Page 51 of Inside the Sun

Is that the deadline Anzo means?

But weirdly, it’s also kind of comforting, like maybe I’ve got almost two months to figure something out. Some way out of this that doesn’t end with me in a black trash bag.

"I promise I’ll smooth it over, Sir," I whisper, lowering my head.

Anzo grunts approvingly and steps back.

"Now get your ass back to your room. Summer and I have a few things to take care of."

He flashes me a disgusting smile.

I leave the room, but before I go, I glance over at Summer. His head’s bowed, like always. We still haven’t made eye contact,not once. But somehow, I know. I know that whatever’s about to happen to him fills him with despair.

We both have our own versions of hell.

***

The next morning, I wake up feeling like my whole body’s been through a shredder. It’s a kind of pain I’ve never known before. Sure, I work out. I hit the gym, keep my abs and ass in top shape. I jog. But I’ve never been the kind of guy to push myself too hard.

This? This is the next level. Every muscle feels torn apart. My shoulders are on fire. My ribs ache. My hip hurts. My face still stings.

Damn… what a mess.

There’s a small bathroom attached to my room, so I drag myself in for a shower. I let the warm water run down my battered body, but it doesn’t do much. Because this pain isn’t just physical. As cliché as it sounds, what’s eating me from the inside is worse.

While waiting for breakfast, I stare out the window. The gardener’s out there again, working. Weird, but it kinda looks like he notices me the moment I step up to the glass.

Dude’s huge, like heavyweight-wrestler huge. What’s a guy like that doing gardening? If I were built like him, I’d be in the military or cage fighting…

Wait. No. Stop. Rewind. I’d be sitting at home living a boring-ass life. Yeah. Lesson learned.

Maybe he learned it too? Perhaps he chose the gardening gig over a daily shot of adrenaline. For the first time, I get it. Peace over pain. That’s what this all boils down to.

At 9 am, Matteo shows up to take me to breakfast. This weird ritual of eating together still makes no sense to me. I don’t get what it’s supposed to prove, or what kind of ‘bond’—maybe atwisted one—it’s meant to build in this psycho family. But Anzo insists on it.

When I walk into the dining room, for once I’m not the last to arrive. Rocco and Luca come in just after. None of them look at me. I’m just this awkward presence at the table, living proof of how completely fucked up Anzo is. But maybe they don’t need reminding anymore? Maybe their whole lives are proof enough. And if they’re still here, if none of them have run, then I guess they’ve found a way to live with it.

The moment I step around the table to take my seat, Anzo lifts his head and says,

"Not today, pet. You were misbehaving, so you need to earn your place at the table before you’re allowed to return."

He gestures to the two beta servers.

One of them knows what to do. He places my plate… on the ground next to the table.

I stare at it for a moment.

Nobody makes a move. Nobody even flinches.

Is this normal here too?

Well, I have two options.

First: More pain.

Second: Less pain.

I choose the latter and get on my knees.

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