Page 29 of Vega

Below the message was a phone number. There was no first name or explanation of whether Cartier was one person, a family, or an entire organization.

I considered taking the phone to the police. This phone could contain information about who he met that night, what business he had been handling, and why somebody wanted him dead. But Kash had never trusted police with anything connected to the streets.

I wiped my face with the sleeve of his jacket and stared at the message.

Whatever the Cartiers were, I hoped they could tell me who killed the man I was supposed to marry.

6

ROMAN GRANGER

Promise sat beside me with her hand wrapped around mine and rage burning in her eyes while my wife cried somewhere upstairs.

The house had been full of family and Granger soldiers all day. Most of the men were grieving Donovan, while waiting to see what I wanted to do next. Women brought food nobody touched. Men stood in corners whispering about the Bellamys, about retaliation, about the kind of war Donovan’s death demanded.

None of them had any idea my son was dead because I put him in the ground myself. I didn’t feel bad for lying about it. What I had done was real leadership. Donovan had forced my hand. He had gotten greedy, reckless, and disrespectful. He thought blood made him untouchable, as if being my son meant he could take over before his time.

I loved my son. I also understood that love didn’t keep an empire standing.

Promise squeezed my hand. “Daddy, I swear to God, I’m gonna kill every last one of them.”

I looked at her, feeling sorry for the tears that still left her lashes damp. Her mouth was set in a hard line. She wore a fitted mocha-brown jumpsuit that was too tight for my liking. I kept catching some soldiers attempting to secretly look at her backside and fucking failing. Gold jewelry was on her wrists and around her throat. Her cream-colored heels looked too pretty for a woman with a gun sitting beside her phone. The two black Boerboels lying near her feet lifted their heads every time her voice rose. Their names were Princess and Muffin. They were two massive dogs with heads bigger than some men’s torsos, and she had given them names fit for purse dogs with bows on their collars. They followed her everywhere. The dogs listened to her better than most of my men listened to me.

“I want Bellamy blood!” she seethed. “I want their houses burned down with their families in them! I want their cars shot up! I want their mothers scared to open the door! I want every block they think they own to smell like fucking smoke!”

Princess gave a deep growl, reacting to her anger, ready to protect her.

I rubbed my thumb across Promise’s knuckles. “You’ll get your revenge.”

“No!” she snapped. “We’ll get it. I’m not sitting at home crying while men handle my brother’s revenge.”

I smiled, proud of her. I had raised her the same way I raised Donovan. I had actually been harder on her because the world was harder on women. I didn’t want a girl who hid behind men with guns. I wanted a daughter who knew how to load a gun, aim, and empty it without blinking or flinching.

Promise had learned early. At twelve, she could strip a pistol faster than some grown men. At fifteen, she could sit at my table and catch lies men thought they had hidden. At seventeen, she put a bullet in one of my soldiers because he grabbed her wrist and told her she was too pretty to be acting hard.

I didn’t punish her for that; I bought her a Hermes bag. Donovan had been my heir because he was my son, but Promise had always been the reflection I was most proud of.

She leaned forward, eyes wild with grief and intent. “Tell me where you want to hit first.”

“Not yet.”

“Daddy.”

“Not yet,” I repeated. “You don’t win a war by running out angry and shooting at everybody. That’s how you get killed before you get revenge.”

“They killed my brother.”

“I know, sweetie.”

Her eyes filled again, but the tears didn’t fall. That was my girl. Hurt, but still eager to be a soldier.

“I’m ready for fucking war,” she sneered, and her words cracked with emotion from her rage and stubborn tears.

“You kill Roman without a plan, and his people make you the headline instead of Donovan.”

“I’m not scared of them.”

“I didn’t raise you to be scared. I raised you to be smart.”