Page 209 of Inside the Sun

He glances at Ragnar.

"I’m dropping you off here. I’ll grab an Uber. You’ve got about a two-hour drive ahead." He gestures toward the turnoff where he’s slowing down.

"And good luck. I’m really happy you made it out. From what you said, Anzo Ferro’s got bigger problems now than chasing you down for revenge. Hope it stays that way."

"Oh, definitely," I say. "He messed with someone way bigger than him and… well, he lost. Guess the predator met his match."

Hunter lets out a dry laugh.

"Yeah. Dabbling in ideology is almost more dangerous than just running brothels and trafficking drugs." Then he waves it off. "Anyway. I'm glad it’s over."

"Yeah," I reply quickly. "And good luck at that marriage contract fair."

Hunter glances at Ragnar, then at Summer.

"Take care, both of you. And I really hope you manage to sort things out. After everything, you probably need a serious vacation."

Then he parks and climbs out of the car.

Ragnar immediately slides into the driver’s seat, gives Hunter a wave, and pulls away.

I wave too, watching through the window as Hunter’s figure shrinks behind us.

He looks smaller somehow. Bent over. Older. Like something heavy’s settled on him. I really do hope life still has something good in store for him.

Moments later, we’re merging onto the state highway, heading toward my parents’ place, about a hundred miles out.

Only as the miles tick by on the dash do I start to believe this is actually real.

Like really-real.

I’m finally leaving hell behind.

And from here on out, the only way is up.

ANZO

The interrogation doesn’t last long, I know how it goes. Obviously, I refuse to give a statement. They read me my rights, and the FBI agent looks smug as hell, borderline arrogant, honestly. No professionalism whatsoever. They don’t bother to hide their pathetically triumphant looks.

The second we sit down, they shove a goddamn tablet in front of me and hit play. And there it is: the recording. My voice. Talking with the strike team. Every single word, clear as day. My face, plain on screen. Every detail of the plan, every instruction I gave, is all there now. Frozen in time. Immortalized for my demise.

I’m screwed. No way around it.

After all these years of playing it safe, I let myself go full throttle. Went all in, like Moon advised. I believed in him.

And what now? Looks like I lost.

Guess I’ve got no choice but to live with the consequences. As always.

Right now, the only thing I can do is demand my lawyer, and that’s exactly what I do. Not that they seem too troubled by it. Those boastful little grins on their faces… They’re so thrilled.

Hitting the heart of a major criminal organization must feel like Christmas came early.

What I can’t stop thinking about is, who the hell recorded that conversation? The angle doesn’t look familiar. I know where every camera is in the compound, but this one? It’s way lower. Not eye level. Almost like someone hid the camera inside a damn flowerpot on the windowsill. Or maybe in the lower edge of a painting’s frame?

It was deliberate, planted for only one purpose. To set me up. Someone wanted to take me down. And he succeeded.

I’d congratulate the bastard if I could, right before I put a bullet in his skull.

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