Vegarro “Vega” Moretti
“If something happens to me take care of Sonnet.”
Wise’s voice came through the speaker. “The hell you just say?”
In the background, Prodigy said, “Did this nigga just give us custody instructions?”
“Dico sul serio. (I’m serious.)”
“è così che so che è grave. (That’s how I know it’s bad.),” Wise laughed.
Since I confessed what I felt for Sonnet, those feelings had only gotten stronger.
Kissing her made the need to have her harder to ignore, but I didn’t just want her body.
I wanted the woman. I wanted her smart mouth, her soft heart, her mind, and every guarded part of herself she kept trying to protect from the world.
Clearly, she was feeling me too, because she kissed me back like she had been thinking about it just as much as I had.
But I needed to know she wanted me because the feelings were mutual, not because boredom, fear, and isolation had her looking at me through rose colored glasses.
When Sonnet chose me, I wanted the door open, her mind clear, and her choice to be real.
I checked the magazine in my gun, then pushed it back into place. “Make sure she’s straight.”
Prodigy’s teasing faded. “You love her?”
I looked through the windshield at the empty lot ahead of me. “I said take care of her.”
“That wasn’t no,” he pointed out.
Wise blew a heavy breath. “We got her.”
“Yeah,” Prodigy added. “Nothing happens to her.”
I opened the car door. “Appreciate it.”
“Vega,” Wise called through the phone.
I paused.
“If this goes left, don’t try to prove you’re the hardest nigga breathing. Shoot your way out and get back to the car.”
I smirked. “That sounded like love.”
“That sounded like I don’t feel like having to tell Ma that you’re dead.”
I ended the call before either one of them could say anything else.
The air was hot and sticky. After midnight, the forest preserve on the south side was closed. The lot was empty except for Roman Granger’s black truck parked near the far end beneath a dead streetlight. Trees stood thick behind him, swallowing most of the moonlight.
Roman had demanded this meeting relentlessly. With how much he’d been calling and with how frantic his tone had been each time I talked to him, I knew he knew I had Sonnet. Maybe he didn’t have proof, but men like Roman didn’t need proof before they started assuming and applying pressure.
What I didn’t expect was the woman standing beside him.
Promise Granger was beautiful in a dangerous, expensive way.
She had smooth brown skin, long black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, full lips, but cold eyes.
She wore fitted black pants, heels with pretty toes out, and a spaghetti strapped top that looked more stylish than tactical until I noticed how her hand stayed close to her waistband.
I stopped twenty feet away. “You called. I’m here.”
“Where is she?” Roman spat.
I smiled. “No hello?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Vega. Where is Sonnet Ellison?”
Promise’s eyes sharpened as I slid my hands into the pockets of my jogging pants. “Last we talked, she ran because your men scared her.”
Roman stepped closer. “She didn’t run. That girl didn’t have the money, the contacts, or the means to disappear off the face of the earth.”
I thought about Sonnet weak from not eating, still trying to break cameras and pick locks with laptop scraps. “She has more balls than you think.”
Roman’s nostrils flared. “Where the fuck is she?”
I held his stare. “I have her.”
For a second, even the trees seemed to go still.
Then Roman exploded. “Bring her to me now!”
I shrugged casually. “No.”
His eyes darkened. “You forget what I paid you to do?”
“No. That’s why I’m saying it clear.” I took one step closer. “You lied to me about terms—”
Roman’s hand moved so fast that it looked like a blur. He pulled his gun from his waistband before I could finish, trying to shut me up before I said too much in front of his daughter.
Mine came out at the same time. The first shot cracked through the lot. I dove behind a concrete barrier as bullets chewed into the ground where I’d been standing. Roman fired back relentlessly, but I didn’t freeze. I leaned out and sent two shots back.
Promise pulled a gun from beneath her jacket and fired at me with both hands steady, her stance clean, her aim trained on my head like a professional hitter.
“Damn,” I muttered, dropping lower as a bullet snapped against the concrete beside my face.
I didn’t want to shoot at her. She was a woman. Then another shot tore through my sleeve and burned a line across my arm. So, I stopped treating her like Roman’s daughter and started treating her like the shooter she was.
I fired back, and she rolled behind the truck with a precision that shocked me, popped up near the rear tire, and sent three more shots my way.
I had been in shootouts before. Bullets had passed close enough for me to feel the heat of them, glass had shattered near my face, and men had dropped beside me.
I knew my brothers would mourn me. I knew my family would suffer.
I knew my mother would probably never be the same if somebody had to tell her I wasn’t coming home.
But none of that had ever made me scared to die.
Death had always felt possible in my world, so I treated it like part of the cost. But Sonnet changed that.
Now I didn’t just have people who would miss me.
I had something I wanted to live for. I wanted more mornings with her, more arguments, more kisses, more chances to learn who she was when nobody was chasing her.
I wanted to see what her laugh sounded like when she was free.
I wanted to experience life with her, not just protect her from losing hers.
For the first time, staying alive mattered to me in a selfish way.
I shifted behind the barrier, returned fire, and caught sight of headlights cutting into the lot. Then another set of headlights behind it.
It was Wise, Prodigy, Lux and Lowe. My brothers came in fast, doors flying open before the cars fully stopped.
Gunfire erupted behind me. Wise moved left with a precision that was controlled and deadly.
Prodigy came straight ahead, face calm in a way that meant somebody was about to die.
Lux and Lowe spread out behind them, both shooting with the kind of focus they usually hid beneath jokes and weed smoke.
Roman cursed and ducked behind his truck. Promise fired at all of us like she had no fear in her body. I watched her lean out from behind the passenger door and squeeze off shots so clean that Prodigy had to drop behind Wise’s car.
“Gawd damn, she can shoot!” Wise barked.
“No shit,” I fired back.
Roman jumped into the driver’s seat. Promise climbed in after him, then halfway out the window before the truck even reversed.
We lit the truck up. Bullets shattered the back glass and punched holes through the metal, but Roman floored it. Tires screamed against pavement as the truck spun around.
Promise hung out the passenger window, hair whipping around her face, firing back at us like a soldier retreating from war instead of a spoiled daughter running from trouble.
I aimed, but the truck swerved between trees and disappeared down the preserve road.
Prodigy started toward his car, but Wise grabbed his arm. “Don’t. Police hear all this, they’ll be nearby soon. If we follow, we turn this into a chase.”
I stared after the taillights until they vanished.
My arm burned, and my patience had reached its end.
“Now he knows,” I said. “He knows I know the truth, and he knows I have Sonnet. He won’t stop until we’re both dead.”
Prodigy’s face turned colder than I’d seen it in a while. “Then we stop giving that old nigga time to breathe. Roman don’t get to hunt you or her. We put him in the ground before he even learns where to look.”