Chapter 33 Marco
MARCO
Ilean back in my chair, looking over the latest polling data Alina placed on my desk before leaving. There's a yellow Post-it note on top that I take off and read.
All positive. Steps in the right direction :) Don't stay too late. See you tonight.
My eyes drift to the framed photo on my desk—Alina and me at a campaign rally last week. A recent gift from her.
We stand close, her smile radiant, her eyes sparkling with that fierce intelligence that first drew me to her. Christ, she's beautiful. And brilliant. Our current lead? It's all thanks to her strategy.
I look at my watch and realize I am staying too late.
It's Friday, so I need to hurry and finish here.
Since I bought her the harp, we've made an agreement that she plays for me every Friday evening.
These past few weeks, I've really come to love watching her come alive, the way her fingers dance across the strings, her eyes closed, completely lost in the music—it's just so beautiful.
It also doesn't hurt that she's done it a few times wearing some very nice lingerie.
Overall, I'm just so relieved we're in the place we are.
It's been weeks since I almost lost her.
I still wake up sometimes, gripped by the fear that it was all a dream.
That she's gone. But then I wake, and she's beside me, or I reach for my phone, and there's always a message from her.
"Good morning, handsome." Or "Kick some ass today, Senator.
" And just like that, I can breathe again.
There's no doubt Alina's changed my world.
I finish sending some emails confirming my appearance next week and some scheduled events and shut my computer down. I turn to grab my bag, and I hear some commotion in the hallway.
Suddenly, my office door slams open without warning, startling me from my thoughts.
Gio bursts in, his face etched with rage and worry.
My body tenses instantly, the politician's mask I wear slipping away.
My jaw tightens, shoulders squaring as I rise from my chair.
The transition is seamless—Marco the Senator becoming Marco the Bonventi.
"What happened?" I ask, my voice low and serious.
Gio approaches my desk, breathing heavily. "The fucking Russians, Marco. They hit our warehouse on the North Side."
My stomach drops. "How bad?"
"Four million in merchandise, gone," Gio spits out.
"Fuck," I hiss, slamming my fist on the desk. The framed photo of Alina and me rattles. "What about our men?"
"Mikey and Tony," Gio's voice is firm. "They're critical. Nick's at the hospital. Doctors don't know if they'll make it through the night. Three others injured too, but they'll live."
My hands curl into fists. Mikey's been with us a long time. Tony just had his first baby a few months ago. The image of his wife holding their newborn at the baptism flashes through my mind.
"Those motherfuckers," I snarl.
Gio's pacing now. "It's a clear message. They're hitting us from both sides now. Sandra in public, their soldiers on the street."
I rub my forehead. This is what we've been afraid of, what we've been preparing for. But it still feels like being hit by a train.
"We need to retaliate," Gio yells. "Hit them back twice as hard. Show them we're not to be fucked with."
I hold up a hand, quieting him. "We will. But we need to be smart about this. We can't afford any mistakes, not with the election so close. Have you spoken with Enzo?"
Gio shakes his head. "No, I came here first to yell it out."
"Okay, get on the phone with him now."
Gio pulls out his phone and makes the call.
As he does, I reach for my phone, my finger quickly finding Alina. With everything that's happening, I just want to make sure—no, I can't even think it. I hit the call button and bring the phone to my ear. It rings but goes to voicemail.
"Shit," I mutter and end the call.
I look up at Gio, and he's speaking with Enzo, telling him exactly what he told me.
I shoot off a quick text. Something that won't worry her but will make her respond.
Hey, what's for dinner again?
I send it and grip my phone. Gio's looking at me, nodding, agreeing with whatever Enzo is saying.
I glance down at my phone—no reply.
My heightened nerves are starting to spill over into why she's not responding.
Gio hangs up his phone. "Zo wants to get the capos together now."
I nod at Gio, my mind already racing through potential scenarios. "Good, that's good."
I look down at my phone again—no Alina.
"What do we know about their operations?" I ask Gio, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "Any weak points we can exploit?"
Gio shakes his head. "Yeah, I'll go over it with Zo, but we've got intel on a shipment coming in Sunday night. High-value stuff. Could cripple their distribution network if we intercept it."
I lean back in my chair, weighing our options. "Okay, I like that. It's a justified response without upping the ante. I just need to figure out if this is going to coincide with anything Sandra's camp throws at me."
My phone buzzes, and I snatch it up, hoping it's Alina. It's not. Just a campaign update. Fuck.
I try calling her again, but it goes straight to voicemail. Panic starts to claw at my chest, but I force it down. I don't want to overreact.
"I want to come—" I start, but Gio interrupts.
"No, no. Leave it to me, Marco. You've got too much at stake with the election. We need to keep your hands clean. They may be doing this to get you involved. Really give Sandra something to use against you. We can't risk it."
Damn, he's right.
"Yeah, shit, I hate being sidelined like this."
Gio laughs. "When you're a Senator, you'll feel differently."
I laugh. "You're probably right."
Gio grins, a predator ready for the hunt. "Don't worry, little brother. I've got this. You focus on winning that election. We'll handle the rest."
Gio turns to leave, and my thoughts drift back to Alina. Where the hell is she? Why isn't she answering? The panic I've been suppressing threatens to overwhelm me.
"Keep me posted. Updates on things," I say.
Gio nods. "I'll call you."
When he leaves, I try Alina one more time. No answer. Okay, something's not right. She's never not answered like this. I stand and toss some papers into my bag.
My phone buzzes against the desk, and relief floods my system when I see Alina's name flash across the screen. Thank Christ. The knot in my chest loosens slightly as I swipe to unlock.
But the moment I read the two words glowing on my screen, that relief transforms into pure, primal terror.
Please help
The words burn into my retinas. My hands start to shake, and for a moment, I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't process anything beyond the words screaming at me from the screen.
"No, no, no," I say.
The rage hits me then, a tsunami of violent fury that makes my vision blur red. If they've touched her, if they've hurt one hair on her head...
I take deep breaths, trying to contain the murderous thoughts flooding my mind. But I can't stop seeing it—Alina in danger, Alina hurt, Alina scared.
My Firefly.
If anything happens to her, I will burn this whole fucking city to the ground if that's what it takes. There won't be a Russian left alive in Chicago by morning.