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 generous sum 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.
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 not soldati .
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 my nose 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.
As I move a little closer, spraying the plants, he suddenly turns toward me and says quietly, "Hey."
"Good morning," I answer politely, keeping my tone neutral and professional. I make sure not to lift my head too much, don’t want him thinking I’m even slightly interested or trying to start a conversation. Just a minimal, polite response to his greeting.
I return to spraying the yucca that’s been hit hard with spider mites.
When I get to the lavender pots, also partially infested, about seven or eight feet from where he’s sitting, I say, "I’m about to use a chemical spray. I’d recommend stepping back a dozen feet or so."
"Sure," he replies, but instead of moving away, he gets up and unexpectedly circles around, stopping just behind me.
Not good. I really wish he’d just walked off. Still, I get to work, pretending to be very focused. I avoid looking at him entirely. If someone saw us standing so close, I could be in serious trouble.
"Bugs or fungus?" he asks.
"Spider mites. They can dry out a plant fast," I say.
"I get it. My dad has a garden too. He’s fought those before. Do you ever use natural sprays, like neem oil or potassium soap?"