Page 193 of Inside the Sun

No one here knows why.

No soul in The Sun knows mysecret.

When Rocco walks out, wiping his bleeding lip, I stay behind with Domenico for a moment longer. I untie his hands and help him up, pretending to be a caringcaporegime, but I have my own reason for it.

"Sooo, where’d you stash the gardener’s parents? One of the F-12 warehouses? If this goes bad, we may need to let them go."

Domenico lifts his eyes, genuinely surprised.

"Anzo wouldn’t allow that. He wants them—"

I lean in, my eyes narrowed.

"You fucked up, Domenico. We’re in danger. If the feds come knocking, we need to clean house. And you don’t wanna go down with the rest of us, do you?"

"Then take it up with Anzo! I’m not doing shit without his blessing, everything’s pissing him off nowadays…"

"Smart. But if this falls apart, Anzo won’t be here to care. We will. You, me, Rocco. And we sure as hell aren’t going down on a kidnapping charge."

Silence. Domenico stares at me, then swallows hard.

"We need to be ready," I say almost softly, luring him into my reasons. "I warned Anzo. Told him to run. But I’m not going down with him. And I want you here too, with us!"

He blinks, then finally nods, looking a bit pleased.

"That makes sense…" he mutters. "Warehouse C-18."

I don’t care if he tells Anzo I asked. I’m just staying ahead of the fallout. And Anzo? He respects that.

Besides, I’m just the dumb meathead, remember?

Too stupid to betray him.

SUN

I wake up to the sound of a door slamming and footsteps.

No idea what time it is, how long I’ve been asleep, or how long I’ve even been stuck in this nightmare.

All of us lift our heads: me, Ragnar, Mauro, and Eliano. Everyone except Summer, who's still hooked up to an IV and hasn’t regained consciousness.

Will he ever wake up? Or is his mind permanently fried?

Anzo steps through the open door. He’s not wearing a jacket, just a shirt, with two holsters strapped to his waist. Why does he need guns when we’re locked in cages? That question won't leave me alone. It looks like he’s heading out on some kind of mission.

But it turns out we’re the mission.

"A few more hours and I’m out of here, my sweet little birds," he says. "But first, I need to clean up this room."

His gaze sweeps over us, landing for a second on Summer.

"The question is, who do I still need, and who do I have to get rid of to keep those suit-wearing bastards from crawling even further up my ass."

No one says anything. You can’t argue with a psycho.

Anzo walks up to the cages holding his family.

"How lucky I am to have you here, my dear nephews."

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