3. Vegarro “Vega” Moretti
VEGARRO “VEGA” MORETTI
Music flowed through the private room of the cigar bar at a level that allowed conversation, while smoke floated beneath the dim lights. Bottles covered the tables between leather chairs. Nobody was discussing business. For once, we were simply kicking it on a Friday night.
Wise and Prodigy occupied the couch across from me. Lux and Lowe argued over whether Lowe had cheated during the last hand of spades. Legend, Saint, and Icon watched the spades game closely because they had placed heavy bets on it.
Knox sat beside me with a cigar between his fingers. He was Prodigy’s best friend since high school. They met after Prodigy broke a nigga’s nose for stealing Knox’s phone from his locker. They had been locked in ever since. We had also been Knox’s supplier for years.
Knox made money, stayed out of the way, and never created the kind of problems that made friendship and business impossible to mix. We trusted him, which was not something we said lightly about anybody.
Across from us, Prodigy stared into his glass like Arielle might climb out of it and come back to him.
Since Big A linked us with the Cartiers, the Street Kings and Cartiers had formed a bond beyond business.
We had mad respect for them. Our organization had been eating differently since they agreed to be our connect.
The prices were better, the product was purer, and the money stretched further than it ever had when we were buying from smaller distributors who cut everything twice and still wanted top dollar.
The Street Kings had been working our way up since we were teenagers.
Now our name meant something. Niggas knew us and respected us.
We weren’t on the Cartiers’ level yet, not with estates, private gates, and millions in the bank, but we were more than comfortable.
We invested in legal businesses, buildings, clubs, trucking, properties, and anything else that could wash street profit into clean money.
The streets had made us money, but the legitimate shit was about to make us rich niggas.
“Bro, are you really pouting?” I taunted Prodigy.
He cut his eyes at me. “Fottiti. (Fuck you.)”
I laughed and lifted my glass. “You knew Arielle was ready for something real. How long you thought she was going to wait?”
“I knew she caught feelings,” Prodigy corrected. “I didn’t know she was going to disappear.”
“You told her you weren’t looking for anything serious,” Knox reminded him.
“Exactly.”
“And then kept treating her like your woman.”
Prodigy frowned. “I treated her like a real nigga is supposed to treat a woman he’s fucking.”
“That was the problem,” Wise added. “You took her places, bought her shit, spent nights at her house, and acted territorial whenever another man looked at her. Then you kept reminding her y’all weren’t together.”
“I never lied to her.”
I understood that part. My life worked because I kept it honest. Women came and went without complication.
I treated them well, made sure they enjoyed themselves, and never had them questioning whether I respected them.
What I did not do was promise commitment.
No girlfriend title. No discussions about forever.
No pretending I was one good woman away from suddenly wanting marriage, matching pajamas, and shared locations.
I enjoyed my life exactly as it was. A woman catching feelings after I had clearly explained my intentions was unfortunate, but it did not make me responsible for creating a future I never offered.
But Prodigy clearly wanted more from Arielle that he wasn’t willing to admit.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t be pouting about her being gone.
“That’s how it should be,” I said. “Tell them the truth from the beginning. What happens after that is on them.”
Knox turned toward me. “That sounds good until she stops answering your calls.”
I looked at him. “Who stopped answering mine?”
He grinned around his cigar. “Nobody yet. But the day one does, your ass will be looking just like Prodigy, staring into a drink and pretending you don’t care.”
“That’ll never happen.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
Prodigy pointed at me. “That’s what I said.”
“Your mistake was acting like you hadn’t fallen for Arielle too.”
Knox laughed. “There it is.”
Prodigy’s eyes narrowed. “There what is?”
“You caught feelings too. That’s why you’re mad she ghosted you.”
“I’m mad because it’s disrespectful.”
“Bullshit,” Wise chuckled. “If you didn’t care, you would’ve replaced her already.”
Prodigy threw back the rest of his drink.
Legend walked up before anybody could press him further.
I pointed my cigar at him. “How’s your psych patient?”
“Don’t talk about my wife, nigga.” Legend gave me the middle finger, and the room started cracking up.
Aria had been released from the psychiatric hospital earlier that day after becoming convinced she was pregnant.
Aria had become so overwhelmed and enraged by the thought of being pregnant for a sixth time that she went to the mental hospital and put a gun to her head.
They admitted her on a three-day psychiatric hold, but come to find out, the pregnancy test was wrong.
“What made her sick in the first place?” I asked. “What made her think she was pregnant?”
“Some stomach virus,” Legend answered as he claimed an empty chair.
Saint approached before I could respond and held his phone out to Legend.
As Legend watched the screen, I leaned over far enough to see a news clip playing. Police stood along an empty lot while a reporter discussed a body that had been recovered from a burning vehicle.
The banner beneath the video displayed Harold Langford’s name.
I looked from the phone to Saint and Legend.
Saint shrugged. “Had to tie up loose ends.” Saint took his phone back.
Legend stared at him for another second before shaking his head. “You could’ve told me and Icon you were going to do that.”
Saint grinned. “And ruin the surprise?” Then he dropped into a chair and reached for the bottle.
“Speaking of bodies turning up,” Wise said, “Donovan Granger was pulled from the lake a few days ago.”
Donovan Granger had been the second-in-command of the Granger Outfit, one of the most established crews in Chicago.
They controlled a large amount of territory in multiple cities, legitimate businesses, politicians, and enough law enforcement connections to keep Roman out of prison, despite being investigated multiple times.
The news called Roman and Donovan reputable businessmen. In the streets, everybody knew what they really were, though.
“Somebody made a statement,” Prodigy spoke on Donovan’s murder.
Lux leaned forward. “Question is who had the balls to make it.”
“And whether they’re ready for what comes next,” Lowe added.
Roman Granger wasn’t going to grieve quietly. Donovan had been his son, heir, and second-in-command. Whoever had killed him hadn’t simply taken a life. They had challenged the entire Granger Outfit.
Wise slowly turned his glass in his hand. “Roman’s going to paint the city red behind his son.”
Saint lifted one shoulder. “Only if he can figure out who did it.”
I scoffed with a chuckle. “Oh, he will. Roman will use every resource he has to find out who killed his son, and then the city will burn, especially if it was the Bellamy crew.”
The Granger Outfit had earned its reputation. Roman’s men were disciplined, ruthless, and loyal enough to die over an order. They controlled their territory through fear, and anyone foolish enough to cross them usually became an example for everybody else.
Still, the Grangers had never had any real problems with us or the Cartiers.
Roman wasn’t crazy enough to create beef with either organization without a damn good reason.
He had always been cool with Sterling and Stone, and that relationship had kept business respectful between the Cartiers.
The Street Kings and the Cartiers stayed out of Granger territory, they stayed out of ours, and nobody went looking for trouble that didn’t need to exist.
I watched as Lowe reached for the bottle again. Wise caught it by the neck and slid it to the opposite side of the table before Lowe’s fingers could close around it.
“You’ve had enough,” Wise told him.
Lowe glared at him. “Just because you’re older than all of us don’t mean you’re our fucking daddy, half-nigga.”
Saint, Legend, and Icon started cracking up. They thought it was funny as hell when Lux and Lowe referred to me, Prodigy, and Wise as “half-nigga” instead of just the endearing term “nigga”.
“If I was, you would’ve turned out better,” Wise joked.
Prodigy laughed into his glass.
Lowe looked at him next. “What the fuck are you laughing at? You’ve spent the last hour crying over and stalking a woman who blocked you.”
“I’m not crying. Definitely ain’t stalking.”
“You called her from a TextNow number,” Lux reminded him.
“That was one time.”
Wise leaned back in his chair. “It was three times.”
Prodigy slid his glaring eyes towards Wise. “How the fuck do you know?”
“Because you used my phone for one of them. You thought I wouldn’t peep that shit?”
I shook my head. “That’s pathetic.”
Prodigy pointed at me. “Stay out of it. You’ve never liked anybody long enough to understand.”
“And I sleep peacefully because of it.”
“Alone,” Lux added.
“By choice.”
Lowe reached across Wise for the bottle. Wise caught him by the forehead with his hand and shoved him back into his seat. “Sit your drunk ass down.”
“I’m grown.” But the frown on Lowe’s face made him look like a lil’ ass boy.
“You’re leaning to the left.”
“I’m sitting at an angle.”
Laughing, I told him, “The chair is straight, though,” I told him.
Lowe looked down at it as if he needed to confirm that for himself.
That sent all of us laughing.
There was no real line between insulting each other and showing affection. The five of us argued, roasted each other, fought beside one another, and showed up without needing an invitation. We could disrespect one another because the respect underneath it had already been proven.
Lowe looked at his brother, tilting his head to the side. “I know you ain’t laughing, over there with that bedazzled, loud ass shirt on.”
Lux adjusted the collar of his designer shirt. “For the record, you couldn’t even afford to dress like me.”
“You look like a drug dealer’s favorite auntie,” Lowe cracked.
My phone vibrated against my thigh. I pulled it from my pocket expecting a woman, one of my runners, or somebody checking on product.
Instead, Roman Granger’s name flashed on the screen:
We need to meet. Tonight.
The laughter around me faded into the background. With his son dead, a request from Roman to meet only meant he believed he knew who’d killed Donovan.
“What’s wrong?” Prodigy asked.
I realized I had been staring at the message too long. “Roman Granger requested a meeting.”
The conversations closest to us stopped.
Wise sat forward. “Did he say why?”
“No.”
“He doesn’t have to,” Saint said.
I looked at him, and Saint lifted his drink and smiled. “That means blood is about to be shed.”
Legend gave him a warning look. “You sound too happy about that.”
“I am happy… and jealous.”
“That’s because you’re disturbed,” Wise said.
Saint shrugged. “We all have hobbies.”