Page 109 of Inside the Sun

And I’ve broken it. Repeatedly.

There’s also this little flicker of fear in me about the Vito situation.

The fact that Luca called me by my real name. That he wasn’t surprised about my purple nature. That neither he nor Mauro questioned my reasons for being here. Didn’t take me aside and ask in-depth questions.

There’s only one,incredible, possibility. They do know who I am. They recognized me as Moon and Summer’s brother, or more precisely, Mauro did, during the job interview. And theyallowedme in!

But why? I can’t find a good answer to it, no matter how hard I try. Nothing makes sense.

In a normal situation, if my cover was compromised, I should call the mission off. But I just… don’t do it. I’m going against simple logic, my military experience, even commonsense. As long as they let me stay—I’m staying and trying to free my brothers.

As I walk toward the passageway, I glance at my phone. It’s already 4:50. I shouldn’t be lingering around the garden, the guests will arrive soon, but something keeps me tethered here. I stop by the cart, power it on, and steer toward the passageway. The guards usually don’t pay much attention to the inner garden, but this time, I notice two of them sitting by the window, watching the setup with vague curiosity.

I pull the cart up right next to the guard booth.

"You guys got a toolbox in there?" I ask tentatively. "One of the wheels on this thing keeps jamming. Gotta take a look at it, oil it or something," I add, speaking to Bonzo, who’s lounging in his chair, sipping coffee, eyes half-watching the waiters finish setting up the last round ofhors d’oeuvresin the garden.

"There should be something," Bonzo mutters, and rummages under the cabinet next to his knees, pulling out a battered toolbox.

I get to work on the back wheel, actually take it off completely along with the spring, and bring it with me as I step inside the booth.

"Mind if I sit for a bit? Gotta take it apart."

"Sure, go ahead."

Now that I’m inside, I’ve got a perfect view of what’s happening through the window.

And I can’t seem to pull myself away.

From here, I watch the first guests arrive. Of course, they all have to pass through the passageway to get into the central garden. One car after another starts rolling in, each one pulling into the garage that runs alongside the passageway. The guests step out and head toward the garden entrance.

Naturally, I don’t recognize most of them. I’m not part of this city’s elite, and definitely not the criminal kind. But I dospot a few familiar faces. There’s the mayor Ronalds, a beta with a fake smile, and I see that leech, Dante Moll, from Beta Empowerment.

Then there’s one more guy I recognize: Mark Ferguson, a rising political star. I’ve seen his face all over town on campaign banners. He’s running for state senator.

He’s got his beautiful husband on his arm, a tall man with waist-length white-blond hair.

"Looks like it’s gonna be a hell of a party," I mutter to Bonzo as soon as his two goons, Gian and Raul, step outside to start ushering people in.

Bonzo sighs. He’s a pudgy, lazy guy who usually hangs out in the booth playing solitaire or cards with the other guards. He’s supposed to be retiring from the mafia, but he just hangs around, always looking disinterested.

"And then we spend half the damn night dragging drunk guests out of here," he grumbles bitterly.

"Yeah, and I’ll have plenty to clean up in the garden," I add, keeping up my role. "Trampled grass, broken plants… gonna be a mess."

"This is how the rich party. And there’s nothing we can do about it."

From day one, I’ve tried to stay on good terms with Bonzo. He’s the oldest of the guards here, and if there’s one person I definitely shouldn’t piss off, it’s him. The others treat me like an outsider, and fair enough, but Bonzo never shows it. He’s just as gruff with his own crew as he is with me.

I go back to fiddling with the cart wheel, pretending to fix it. There’s nothing actually wrong with it. But I make sure it looks convincing. I even ask for a bit of motor oil, which they do have, and I use it under the pretense of lubricating a few parts.

All of it just to keep watching the garden.

Before long, the party is in full swing.

All the guests have arrived. From what I can see through the window, most are already mingling in tight groups, chatting, drinking. Others sit down at the long tables, sampling the endless stream of snacks delivered by a small army of waiters. Alcohol’s flowing like water, and I’m pretty sure there are other substances available too, for anyone who wants them.

It’s hard to spot Sun or Summer from this far away, but eventually, I see a harp being carried up onto the stage. Then Sun appears, sitting down behind it. Even from here, I can tell he’s tense.

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