SUN #2
"If I kill him, Rocco takes over. And he won’t let me go. Or you. He always ‘claimed’ Anzo’s exes."
Gosh, I know that I sound insane, but I blurt it out anyway, "Then kill him too."
Summer closes his eyes. "And then who? Luca? Ennio? Mauro? Eliano?"
"They’re all fucking mafiosos…"
"And the soldiers? I’d have to kill them too? The staff? What then, I become a target for the FBI as a mass murderer?"
"The feds would understand; it’s self-defense. None of them are innocent, Summer! They’re all part of a criminal enterprise! This whole damn house runs on extortion, drug sales, weapons, blackmail, and prostitution. They’re all guilty! All of them!"
My breath hitches, my cheeks flush, emotions boil. I must look like a madman, babbling about murdering all those people. But, dear Fate, I’m a tortured prisoner here, and my family is in danger. Can you blame me?
Something flickers across Summer’s face. He gazes at me pensively, then looks away, and finally says, "There’s something else. My brother, Moon… he had certain abilities. Glimpses. Sometimes he saw pieces of the future."
He presses his lips together and goes quiet for a moment, like he’s wrestling with himself.
"Go on, go on. He saw the future?"
"Not always clearly, the visions fluctuated. But some paths leading into the future seemed crystal clear, like they were solidifying. He was still learning to understand it, but he insisted some things were certain."
"But did he tell you anything specific? About Anzo?" I press.
"Yes. He insisted I shouldn’t kill him. That if I do, several paths leading to happiness in the future for many people will collapse."
I stare at him, not quite believing what I just heard. Collapse of paths? It sounds like something straight out of a sci-fi movie.
"Happiness, huh? Is this, what we’re going through right now, is this part of that ‘happily ever after’ path? C’mon! You must be joking!"
Summer’s lips tighten, and I close my eyes, searching for more restraint, but it’s hard with my inner turmoil. Finally I just plead, "Please, Summer… you’re the only one who can save us!"
But Summer ignores me, only turns the handle, and slips through the door. This time, I don’t stop him. He shuts it behind him.
I just stand there for a second, staring at the wooden surface. Then I press my hands to my temples, trying to hold back the flood of insanity.
I’m going to lose my mind in here.
Eventually, I unfreeze, curse out loud, and storm off.
I return to my room feeling defeated. Frustrated. Angry. Furious!
What a comfort: paths that lead to happiness . But for whom?
I seriously doubt Summer’s brother saw my path in any of his visions. I’m just some random guy who happened to catch Anzo’s eye. It’s not like Moon and I even know each other. He disappeared from here nine months ago.
Maybe Summer’s future looks promising, but what about mine? I couldn’t possibly be included in that big cosmic fucking plan.
And… how much can you really trust those kinds of abilities anyway?
My dad always claimed that Snow, my own brother, gets these glimpses too.
Not often, but once in a while he’d have a feeling about something.
I never paid much attention to it, though I admit that whatever he predicted seemed to happen exactly as he said.
But was it luck? A correct guess based on probability? Who knows.
So yeah, I’m still neck-deep in shit, and my weird talk with Summer doesn’t make me feel better. Quite the opposite.
All I feel is lingering resentment. With all that power, and Summer’s doing nothing. Letting himself be used, locked up, tortured. In the name of some imaginary future paths? Ugh!
When I glance out the window, the garden outside is already dark. Soft glowing orbs light up the grounds as they do every night, so pretty.
I throw myself down on the bed and punch the pillows a few times, rolling around like a caged animal. Definitely, I’m coming apart at the seams.
I have to do something—anything—to take my mind off this nightmare.
I shut my eyes, desperate to escape the spinning chaos in my head.
After a moment, as I start to calm down a little, something nudges at the edge of my mind. Maybe I could even call it a subtle flow of energy, delicate and shimmering… Soft. Subtle. Like someone gently steering me toward a thought, whispering one word into my ear.
The gardener.
Why? That guy doesn’t matter!
Why is he eclipsing my mind now, while I’m stressed and desperate?
He’s careful, probably scared to death at the thought of even talking to Anzo’s fucktoy. So why am I thinking about this rando? He can’t help me.
But…
He could be a distraction, that’s for sure. So little, yet so much. An alternate way to escape my situation.
I recall today’s events with some hesitation. I mean, no denying it, he’s hot.
Big enough to be a purple alpha, though when I looked at his biceps, bare and pretty impressive, there's only the gyrfalcon tattoo on his skin. I didn’t see the signature purple line that all alphas of this kind have on their limbs.
Also, I’m pretty sure he wears colored contacts. I have a good eye for that, used to wear different lenses myself at parties just for fun. His are navy blue, low-key, nothing flashy. But the most unusual thing about him? His hair, peeking out from under his cap.
I’ve never seen a color like that on a real person.
Either he used some next-level dye or… hell, I don’t know.
But his hair is silver. Not the gray people call ‘silver’—no.
I mean actually silver, like Christmas tinsel or the inside of a candy wrapper.
I keep wondering if it’s a trick or the real deal.
Rare hair colors show up from time to time in the ABO population, some folks are born with blue, green, or even pink, due to our alien blood admixture. My own brother, Storm, has deep purplish-red hair. But this? I’ve never seen anything so unnatural.
I sigh and stretch out further on the bed.
Damn it. That actually helped. Like magic, those scattered thoughts about the gardener help me unwind. Maybe even improve my mood a little. For a brief moment, I’m not thinking about Anzo. Or the mafia. Or rape. Or electricity.
Thanks, gardener, whoever you are.
A moment later, I drift into sleep.
***
My dream is full of anxiety. I'm running through a dark forest, searching for something. Someone. It’s desperate.
I keep trying to 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, meaningless in 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.