Page 66 of Inside the Sun

"I’m basically a cyborg, pet. I’m connected to several systems in this house."

His tone is flat, but his smirk is unmistakable. It’s the kind of detail he wants me to remember, a flex disguised as a casual fact.

Then he turns abruptly, as if remembering something, and slips his hand into his pocket. When he pulls it out, he's holding a printed photograph.

He hands it to me without a word.

I freeze the moment I see what’s on it.

Dogger.

My ex-boyfriend's arm is draped around some blond omega, whose rounded belly makes everything inside me tighten like a fist.

I stare.

"What the fuck is this?" I breathe. "Why are you showing me this? I didn’t ask for it."

Anzo shrugs with maddening impassivity.

"I thought it might entertain you."

My stomach drops. My fingers go numb. The photo slips from my hand and flutters to the floor.

The room spins a little. There’s a high, dull buzzing in my ears.

Anzo chuckles.

And I hate him, just a little bit more than I did a minute ago.

RAGNAR

Another month passes in The Sun, and I still haven’t made any meaningful progress.

My younger brother has been locked up here for nine months now. And I can’t find out what happened to my twin, even though I know he’s alive.

If Moon were dead, our bond would’ve told me. But that doesn't change the fact that Summer is still in Anzo Ferro’s hands, and I’m fucking helpless.

As a soldier, I’m used to structure, to clear plans and results. I give everything to the mission. But right now I'm navigating rough, uncertain waters.

The fact I even got a job here was a near miracle. My references were shaky at best, my past buried under layers of vagueness, and yet somehow, I landed the gig.

After leaving the military, I spent three months trying different ways in, strategizing, analyzing. Eventually, the opportunity basically presented itself. I was circling the area around the fortress when I saw a car drive out, its body wrapped with ads for a gardening service. Turned out the owners were people my parents knew pretty well. We visited them, had a talk. They admitted Ferro had hired them temporarily after his previous gardener died, but he was looking for someone permanent. That was my shot. My parents paid them a generoussum to vouch for me as their employee so I could apply for the full-time job.

At the interview, there was an older man. I didn’t know then that it was the head butler of The Sun, a man named Roberto. But another man was present too: Mauro Ferro.

He didn’t say a single word the entire time, but somehow I felt like his presence was the reason I got the job. I had no idea why, but his energy seemed to have some… openness to it. Like, on some level, he was expecting me. Absurd.

Since I could prove that I actually work in the gardening field, my cover was perfect. All my life, my parents ran a landscape design company, and I helped out throughout high school. Before joining the military at eighteen, I already had worked for them half-time for a few years, gaining decent experience.

Of course, my references were under a different name. I couldn’t walk into the Ferro estate as Ragnar Larsen, not when that name was linked to my brothers.

I also had to make sure my eyes wouldn’t give me away. All three of us share the same feature: one gold eye, one silver. So I wore dark blue contacts to the job interview and then every day to cover them up. I hid my short, buzzed silver hair under a baseball cap. I also had to keep my face slightly shifted, thanks to my purple alpha abilities.

My first days on the job were nerve-wracking. I kept waiting for Ferro to summon me and accuse me of being a mole.

Families like the Ferros are bound to be paranoid about informants planted by the FBI. And really, what better place to put a plant than the gardening staff? Pun intended.

You don’t need a made man for that kind of job. Mafia families often use so-called associates for tasks not directly tied to their business. It’s a perfect role for observation.

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