Vegarro “Vega” Moretti
Roman had given me Sonnet’s routine, but I didn’t trust information I hadn’t gathered myself.
Clients left out details when the truth made them look guilty, desperate, or stupid.
Roman had already given me enough reasons to question this assignment.
So, I started following Sonnet on Sunday evening to make my own assessment.
That morning, I followed her as she got coffee and then went to the grocery store. Her life was painfully ordinary. She didn’t meet anyone connected to the police. She didn’t visit a lawyer or pass information to a journalist. She didn’t make contact with anyone tied to the Bellamy crew.
Outside the train station, she stopped beside a homeless man sitting beneath a blanket. Sonnet opened one of her grocery bags and gave him a few pieces of fruit and a pastry. She spoke to him for a minute, smiled, and continued walking.
She took her groceries home and then went to Da Book Joint. I sat across from the bookstore inside my truck with the windows tinted dark enough to hide me from anyone. A surveillance lens rested against my eye, bringing the inside of the shop close enough for me to follow Sonnet around the store.
Da Book Joint was a Black-owned bookstore on the South Side with colorful artwork in the windows, shelves packed with books by Black authors, and handwritten staff recommendations beneath certain books. Sonnet moved through the store like she had nowhere else she would rather be.
The dress she was wearing kept my attention.
It was a long, flowing sundress with thin straps, a low neckline, and bright coral and orange flowers scattered across pale blue fabric.
The material gathered beneath her breasts before falling loosely over her hips and legs.
A slit opened near the front whenever she stepped, showing enough thigh to keep my eyes following the movement.
I doubted she had chosen it to be sexy. On another woman, the dress might have looked light, comfortable, and appropriate for a warm, May, Sunday afternoon.
On Sonnet, it became something else. She had curves that the loose fabric couldn’t hide; full breasts, rounded hips, thick thighs, and a waist that narrowed enough to make the rest of her shape impossible to ignore.
The dress moved around her body every time she walked, brushing against her legs and briefly settling over her ass before floating loose again.
There was nothing calculated in the way she wore it.
That was what made it worse. She wasn’t strutting through the store waiting for men to stare.
She wasn’t pulling the neckline lower or checking whether the slit exposed enough skin.
Sonnet appeared completely unaware that the dress made her look soft enough to touch and tempting enough to make a man forget why he was watching her.
The innocence in it turned me on more than intention would have.
She wore flat sandals and large gold hoops. Her long hair fell over her shoulders in curls, and her black-framed glasses sat low enough on her nose that she kept pushing them back into place while reading book covers.
I followed her movement through the lens. She picked up one book, read the back, and opened it to the first page. She stood there long enough for two people to move around her before placing the book against her chest and continuing down the aisle.
The motion pressed it between her breasts. I lowered the lens for a second and looked through the windshield.
“Focus.”
By the time Sonnet reached the register, she had four books stacked in her arms. She looked like the kind of woman who organized her bookshelves by genre and became genuinely excited when she found an author she liked.
Roman wanted me to quietly remove her as though she were preparing to bring down his entire organization, when there was nothing threatening about her.
Sonnet paid and spoke with the woman behind the counter. Something the woman said made her laugh.
The photograph Roman had given me hadn’t captured her completely.
A picture had frozen her into one expression and made her appear more serious than she was.
Watching her laugh showed me the softness around her mouth and the way her eyes narrowed behind her glasses.
It also made her breasts rise beneath that dress in a way I had no business noticing from across the street.
She carried her bag to a chair positioned directly in front of the window, directly in front of me. Sonnet sat down and crossed one leg over the other. The slit fell open over her thigh.
I adjusted the lens. I should’ve been calculating how easily I could take her without being seen. Instead, I stared at the smooth brown skin exposed beneath the floral fabric.
She opened one of her new books, and within minutes, the rest of the store disappeared for her. People passed behind her. The cashier answered the phone. A child knocked over a display near the entrance. But Sonnet barely looked up. Her lips moved slightly as she read.
The sight did something to me. There was an innocence in the way she carried herself.
She wasn’t taking pictures of herself with the book.
She wasn’t checking to see who noticed her.
She was simply there. She was beautiful without trying to be, sexy without realizing it, and soft without appearing weak.
I imagined standing behind her chair and bending low enough to read over her shoulder. I imagined her turning, startled, until my face was close to hers and my breath clouded those glasses.
Roman had hired me to frighten her. I was beginning to suspect I wanted her attention for reasons that had nothing to do with him.
Kindness complicated jobs. It was easier to take people when I could reduce them to problems. Sonnet refused to remain one. Every small thing I learned made her more human, and every human detail made Roman’s request feel dirtier.
She sat and read in that window for two hours before leaving.
She changed direction twice on the way home.
The first time, she crossed the street before reaching a narrow passage between buildings. The second time, she abandoned the shortest route and walked toward a busier avenue lined with restaurants and open businesses.
She checked behind herself at every intersection. Sometimes she pretended to study a store window while watching the reflection of the people following her on the sidewalk. Other times she adjusted her tote and glanced over her shoulder quickly.
She avoided isolated areas or paused before entering her condominium building to study every parked vehicle nearby.
She knew someone could be searching for her. Sonnet was terrified, but she still went to the bookstore. She still bought groceries and stopped for coffee.
She kept living. That took more strength than people understood.
Her beauty had attracted me first. The dress had spent the entire afternoon moving over her body like it had been designed to test my restraint.
But it was no longer only her curves, her face, or the glasses I kept imagining fogged beneath my breath. It was the quiet defiance in her.
The way she carried fear without allowing it to bend her. The way she continued giving pieces of herself to strangers when she had every reason to protect everything she had.
Sonnet disappeared behind the secured doors of her building.
I remained parked across the street, still picturing her in that floral dress with a book held against her chest and no idea what she had awakened in me.
Roman believed she was dangerous because of something she had seen. I was beginning to believe she was dangerous because I wanted her before I had even heard her say my name.