Page 77 of Inside the Sun

My dream is full of anxiety. I'm running through a dark forest, searching for something. Someone. It’s desperate. I keep tryingto find a way out, to shake off the fear and tension knotted in my chest, but all I see are more and more trees. Far off, between them, a silver light is shining, but I can’t reach it. Not now, anyway. But I keep trying.

Then I hear a distant bird call, sharp and high-pitched. Maybe a bird of prey? A falcon?

It echoes through the forest like it’s trying to guide me somewhere.

But I still can’t get there. My legs keep getting tangled in the tall grass.

The moment I wake up, the first thing I do is go to the window. Without thinking, almost instinctively, I move toward the daylight.

Why? I need to see the man who helped me forget everything for a moment.

Is he working today?

Of course he is. I spot him from a distance, trimming shrubs somewhere deeper in the garden. I can barely make out his figure through the thick greenery.

That same unexplained ‘pull’ stirs in me again, that irrational need to see him, to talk to him, to break free from my grim reality for just a moment.

I try to convince myself that’s all it is. Just a small, harmless interaction I can control in this fucked-up situation. A fragment of my old life I can pretend still exists.

But at the same time there is the other part of my brain that fights hard against the interest that flares up every time I think about him.

Because he’s just a stranger,meaninglessin my situation.

Let's be serious.

He can’t help me!

Getting close to him could be a disaster—I’m a captive in a mafia fortress, and Anzo would get beyond furious.

I should have only one priority: staying alive, keeping it low-key, submitting and being quiet. And surely not wasting mental energy fantasizing about some good-looking guy while so much is at risk.

There’s still a chance he might’ve been planted by Anzo to bait me into doing something reckless.

And yet, the silly me changes into a thin, sheer tank top. It’s green with delicate floral vines curling across the fabric.

I pull on tight white jeans, because white makes my ass look bigger, and hey, who doesn’t like that? I’ve always been naturally lean, athletic even, but every time I go to the gym, I focus on glutes. I want them high and perky. Guys love an ass that pops.

On my way down to the garden, I pass Mauro. He completely ignores me. Doesn’t even glance my way. He’s always roaming the halls like that… Sometimes I’m tempted to ask him something, but what would be the point? I don’t know sign language, and the conversation would just end up awkward.

I step out onto the patio and sit down for a moment, pretending I’m just there to relax. Only when I’m sure no one’s around, no soldiers smoking by the kitchen door, I slip away down one of the overgrown garden paths, picking the most shrub-covered one I can find.

I find the gardener kneeling on the lawn, scrubbing one of the stone planters covered in moss.

When he sees me, I catch a soft sigh, like he’s already annoyed.

Guess he doesn’t want me here. Interesting. If he were one of Anzo’s guys, I feel like he’d act differently, he’d jump at the chance to engage. But instead, he keeps avoiding me. Is this part of a clever plot? Or is he really just an ordinary gardener? Someone who doesn’t want to get fired for flirting with Anzo’s plaything?

"Not exactly thrilled to see me, huh?" I say with a crooked smile.

"Sorry, but I have to work. That’s what the Ferros pay me for," he replies, furrowing his pretty, arched brows. His tone is clipped and impatient.

I hesitate. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t say something stupid, so why fight it?

"No fun to flirt with Ferro’s fucktoy, right?"

Silence. He keeps scrubbing the planter, then speaks slowly, like he’s carefully picking each word.

"Is that what you are right now?"

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