Page 67 of Inside the Sun

I didn’t get access to the house, except for the kitchen, but from the first day, I could move freely outside, around the grounds, including a passageway that connected the outer and inner gardens, and it was pretty wide. It also included a garage, with guard booths on both sides, partly inside the wall, partly sticking out. I was allowed to pass through as much as I wanted, and it gave me a chance to chat casually with the guards.

For the first few months, I made zero progress. I stayed low-key, careful not to draw attention. I didn’t see Summer even once, though I kept a close eye on the windows and the patio by the inner garden.

Each month, the anxiety and frustration built up. I felt like I wasn’t doing enough.

I’ve always just been a simple guy. I wasn't cut out for field work or espionage games. I liked clear missions and clear execution. And here? My methods weren’t working.

Since forever, the mafia had known how to protect itself from unwanted eyes and ears, and from the moment Anzo took over, they had become even more cautious. I had very little room to maneuver.

After all this time of me working here and making zero progress, my parents became even more frustrated than I was. They kept asking if I had found anything, and every time I saw disappointment on their faces. At one point, they even tried to hire private investigators to look for Moon, but no one wanted to take on a job linked to the mafia.

Finally, I decided to ask Hunter for his cousin Veyron’s contact and commissioned the guy to start discreetly digging into Moon’s disappearance. He agreed a bit hesitantly (and with the promise of good pay). Since he no longer worked for a private investigator’s office, he said he’d try to handle it using his own resources. But it would take more time.

The bottom line? I was still the best hope for Summer and Moon, though my parents seemed to have trouble understanding that I couldn't just walk into a mob boss’s fortress and come out with sensitive information. They were stressed, and the pressure on me was intense.

None of the conversations I overheard in the kitchen or the guard booths ever touched on anything even remotely incriminating, no clues about my brothers’ whereabouts.

They knew the rules, they knew how to behave around people who were notsoldati.

Every day, as soon as I showed up, they all went quiet, then switched to talking about sports, politics, gossip, celebrities, or internet memes. So I couldn’t push too quickly or too intensely for answers, but time was ticking.

For most of the fourth month, I felt like I was running in circles, getting nowhere. I even stopped taking calls from my parents. I just couldn't handle their frustration.

Finally, near the end of the month, something changed.

Something new entered the picture.

***

One morning, a day that seems like nothing special, I notice someone at a window in the fortress.

It’s not Summer, unfortunately, but another young man. I only catch a glimpse from a distance, but I can tell he’s an alpha. The next day, I see him again. He seems to be watching me. I have no idea what that means. Is someone keeping tabs on me? Have I drawn attention?

On the third day, I spot him again! Then on the fourth, something shifts. I step into the inner garden around 10 am, planning to spray the decorative yucca with bifenthrin. Spider mites have taken hold.

That’s when someone emerges from the Ferro’s mansion and walks toward the patio. It catches me off guard. No one from the household ever comes out here.

The patio and garden are used only for hosting small parties, which always means extra work for me: trampled plants, damaged hedges.

This person heads for the line of lounge chairs near the pool. That’s quite close to where I’m working, since the poolside practically borders the garden beds.

As I work my way along the rows of plants, I find myself gradually getting closer to him.

What if Anzo really has decided I’m suspicious and sent someone to test me? It’s a common tactic in the mafia, to set up scenarios where someone has to prove their loyalty.

Soon, I’m within a dozen feet of the stranger. He’s very young. Nineteen, maybe twenty?

Even from this distance, I can make out some bruises on his face. Interesting. If this is some kind of test, applying makeup to mimic bruises would be an effective move. Will I react? Will I show concern? Ask questions? If I do—bam! Gotcha. You’re poking around where you shouldn’t.

Out of the corner of my eye, I try to study him discreetly. He has long, golden hair and a lean but athletic build.

Obviously, I can’t just openly stare at him, I’m just a gardener. Getting too familiar with the residents of The Sun would definitely raise red flags.

I notice him glancing in my direction pretty often as he sips from a tall glass. My sense of smell tells me it’s not alcohol, just innocent orange juice.

My nose also tells me one more thing. The guy uses a pheromone-blocking deodorant. They all smell similar, somewhat aquatic notes, sea breeze, ozonic tones. I know it all too well; in the military, people use them all the time. But mynose can catch a lot more: the scent of the detergent on his clothes and the smell of his body wash, which has orange flower tones.

All AOs heavily rely on the sense of smell, which is particularly strong in fertile alphas and omegas. It’s almost like gaining an extra layer of information about a person’s health, subgender, hormonal condition, hygiene, and cosmetic use.

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