Page 165 of Vega

“She’d be mad if she found out I kept this from her.”

“She might be. But you’re not keeping it from her forever. You’re making sure there’s something good to tell her.”

I leaned back against the couch and stared at the ceiling.

Novi was right. If Renzo had chosen to abandon us, I needed to know first.

“You gonna go?” Novi pressed.

I looked at the picture one more time. “Yeah…I’m going.”

VEGARRO “VEGA” MORETTI

Two days later, I finally got my chance to end this.

The night before, Jamir had sent word that Roman’s wife had a spa appointment scheduled for that morning. By the time the spa opened, I’d paid off the manager. After Mrs. Granger was placed into her treatment room, the manager snuck us through the employee entrance, gave us uniforms, told the other employees that we were new hires, then disappeared into her office without asking questions.

Sonnet adjusted the front of her white scrub top while we stood outside the treatment room.

“You good?” I asked.

“No. I’m nervous.” She looked at the name stitched over my pocket. “You don’t look anything like a massage therapist. She’s going to scream like a motherfucker.”

Laughing quietly, I reached for the door.

Mrs. Granger was already lying face down on the massage table when we walked in. A white sheet covered her from the waist down, and her arms rested beside her head.

I closed the door behind us and turned on the lights.

Her head popped up. She was older and light-skinned, with high cheekbones, full lips, and curly hair twisted into a loose bun. Even without makeup, she was beautiful. I was proud of Roman for bagging her.

She looked from me to Sonnet. “Where’s Olivia? Was there a switch?” she asked. “Because I requested her. She knows where I carry my tension and what pressure I need.”

“We’re not here to give you a massage,” I announced.

Her entire body went rigid. Then she pushed herself upright and pulled the sheet around her. “What the hell is going on?!”

“We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Then why are you in this room?!”

“Keep your voice down,” I gritted.

She reached toward the small table beside her, probably for her phone. But I pulled my gun from my waistband and she froze.

“I said we’re not here to hurt you,” I repeated. “But I need you to listen without making a scene so I will hurt you if I need to.”

Her eyes moved from the gun to my face. Fear settled into them, but she didn’t scream. “What do you want?”

“I’m Vega Moretti—”

She interrupted me, hissing, “Shiiiiit.”

But I assured her, “I don’t want anything from you. I’m actually here to give you something…The truth about Donovan’s murder.”

Pain replaced her fear at the mention of her son’s death.

She watched intently as I pulled out my phone and opened the folder Jamir had created. It contained audio files from a device he’d planted in Roman’s office, records of Roman’s vehicle and cell phone location data from the night of the murder, and messages pulled from Donovan and Roman’s burner. The cryptic exchange between him and Cedric amounted to a confession.