Page 110 of Inside the Sun

Bonzo suddenly speaks up.

"That new boy is a real piece of tasty ass," he mutters, rubbing his chin, eyes locked on Sun’s slim figure on stage. "Just asking to be bent over."

What a disgusting pig. But of course, I could use it as an opening for gossip, maybe a chance to dig a little deeper, even though it’s extremely irritating to talk to him about Sun.

"Your boss got a thing for blondes?" I murmur, trying to nudge him into a certain direction. Maybe he’ll say something about Anzo’s past lovers?

"Especially the pretty ones," Bonzo grunts, still staring at Sun playing the harp. I wish the thick glass wasn’t muting the sound so much. The noise from the guests drowns out most of the music.

"Bet half the guys out there are hard," Bonzo mutters nastily. "Drooling all over that little doll," he adds, licking his own lips like a creep.

Am I one of those creeps? Let's be honest, I was drooling from the beginning.

"He’s an alpha. Not everybody’s into that," I say under my breath, starting to feel even more uncomfortable.

"So what? Still a looker. I’m sure plenty of these pigs would pay good money to get a piece of his ass," he grumbles, face rednow. Then he clears his throat and glances at me. "Maybe you should turn on the sprinklers, cool ’em down a bit," he snickers.

I bite the inside of my cheek, cringing. The sprinkler controls are right there in the garage, just a few steps away. And Bonzo should be the one getting sprinkled. I can smell his fucking arousal, and it stinks. The heightened sense of smell has its drawbacks, being strong enough to literally pick up what’s in other people’s underwear and armpits and socks, fresh or not. Blocking it out takes a lot of effort, and I have to do it now, before I throw up.

"Or even better!" he chuckles. "Fill the sprinklers with champagne. They’d probably thank you for it."

He bursts into another wheezy laugh, clearly impressed with his own joke. I try to politely smile but nothing moves on my face.

Instead, my eyes lock on Sun. He’s just finishing his performance, stepping off the stage to a round of applause. God, that boy is talented. What a fucking tragedy he’s here.

Then my gaze shifts to Summer.

Control yourself, Ragnar.

The clock’s ticking.You know now what to do.It’s time to stop obsessing over pretty boys and finally start rescuing my family.

SUN

The whole time Summer and I sit on the couch near the stage, no one dares to come up to us. The guests are probably too scared that Anzo might take it the wrong way, and who wants to piss off a mafia boss? But after I play the harp and step down from the stage, Anzo leads me over to a group of men standing by the buffet, sipping wine from elite vintages.

To my dismay, I immediately recognize Mark Ferguson and his husband, Jared.

Jared looks genuinely surprised to see me here. He watches me with cautious uncertainty.

Anzo, of course, doesn’t introduce me to anyone. He keeps his hand hooked around my arm like I’m some kind of show dog he’s parading around for everyone to gawk at. His own pet alpha.

He weaves through the guests, making short, meaningless small talk about sports and the upcoming elections, nothing business-related. A few people he talks to are other Ferro relatives, whom I recognize from pictures on the blogThe Truth Only I Know. I can see the guy who is together with Rocco handling the illegal side of the business, a middle-aged alpha by the name of Vincenzo Ferro, Anzo’s first cousin. He is here with his sons and talks with Anzo for a few minutes about someboring legal shit. In the meantime, his sons chat with Luca about MMA fights they are excited to watch soon.

Then there’s a moment when we approach the mayor, who peers at me with a strange grimace as he sips his champagne.

Then Anzo walks over to another cousin of his, Enrico, an omega in his fifties, who is deep in discussion with Ennio Ferro, talking horse races. Anzo inserts himself into the conversation, and for a while, I catch Ennio’s cold, black eyes boring into me like two daggers.

Only when we reach Mark Ferguson does Anzo finally let go of my arm. I take the opportunity to step a little to the side and speak to Jared.

"How’s it going?" I say, trying to keep my tone casual, like nothing unusual is happening, like I’m not standing here dressed as a Greek slave at a mafia party.

"Looks like Martin’s already history," Jared says, that weird, tense look still stuck on his face, like he’s not sure how much he can get away with saying.

I give him a look like it’s no big deal. "Obviously. He became insufferable," I say vaguely.

Jared bites his lip. I can tell he’s struggling with something. He keeps throwing nervous glances at Anzo, who’s talking to Mark.

"Well, you make choices in life, and then you live with the consequences," he mutters, sounding like he really wants to say more, but just can’t bring himself to do it.

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