Page 52 of Inside the Sun

At the same time, I glance at Summer. He looks the same as yesterday, head down, silent. The only difference I notice is a faint bruise on the side of his neck. Finger pressure? Could be anything. A hickey, maybe. Or a blood-tinged scratch.

Well, abuse is just a normal part of daily life here.

There’s one thing I can’t complain about: the food. Even if I have to eat it from the floor, it’s still good Italian cuisine. I can eat as much as I want, and it’s delicious. But what the hell does that matter in the face of everything else going on around me?

Even pigs get fattened up before they’re slaughtered, right?

Like a good pet, I lick the plate with deliberate movements of my tongue and catch Anzo’s gaze while I do it. I even make a few naughty, swirling moves around the thickestgrissiniI can find. For Anzo’s eyes.

Nope, still not being flirty. It’s just survival mode.

After breakfast, I’m taken back to my room again.

There’s nothing for me to do but stare out the window at the gardener. It’s kind of calming, in a weird way. I watch his body, those muscles, the smooth way he moves despite his size. What a specimen.

If I weren’t a tormented prisoner of some psycho, maybe I’d go talk to him. Or jerk off imagining that body pinning me to a mattress.

But obviously, the level of stress I’m under kills any possibility of that.

Sometime after 11 am, Matteo shows up.

He’s carrying a tablet. He stops next to me and angles it so I can see, and…

It’s my old dorm room. The inside.

"We’ve installed cameras. We’ll see and hear everything," he says.

His voice is flat, like some government clerk. I don’t add anything. What would I even say? He’s just another one of Anzo’s errand boys.

Soldatiare known for being loyal to their capo. None of them would risk anything for some random guy they probably see as a slut.

Half an hour later, I’m taken to lunch. But to my surprise, Anzo and Rocco aren’t there.

It’s just Luca, Eliano, and Mauro. And, of course, Summer.

The seat next to Rocco’s is still empty, so maybe there’s someone else who usually joins them but hasn’t shown up yet.

This time, I’m allowed to sit at the table again, or maybe nobody cares to enforce Anzo’s punishment. No idea, but I enjoy the seat while I can.

The entire meal passes in complete silence.

Eliano keeps glancing at his phone, something he never did when Anzo was around.

Mauro, as usual, stares at his plate like it’s the only thing that exists. Doesn’t say a word. Is he autistic or something?

Summer’s the same. Just… quiet.

Is this what ‘broken’ looks like? Silence. Hopelessness. Numbness.

Is this going to be me too? Or maybe I already look like that.

After lunch, I’m sent back to my room for a while.

I pace, restless, checking the window now and then.

The gardener is still there, trimming the bushes. He’s meticulous, each leaf shaped with perfect precision. Cubes, spheres, clean angles. Like some green sculpture garden.

I stare again. He’s probably around the same size as Luca. Could he be a purple alpha too? They’re rare. 1.5 to 2 percent of the alpha population. But still possible. I have one in my own family, after all.

---