Page 227 of Inside the Sun

His eyes look a little watery too. He pats the seat behind him again.

"Safe travels, Sun," Dad says softly, stroking my cheek. "My beautiful, exceptional child."

I take a step back and send him one last smile. Then I don’t wait anymore.

I swing my leg over the seat and welcome the familiar sound of the engine, deep, vibrating, waking me up inside.

Boom.

We’re off.

The wheels spin over the asphalt, speeding, as my heart is rushing… the scent of rubber and leather flooding my senses, Ragnar’s leather jacket.

One more time, I glance back at my parents standing in the doorway. I raise my hand in a wave, then turn my head toward the road.

Ragnar steers us onto the state highway, and after that? Who knows?

We go wherever our eyes take us.

Miles start disappearing beneath our tires, and I feel like I’m about to take off, like I might lift into the air, like a falcon. The wind, the sun, the freedom: I’ve got it all back. And much more than that.

God, I never thought I’d say this, but fuck—I’m so damn happy to feelyoungagain.

I’m setting out to re-find myself.

This time, I’m not alone. The emptiness inside me is gone.

Freedom. Such a banal word… no one really gets how much it’s worth until they lose it.

It sounds obvious, too easy. But to me, it’s everything.

Every day from now on, I’ll be thankful for this, for something I’ll never, ever take for granted again.

And now I dive into the sound of the wind and the miles rushing beneath our wheels.

It’s beautiful—because the horizon doesn’t end.

This is only the beginning.

LUCA

It’s almost funny how they completely ignore me, just leave me lying in the corner. Ragnar carries Summer in his arms, Sun follows him, and so do Mauro and Eliano.

Guess they figured out Ragnar did actually knock me out.

I wait a few minutes before I get up and look around.

Anzo is still naked, still unconscious on the floor. I pick him up and move him to the center of the room so the agents can spot him easily.

But I also dress him. I pull on his boxers, then pants, and button up his shirt over his scarred, battered chest.

I hate this man so much, and yet a part of me sees something else in him. I could’ve become a monster too. I was just one step away.

And I’ve stood by too many times, letting Rocco do unspeakable things. Deluding myself into thinking I was a bit less of a demon than he was. Subconsciously, I followed my father’s path: standing idly by, comforting myself with the thought that it wasn’t me doing it. Fixating on that excuse.

Even though I tried to stay out of the family’s illegal business, focusing mostly on training and leading our soldiers, I remained a silent witness to one crime after another. And I did nothing to stop it.

So do I really have the moral high ground to judge Anzo?

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