27. Vegarro “Vega” Moretti
VEGARRO “VEGA” MORETTI
“Mrs. Granger is the way in,” Jamir said through the phone.
I stood in the bathroom attached to the master bedroom, staring at my reflection. “What you got?”
“Audio. Images. Movement records. Messages from Donovan’s burner.
I found proof the Granger family can’t deny that Roman killed Donovan.
I know he has a daughter, but the wife has been beside Roman too long to be easy to fool, but she’s still a mother.
If we show her what he did to her son, Roman loses everything. ”
“Problem is getting to her without Roman or his men around.”
“I’m already on that,” Jamir said. “She has standing spa appointments. Security doesn’t go inside the treatment room with her either.”
“That’s our opening.”
“Yeah. I’m pulling details on the next appointment now. When I get it, I’ll send it.”
“Make sure it’s solid.”
“You know how I work.”
“Yeah, but I got a lot riding on it.”
Jamir went quiet for half a second. “How’s Lowe?”
My fingers curled around the edge of the sink. “Still alive.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s everything right now.”
Jamir sighed. “Damn.”
“Get me the appointment,” I said.
“I got you.”
The call ended, and I stood there for a few seconds with the phone in my hand. I wasn’t sure this was enough to end Roman, but it was the safest way to spare lives.
A week had passed since the shooting, and every day had been its own fight.
Lowe had survived the first forty-eight hours, made it through another surgery, and finally started breathing without the machine, but the doctors still weren’t calling it a victory yet.
His body had taken too much damage. The bullets had damaged his thigh, hip, and the nerves that controlled his leg.
His foot still wasn’t functioning properly, and the doctors couldn’t say yet if that would change with time, surgery, and rehab.
They kept talking about more procedures, infection risks, rehab, and the possibility that Lowe might have to learn how to walk all over again.
Lux still barely left the hospital. None of us were thinking clearly.
That was why I needed Jamir to find me a way that didn’t turn into another bloodbath.
I wasn’t sure this was enough to end Roman, but it was the safest way to spare lives.
When I left the bathroom, the bedroom was quiet.
Sonnet and I had been staying in the presidential suite of a hotel for a week.
The first few days had turned into straight erotica in that motherfucka.
I had put every ounce of guilt, stress, fear, and rage into her body, and she had taken it.
We had barely left the bed. The suite had room service, blackout curtains, a shower big enough for me to turn her every which way but loose in that motherfucka, and a woman I loved walking around in my shirts.
I only left to sit with Lowe. All business had paused until Roman was disposed of.
For a few days, I let myself pretend sex could burn away everything waiting outside that hotel room. But it couldn’t.
Soon enough, Sonnet started feeling caged again, however. She spent more time near the windows. She watched people on the street with hunger in her eyes. She kept asking if she could make store and coffee runs. I kept saying no because Lowe getting shot had made me harder to reason with.
I had always been protective. Now I was unreasonable.
Before Jamir called, we had been arguing about it.
She wanted to go outside. I wanted her to stay locked away from potential danger.
She wanted to walk through the city for twenty minutes and feel air that didn’t come from a hotel vent.
I wanted to lock down every floor and exit, and shoot every person that came within ten feet of her.
She understood why I was acting that way, but she also hated it.
I walked into the living room and found her sitting in the wide window, knees pulled up, one shoulder against the glass while she stared down at the busy downtown Chicago street.
Cars moved bumper to bumper under us. People crossed at the light with bags, coffee cups, phones, and places to be.
Everybody down there had a life that didn’t require permission.
Sonnet wanted that.
She turned her head when she heard me. Then she rolled her eyes.
I stopped near the back of the couch. “That was aggressive.”
“You deserve worse. I’m grown as hell but you won’t even let me go downstairs.”
I rubbed a hand over my beard. “I said you couldn’t go downstairs alone.”
Her eyes flashed with resentment. “So, what am I supposed to do, Vega? Sit in this suite until you decide the world is safe enough for me?”
“Yes! The fuck. I watched Lowe almost die on the floor of that van! I was literally begging that nigga to stay alive! I’ve never prayed that much in my life! God don’t even know me like that! So yeah, I’m keeping you under lock and key to protect you! I’m trying not to lose you next.”
“And I’m trying not to disappear inside another locked room,” she said. “You keep calling this protection, but it feels too close to captivity again.”
I took a step back, hating that I was making her feel this way.
She wiped under one eye, mad at herself for crying and mad at me for being the reason. “I know you’re trying to save me. But I can’t breathe in a life where every door only opens when you say it can.”
She slid out of the window and walked across the living room, barefoot, wearing leggings and one of my T-shirts. Her hair was pulled back messily and her glasses sat on her face. She was beautiful even when she was mad at me. Especially then.
“I’m tired, Vega.”
I watched her pace past the dining table.
“I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of people almost dying because of me.”
“It’s not because of you. This is all Roman’s doing.”
“You can dress it up however you want, but that’s what it feels like to me.”
I walked around the couch. “You think running around downtown makes that better?”
“I think feeling human might help.”
“That street is full of cameras, strangers, service entrances, valet workers, delivery drivers, and people Roman could pay before I even know he found us.”
“So, I’m supposed to stay up here forever?”
“No. It’s been a week.”
“A week after a month and a half locked up in your house, Vega.”
I looked at the city through the window behind her, then brought my attention back to her face. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“I know that.”
“Then stop fighting me on everything.”
“I’m fighting because I’m still me.” She stepped closer, and her eyes shined with anger and hurt. “I had a life before this.”
“I know.”
“Do you?!”
My nostrils flared. “After Lowe, you thought I was gonna get easier to deal with?”
“No. But I miss walking into a bookstore without five men watching the door. I miss getting coffee. I miss museums. I miss public transportation, and that is sad because public transportation is disgusting half the time.”
Despite myself, my mouth twitched.
“Don’t smile,” she snapped. “I’m mad.”
“I can see that.”
Her voice got smaller. “I miss deciding when I leave a room. I miss my life. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine.”
The smile left my face. I crossed the space between us, and Sonnet backed up a step, still frowning, until her back met the wall near the suite door.
I put one hand on the wall beside her head and leaned in, close enough to see the tears sitting behind all that attitude. “Protecting you ain’t a contract I can walk away from anymore. It started that way. Then you became mine.”
She stared at me without blinking, with her lips slightly parted as if she was trying to remember how to breathe.
“Keeping you alive is my life’s mission now, even after Roman is handled, it’ll be my main priority. It will always be my main priority.”
Her tears spilled then. “I don’t need another prison,” she whispered.
The words cut through all the rage in me. I stepped back immediately. Then I reached beside us, grabbed the handle, and opened the suite door.
Sonnet froze. The hallway stretched beyond it, empty and quiet, with the elevator bank at the far end. I moved away from the door and gave her the space.
“It’s open. I never want you to feel trapped again, that’s why I’m doing everything I have to, to eliminate the threat.
My fucking cousin almost got killed because I want so badly for you to be free.
But I can’t take your tears anymore. So, if you don’t give a fuck about a killer hunting you down, then leave. ”
She swallowed hard, lowering her gaze.
“But if you stay, you’re gonna have to tolerate a man who loves you enough to be unreasonable about losing you.”
She wiped under one eye and frowned at me. “That’s not fair. You can’t say stuff that sounds toxic and romantic at the same time.”
She stared at the open door for a few seconds. Then she looked back at me with her mouth trembling.
“I hate you,” she said weakly.
I smiled because we both knew she didn’t. “Come here.”
“No.”
I stepped closer, anyway, took her face in both hands, and kissed her.
She made a frustrated sound against my mouth, but her hands grabbed my shirt anyway. I kissed her until the fight in her body softened into need, until her fingers held on instead of pushed away.
The second that kiss broke, my fingers dug into her hips as I backed her away from the door. The tension had shifted from anger to pure, unadulterated hunger. I could feel her shaking slightly, that mix of nerves and need that always made me want to break her open.
I led her into the dining area, towards the heavy mahogany table in the center of the room.
I pushed her forward, guiding her until her palms hit the cool, polished wood.
I reached down, grabbed the waistband of her pants, and yanked them down past her thighs in one rough motion, along with her panties.