Page 132 of Vega

RENEE MORETTI

I threw up in the toilet of the guest bathroom with one hand pressed against the edge of the marble counter and the other covering my mouth.

I tried to keep it quiet. Denise was still outside by the pool, but if she heard me, she’d know I hadn’t drunk enough champagne to be sick already. I had barely finished half a glass before Prodigy walked outside and ruined the whole morning with Renzo’s name.

My stomach rolled again.

I bent over the toilet and gagged until my eyes watered.

“Damn it,” I whispered.

Prodigy wouldn’t stop. That boy had always been smart, stubborn, and too observant for his own good.

I flushed the toilet and stayed there for a second, breathing through my nose and gripping the counter until the shaking in my hand stopped.

I stood, rinsed my mouth, and stared into the mirror. My makeup still looked decent, but my eyes told the truth. Fear had a way of aging a woman in seconds.

I gripped the sink. “No,” I whispered to my reflection. “No, no, no.”

Renzo was supposed to stay gone.

I didn’t hate him. Hate would’ve made all of this easier. Renzo had loved Denise, and Denise had loved him with a softness I had never seen in her with any other man. Before grief made her guarded, before motherhood forced her to be strong, before Marcus came along and made it safe her to open her heart again, she and Renzo had been real.

That was why his disappearance had almost destroyed her. I remembered the weeks after he vanished. Denise barely ate. She barely slept. She sat in Prodigy’s room at night and watched that baby breathe because he was the only piece of Renzo she had left. She would hold herself together all day, then fall apart when the house got quiet. I had been there. I had watched my best friend lose the man she loved and still get up every morning because her son needed breakfast, clean clothes, rides, kisses, bedtime stories, and a mother who didn’t disappear with his father.

I had told myself back then that my silence was mercy. But I soon learned that was a lie.

PRODIGY MORETTI

On the way to Novi’s crib, I silenced the alarm and checked the notifications. The alarm had been tripped while in HOME mode because the front door had been opened without disarming during the grace period.

Once I made it to Novi’s place, she didn’t answer the doorbell. The property was too quiet, and the front door was actually closed and secured. I didn’t trust that shit, considering her situation, so, I keyed in the code and pushed the front door open.

“Novi,” I called out, but got no reply.

I moved through the house with my hand on my gun, checking the kitchen, living room, guest rooms, laundry room, and every bathroom. Her purse was there. Her phone charger was still plugged in. A half-empty bottle of water sat on the nightstand beside the bed.

But she was gone.

I went through the backyard, checked the side gate, then came back through the house and locked up. I got in my car and started driving the neighborhood, one block at a time, scanning sidewalks, alleys, parked cars, and corners.

Three blocks over, I saw her. She was walking with her arms wrapped around herself, head down, and tears streaming down her face. Her blonde hair was messy, and her body was folded in on itself from grief.

I pulled over and hopped out.

She saw me coming and didn’t even try to hide her pain. Since the last time I’d been here, I’d been so focused on finding Renzo and Roman. My mind had been so wrapped up in that shit that I hadn’t made it back to check on her in a few days.

The last time I sat with Novi, I had enjoyed it. I had enjoyed making her laugh, even though the whole reason I’d done it was to take her mind off this exact bullshit.

I knew distraction had only bought her a few quiet hours. It hadn’t saved her from the pain waiting on her when I left.

Once she was in arms reach, I didn’t say anything, I just wrapped my arms around her, and Novi broke. Her whole body gave out against mine, and the sound that came out of her didn’t even sound human. It was pain with nowhere to go. I held her while she sobbed into my shirt. My arms locked around her, giving her something solid to fall apart against.

I couldn’t imagine what this had been doing to her. She had to hide while grieving. She couldn’t go home and sleep in her own bed. She couldn’t sit with Kash’s things without looking over her shoulder. She couldn’t mourn him the way women were supposed to mourn the men they loved, surrounded by family, friends, food, noise, and people reminding them to breathe.

She was grieving alone.

“I’m so mad at him,” she cried.