Page 78 of Inside the Sun

My lips press together. A sharp ache hits my chest. The feeling that he really isn’t one of Anzo’s goons gets stronger. What if I just told him the truth? Just… laid it out.

"Not by choice. But yeah. That’s where I ended up."

He closes his eyes, and his heartbeat picks up slightly. There’s a strange, heavy pause. He seems to be weighing my words, turning them over in his mind. I almost feel bad for dumping that kind of brutal honesty on him so casually. Now he has to sit with it.

Finally, he says, "I am sorry for your situation, but when I started working here, I was told not to interfere with Mr. Ferro's business under any circumstances. I'm not supposed to give my opinion or judge anyone. But if there's anything I can do for you—"

A quiet snort escapes me. "No, that’s not why I’m here!"

The gardener continues to work, before saying in a low voice,

"You know, even talking to you could get me in trouble, right?"

Shit. Maybe he really isn’t part of this. What if all this time I’ve been clinging to some innocent civilian, endangering him?

"I know, sorry," I whisper, my voice soft and apologetic. "It’s the same for me. But I just…" I trail off. Emotions stir in me again, no matter how hard I try to stop them. The truth slips out, my voice cracking just a little. "I just want to feel some kind of human connection. To forget my situation for a few fucking minutes."

What the hell is wrong with me? Am I really asking for comfort from the damn gardener?

He lifts his eyes to mine. Those dark blue contact lenses don’t suit his handsome face. He should have lighter eyes. With that artificial shade staring back at me, it’s like I can’t really see him. There’s a layer between us, thin but impenetrable.

"That sounds… very disturbing, and I don't even know how to respond," he says slowly. "I assume you don't expect me to call the police, right?"

I let out a breath. "Right. I don’t want anything from you. Like I said, I just need to talk to someone who doesn’t want to beat me or rape me. I just… want to stay sane, to feel normal." My voice cracks slightly.

I didn’t mean to go this deep, but it keeps pouring out of me, swelling like a tide ready to drown us in it.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. His fists clench too, and his heart beats faster. My words hit harder than I expected. Or maybe exactly as hard as they should, if he’s a person with a sense of morality.

"Listen… if there’s any way I can help you, something that doesn’t put you or me in more danger, just tell me what it is. I can even try to contact your family, or—"

I cut him off, my voice ridiculously high-pitched. "No! Don’t do that. That would only bring Anzo’s wrath down on them. I swear, the only reason I came to you is because you’re the only one here who isn’t one of his soldiers. That means maybe you’re just… good. Or at least normal."

There’s this sad, bitter smile on his face. "I’m far from good. And definitely not normal. But you’re right, I’m not one of his soldiers, I never will be. I’m just a… um… gardener."

But the way he says it… something shifts. His voice goes weirdly flat. I don’t know why, but it sounds off. Like he’s not telling the truth.

But why lie? He is a gardener. Isn’t he?

"You’re not… like, a cop or something?"

Typical me, the question spills out before I can stop it.

He laughs. A real, genuine laugh. "No, I’m not a cop. But even if I were, do you think I’d tell you?" He winks.

I blush, okay, fair. That was dumb. "Right, sorry. I’m not exactly an expert on how to behave when you’re a mole, pretty sure step one is not telling the first random guy you run into in a mafia stronghold," I say with a grin.

He smiles, just a little, but quickly gets serious again and answers,

"I hope things get better for you soon. I don’t know what advice I can really give, but for your own safety, and to minimize the risk of… provoking violence, try not to stand out. Obey when you can. Guys like that—" he hesitates, "they have huge egos."

"Yeah, that’s not really my thing. My big mouth gets me in trouble. I keep talking back to him. The collar he put on me is electric. If something pisses him off, it shocks me."

The man glances at my neck, with furrowed brows, then turns back to scrubbing out a flowerpot, his jaw tight.

"You know… maybe you shouldn’t be telling me all this. It makes things even more difficult for both of us."

I blink, thrown off.

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