Well, will she be back?"
I hesitate for a moment. Good question.
"Do me a favor, please. Just leave them on her desk for now."
"Okay, sir."
"Thanks," I say and end it.
I lean back in my chair, contemplating things.
Then, there's a knock at my door.
"Shit. Can't I have just five minutes?" I say under my breath.
The door opens before I can respond.
Gio walks in swiftly and shuts the door.
"What's so urgent?" I ask as Gio sits across from me, his face tense and serious.
"We've got a problem," Gio says, leaning forward in his chair.
I shake my head. "When don't we?" My fight with Alina is still burning in my chest.
"This is different." Gio pulls out his phone, taps a few times, then slides it across my desk. "We've got proof, Marco. Solid proof about Sandra Reeves."
My jaw clenches at the mention of her name. "What about her?" I ask, picking up the phone.
"She's not working alone," Gio says, his voice serious. "The Russian mob is backing her."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stand up abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Keep looking at the photos," Gio says, pointing to his phone.
I look down and scroll through the images of Sandra.
"That's surveillance we got from one of the locations we protect. She's been seen with Vashchenko. Twice in the last week alone."
Vashchenko. That bastard's been a thorn in our side for years, always skirting just outside our reach.
He's the Russian mob's top man in Chicago, handling all their finances—from hits to skyscrapers.
If she's meeting with him, there's no doubt she's getting either intel, money, support—or worse for me, all three.
"Shit," I say as I sit back down. "So Sandra's not just some crusading anti-corruption politician. She's their puppet."
Gio nods. "Yeah. Ain't that something? She's as corrupt as they come."
I can't believe it. That she would have the gall to drag me through the mud with corruption accusations when she's running with the Russians.
"And that's not all, little brother," Gio continues. "I had a meeting with someone—a low-level Russian thug who, after much convincing with an iron bar, says Sandra's been pushing to take you down first, then the rest of us. They've got a plan."
"What kind of plan?" I ask, sliding the phone back to Gio.
"What do the Russians always want? Us gone. The family, the business, everything." Gio's voice is hard. "Sandra's just their pretty face, their legitimate way in. While she screams about corruption and reform, they'll be moving in on our territory."
I think back to Alina's words, her fear when she told me about Sandra's visit. Guilt twists in my gut.
"Does Enzo know?" I ask.
Gio nods. "Yeah. He's calling a family meeting tonight."
I rub my forehead.
"I overreacted," I mutter.
"What?"
"Alina. She came to tell me about Sandra approaching her today. Making threats. Offering her a job." I sigh. "I accused her of considering it. Basically threatened her myself."
Gio raises an eyebrow. "That why she drove away the way she did?"
I nod, shame mixing with anger. "She was trying to be honest with me, and I..." I slam my fist on the desk. "FUCK!"
"Jesus, Marco. Get your head out of your ass. You care about her. However you thought she would originally play into your Senate move, it's changed. She's changed. You've changed."
"I blew it, Gio." The admission costs me something, but it feels right to say it. "You're right. And when she mentioned Sandra, all I could think about was losing her, and I acted like an idiot."
"Look. You know me. My way with the ladies is unorthodox. I can me a little rough around the edges." He smirks. "So I haven’t found someone who can tame me. But you're not a lost cause. With that said though, I want to remind you —"
"I know," I cut him off. "Family first. Always family first."
"Yeah, so whatever this is, table it. If it's serious, you can deal with it later," Gio says firmly. "We need you focused. Win the election, secure the family's position. After that, if you still want to pursue something real with her, do it. But right now, we've got bigger things to deal with."
But even as he says those words, a part of me is already planning how to fix things with Alina. How to make this right.
Because the truth is, if Sandra's met with her, that means the Russians might be watching her, so I have to protect her.
"Well," Gio says as he stands. "I'll see you at Enzo's tonight. Livia's making dinner. Some Victorian thing, I don't know, but Enzo says it's good."
"She could put dog food on a plate and he'd praise it," I say, laughing.
Gio smiles. "True. Big bad Enzo, huh? Still can't believe it sometimes," he says and walks out.
As the door closes behind him, I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. The weight of everything—Sandra, the Russians, Alina—it's all pressing down on me. Two of those things I can't do much about right now, but one thing I can.
I pull out my phone and dial. It rings once before going straight to voicemail. Shit. I try again. Same result.
"Dammit, Alina," I mutter, frustration bubbling up inside me. Has she blocked me? Or just turned off her phone?
I tap out a text message:
Alina, we need to talk. Please call me back.
I stare at the screen for five minutes, willing a response to appear. Nothing. Thoughts start to creep in. What if she's in danger right now because I was too stupid to listen?
I try calling again. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail.
With each failed attempt, my anxiety grows. I should have just listened to her and not lashed out.
I type out another text:
Firefly, please. I'm sorry. I overreacted. There's more going on than you know. We need to talk.
My phone remains silent in my hand. I try calling again, straight to voicemail. This time, I decide to leave a message.
"Alina," I say after the beep. "I reacted badly. There are things you need to know. Just call me back. Please."
As I sit there, staring at my silent phone, I realize just how much Alina has come to mean to me. She's become something so much more, and the thought of losing her—of her being in any kind of danger because of me—is unbearable.
I grip my phone tighter, resisting the urge to throw it against the wall. The Russians are watching her, and she has no idea. She's out there somewhere, probably thinking I'm the biggest threat to her safety, when really, she's entered my world without even knowing it.