18. Vegarro “Vega” Moretti
VEGARRO “VEGA” MORETTI
Ichecked the back door for the third time in twenty minutes. Then I checked the cameras again.
Sonnet sat on the edge of the couch, watching me move through the room with those sharp eyes behind her glasses. She had been quiet since I came back, but quiet didn’t mean she wasn’t paying attention. Sonnet noticed everything.
I had changed into sweats and a fitted beater, but my gun stayed tucked in my waistband. I wasn’t comfortable enough to put it away tonight.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
I looked at her through the reflection in the window before turning around. “Roman knows you’re with me.”
Her expression changed immediately.
“He also knows I know the truth,” I added. “He tried to kill me tonight.”
She stood so fast the pillow she had been cradling fell from her lap. “What?”
I crossed the room and stopped in front of her. “He doesn’t know about this house. It’s not in my name, not tied to me, and nobody followed me here.”
“And he’s going to come for me?”
“He can try.”
“That’s not comforting, Vega.”
“It should be. I’m very hard to kill.”
She looked at the gun at my waist, then back at me. “Does anything frighten you?”
I didn’t answer right away. Usually, the answer would’ve been no. Fear was something I respected, not something I lived under. Men died. Plans failed. Enemies multiplied. That was life. But lately, a few things had started feeling different.
I looked directly at her. “Not usually.”
Her breath caught.
“But a few things recently have.”
I didn’t say losing her. I didn’t have to. The way her expression softened told me she heard it anyway.
She looked toward her room, then back at me. “Can I sleep with you tonight? I’m terrified.”
“Come here.”
As she walked toward me, I made my way to my bedroom and she followed. I went to the bed, pulled the covers back, and climbed in. She climbed in, and I stretched out beside her, leaving enough space for her to decide whether she wanted to close it.
Her shoulder brushed mine as I grabbed the remote.
She lay on her side without touching me. Her eyes widened as I turned on the TV. “Oh my God, I get to watch TV,” she gushed. “Not having a TV has been the worst. Not giving me one was so fucking cruel.”
“Your smart ass would’ve figured out how to contact somebody through the TV.”
She gasped. “That is … and probably accurate.”
“Exactly.”
Her amusement faded after a second. “I miss Dior.”
“I’m sorry I’ve made you stay away from him.”
I reached for my phone, unlocked it, opened my text thread with Dior, and handed it to her. He had been texting me nonstop, checking on Sonnet:
UNKNOWN MASKED MAN, YOU BETTER NOT BE LYING TO ME.
Tell my booki butt I said I’m streeeeeessed without her.
If she dies, I’m haunting you DOWN, Mr. Poo Shiesty.
Also, if she needs her bonnet, I know which one she likes. Don’t play with her edges.
Sonnet giggled with love in her eyes as she stared at the screen. “He is so dramatic.”
“He threatened to get me jumped.”
“He would.”
“He asked if I was ugly under the mask because my energy was giving villain with unresolved childhood trauma.”
She laughed harder, wiping beneath one eye. “That sounds like Dior.”
I took the phone back and set it on the nightstand. “He loves you.”
“I love him too.”
I turned on the TV, and went to the last show I’d watched, House of the Dragon.
Sonnet sat up slightly. “Wait. You watch this?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. You didn’t strike me as a Targaryen civil war kind of man.”
“A what?”
Her entire face lit up. “Oh my God. You don’t know the history?”
I shrugged. “I know dragons. Family beef. Bad decisions.”
“That is such a disrespectful summary.” She adjusted her glasses like she was about to teach a lecture.
“This is based on the Dance of the Dragons, which is basically a Targaryen succession crisis. Rhaenyra was named heir by Viserys, but after he died, Aegon was crowned instead, and then everything went completely to hell because the realm chose misogyny, ambition, and dragonfire.”
I stared at her and she kept going like she wasn’t making my dick rock hard at the moment.
“And if you read Fire & Blood, you realize the show is working from an unreliable historical account, so certain details are based on what maesters, septons, and court fools claimed happened. Which means some scenes are interpretation, not fact.”
“You studied this?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I repeated.
She pointed at the screen, fully animated now. “And don’t even get me started on Daemon because people romanticize him, but he is chaos in human form. Entertaining chaos, but still chaos.”
I watched her more than the TV.
A few minutes ago, she had been terrified. Now she was sitting in my bed explaining fictional family politics like the fate of Westeros personally depended on her.
Roman was coming. And somehow, with all of that waiting outside these walls, the only thing I wanted to focus on was the nerdy, beautiful girl sitting beside me, rambling about dragons, bloodlines, betrayals, and family trees.
I had fallen for her. There wasn’t any sense in pretending I hadn’t.
It wasn’t just lust or the kind of temporary obsession a man could sweat out with another woman and a bottle of liquor.
This was deeper than that. Sonnet had gotten under my skin.
I was infatuated with her brain, fight, and soft parts of her she tried so hard to protect.
She made me want things I hadn’t planned on wanting.
She gave me another reason to come back alive.
I watched her talk, watched her smile, watched her forget to be afraid for a few minutes and it made me murderous that Roman wanted her dead. That meant I had to kill him because I wanted the rest of my life with her, and Roman Granger had become the only thing standing between me and that future.
I was going to kill for Sonnet Ellison.
Then I was going to spend the rest of my life convincing her to let me love her.