Page 5 of Vega

Donovan laughed, humorlessly. “Tell the truth, Roman. You never planned to let me lead.”

Roman stared at him. “No, I didn’t.”

Donovan’s angry expression fell into something wounded. “So that’s how it is?”

“That’s how it is,” Roman challenged.

Donovan shook his head, staring at his father like he was seeing him clearly for the first time. “I’ve been trying to become the man you raised me to be. I’ve been making moves, earning respect, showing the outfit I’m not just your son standing beside you for decoration. I’m your heir.”

Roman’s jaw hardened as he glared at his son.

Donovan sounded like he was pleading when he finally said, “I just wanted you to see me.”

“I do see you,” Roman responded. “That’s the problem.”

Donovan looked at his father with pain in his eyes that I recognized. “You’d rather deny your own son than admit he’s ready.”

“I’d rather bury a threat than hand one my throne.” Roman’s hand moved so fast I barely caught it. One second it was near his jacket, and the next, the gun was already in his grip.

Donovan never saw it coming. He was still standing there disappointed, staring at his father’s last words in disbelief, when Roman raised the weapon and fired.

The gunshot tore through the loading area before Donovan even had time to react.

As I gasped in terror, Donovan jerked and stumbled backward. A dark stain spread across his white shirt before his knees folded beneath him. Roman stood over his son with the gun still in his hand.

Donovan pressed his palm against the wound, but blood slipped between his fingers as he forced out, “You think you’re going to get away with this?”

Roman didn’t respond. He just glowered at his son as if he was simply an enemy instead of his own blood.

Donovan coughed up blood as he forced out, “Everything comes to light eventually.”

His hand fell away from his chest, and then he stopped moving.

I began to back away as quickly but quietly as I could. As I did, my heel struck a metal wheel chock. It toppled over with a sharp clang.

Roman’s head whipped towards where I stood in the darkness. His gaze landed near the corner where I stood, and for one horrifying second, I thought our eyes met.

I took off. I pushed through the pedestrian gate and raced down the sidewalk. Instead of heading toward the main street, I cut into an alley between two warehouses.

My tote slammed against my hip as I ran. I turned left, then right, zigzagging behind dumpsters, garages, and darkened businesses. I didn’t know whether moving that way actually made me harder to shoot, but television had convinced me it did.

I didn’t hear footsteps behind me, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t being followed.

I crossed another alley and emerged onto a residential block. Porch lights glowed from two-flats. A television flashed behind somebody’s curtains. Parked cars lined both sides of the street.

I kept running. I wasn’t a small girl, and I was allergic to the gym. I wasn’t athletic. My body was nice because I was still young and did a lot of walking from taking public transportation, not because I spent hours training. I had been in math club, not any of the extracurricular activities that required me to break a sweat. Yet, I was running like a track star with a scholarship on the line. My lungs hurt, and my prescription glasses kept sliding down my nose, but I didn’t stop until I was several blocks away beneath the bright lights of a twenty-four-hour Walgreens and dipped inside.

I went into one of the aisles, out of breath and pretending to browse like I wasn’t fighting to catch my breath.

My phone vibrated, startling me because I forgot that I was still holding it. Looking down at it, I saw the notification that my Uber had arrived at the office.

I canceled the ride with trembling fingers and requested another from my new location.

2

VEGARRO “VEGA” MORETTI

The client’s name was Wallace Pierce. On paper, Wallace owned three laundromats, two carryout restaurants, and a small trucking company that moved produce between Chicago, Indiana, and Michigan. In the streets, he was an old-school, money nigga who sold a lot of drugs when he was younger, and now fronted cash for drug dealers, who often got killed when they couldn’t pay Wallace back on time.