SUN
There are two days left until the banquet, and I spend the time drifting between the room, the hallways, the patio, doing nothing, unsure what to do with myself. Another day has passed, and I haven’t seen Ragnar for half of it.
Yesterday at the pool… I admit I went crazy; it was an impulse. But for a second, seeing that hunger in his eyes, I thought, The hell with being careful ! If he just let it take over, maybe for a moment I’d feel free.
I try to sort through everything calmly, to lay out my feelings and come up with a plan, but it’s all jumbled. Like a damn puzzle with a warped piece that won’t fit, no matter how I twist it. Nothing fixes it.
I thrash around on the bed, permanently stuck in the chaos of my own thoughts.
I don’t even feel like playing the harp. I don’t feel like doing anything. I just want to get the hell out of this fucking place.
Last night I had to fuck Anzo again. He said I was ‘half-assing it’, so afterward he shocked me with the collar and hung me from the hook. Bastard.
God, I just want sex to feel normal again. Not like some grotesque, forced act I have to perform on a person I despise.
I want to be held. Kissed. Touched. I need it, desperately.
It’s not even the physical part.
I just want to matter to someone. But not like I did to Martin, or Diego, or Misha, or Stephen… Not as a trophy boyfriend. I want to feel like someone actually gives a damn about me. Like they want me to be happy, not just use me.
Someone like Ragnar.
Wait, what? Yesterday was just an episode of my insanity, a flicker that passed the moment he said no.
I try to reason with myself, to see how stupid it sounds, but the thought sticks. Something in my brain whispers: Yes, he could give you that. I know it. I feel it.
But oh well, he has to hold back anyway. This place is a hellhole, and there’s no escape. And he’s right, if we fuck, we won’t just die. It’ll be ugly .
***
After lunch, I’m lost again. I don’t know what to do with myself. At some point, I wander into the kitchen. I’ve never been here before.
It’s big, more like a restaurant kitchen than one in a home. Several people are working, all betas. One of them, maybe the head chef, stares at me like he’s seen a ghost, mouth literally hanging open.
"Hi. I was hoping to get a snack, if that’s okay?"
I’m not even hungry. But it’s another form of human interaction. A way to stop being a ‘prisoner’ and start being a ‘resident’, maybe.
They all stare. Every single one of them. Shit. I must be really out of place here. Maybe even interrupting their work.
They’ve already started prepping for the banquet; boxes of ingredients stacked in the corner, wine bottles, jars of olives, baskets of fruit.
"Yeah, of course. Have a seat. I’ll bring you something," the chef says, and his face says what the rest are thinking.
Shock. Either from my bruised-up face, or just the fact that someone like me, a worthless fucktoy, dared to walk in here like he belongs. No one in this room is confused about what my role is.
While I’m waiting, the door opens and three soldiers walk in, two I recognize: Massimo and Franco, but one I haven’t seen before.
Is he a new soldier here? They slow down when they spot me, but they’re not as surprised as the kitchen staff.
They sit at the same long table, just on the opposite side.
It’s clearly where the employees eat, lots of room. I sit perfectly still, unsure what to do.
They start talking about some rugby match, pretending I’m not there, but I catch their glances.
Especially from the one I don’t know, the quietest of the three. He’s watching me more than the others.
Then, out of nowhere, he speaks.
"How you doing, babe?" He gives me this weird, crooked smile.
"Could be better," I answer grimly.
"What can I do to make it better?" he says, and the other two shoot him warning looks. Massimo even elbows him under the table.
The guy just shrugs. It really seems like he's new here and has no idea who I am.
In the meantime, the chef brings me a snack, some kind of bruschetta with tomato and salmon. There’s also coffee for the soldiers.
I eat quickly. I wasn’t even hungry in the first place. Now I just want to get the hell out of here, fast. I know better than to expect sympathy from people like this. What I’d get is a round of laughter, most likely.
I leave the kitchen and head into the garden, stopping at the flower beds. I let out a long breath—
"Hey," a voice says behind me.
It’s that soldier. The one who spoke in the kitchen. He tilts his head and grins like an animal. One of his teeth is gold. Knocked out in a fight, maybe?
"You’re cute, you know that?"
"Are you new or something?" I ask, barely believing a simple soldier would try to hit on the capo’s fucktoy.
His arrogant face twists into something even cockier.
"None of your business, sweetheart. But since you’re asking… yeah, I finally decided to give this thing a shot after years of thankless work for Rocco. I fucking earned it, and they finally saw it."
I nearly bug my eyes out at him. I’m just a teen, but even I can read this guy like a book. If Rocco brought this brat in, that was a huge mistake.
Can’t say I’m super educated about how the mafia works, but blabbing to me about this kind of shit, when the mafia lives by strict omertà ? That shows he’s an idiot with a big ego, someone who doesn’t deserve an ounce of trust.
He leans in a bit, proving even more what a moron he is.
"If you ever dump Anzo, look me up. Name’s Vito."
"You shouldn’t be talking to me. Anzo wouldn’t like it," I mutter darkly.
But the man just stretches his face into a disgusting grin.
"I heard from the other guys that before Moon came around, Anzo used to pick up random boys off the street. When he got bored of them, he passed them on to Rocco. And then Rocco passed them on to the guys. Who knows, maybe we’ll meet again, just under different circumstances. " He flashes me a filthy smile.
My lips tighten.
"Anzo didn’t mind?"
The idiot shrugs. "No idea. Maybe he didn’t know. Rocco’s doing his own shit. Supposedly everything changed when Moon showed up. But now that he’s gone, maybe things will go back to how they used to be?"
He takes a step toward me, and I automatically back away, but behind me are high garden planters. My body is getting tense, I clench my fists nervously…
"You okay?"
The voice comes from behind, and I spin around. Standing just past the planters is Ragnar. There’s something different about his face, something darker than I’ve ever seen on him before. His eyes look different too, though I can’t tell what it is exactly. All I know is that I feel relief.
"Never better. You done mowing the lawn, gardener? 'Cause it looks like you missed a few blades, over there, to the left," Vito growls.
"I’ll get to them in a moment, don’t worry. But I think you might also be needed elsewhere," Ragnar replies, voice calm as ever.
"You don’t get to tell me where I’m supposed to be, lackey."
Ragnar steps to the edge of the line of garden planters. Now he and Vito are only about three feet apart.
Ragnar towers over the soldato by several inches. Vito might be my height, maybe an inch taller.
"It’s just a friendly suggestion. Pretty sure Anzo wouldn’t be too thrilled to see you here with him."
"Anzo wouldn’t be too thrilled to see you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong!" Vito snarls.
Another voice cuts in from behind. I whip around. Shit.
It’s Luca. This is getting messy!
"What’s going on here?"
Shit again. I still haven’t figured him out. Out of all the brothers, he’s the hardest to read. He keeps his distance. Since he doesn’t live in the fortress, I rarely see him, except at meals.
I need to act before things go too far.
"This soldier just told me he can’t wait for Anzo to be done with me, so he and the others can gangbang me," I say loudly, without sugarcoating a single thing.
My eyes meet Luca’s for a brief second. His are amber, and they do not blink. He stares at me like he’s trying to gauge if I’m telling the truth. And then…
He swings his arm out and punches Vito square in the face.
The soldier stumbles back and drops to his knees. Blood instantly gushes from his nose.
Luca doesn’t say a word. Which, honestly, is more disturbing than if he had.
"Fuck," Vito spits, "you hit me over some dumb slut?"
Luca punches him again. This time, so hard that Vito blacks out and collapses to the ground.
Silence falls.
Luca slowly lifts his gaze to me. Then he raises his hand and points toward the doors leading to the lounge room. Still silent. But the gesture is crystal clear: Get out.
I glance at Ragnar. For a moment, our eyes meet, but just for a split second. He’s still, unnervingly calm. I admire that, because I’m shaking from nerves.
I head toward the doors. After walking a dozen steps, I glance back. Luca is heading away, not even acknowledging Ragnar, who’s standing by the planters, watching the purple alpha disappear down the path.
What the hell just happened here?
It’s wild. I used to think Luca was in the same category as Rocco, another monster in a fancy suit. But maybe I was wrong. It makes me question everything I thought I knew about the dynamic between the brothers.
Before, it was simple: two bad ones, two neutral. But perhaps it’s three neutral and only one truly rotten.
One last glance at Ragnar. Now he’s observing me. And I’m grateful. He risked a lot stepping in. I just hope it doesn’t cost him.
The thought leaves a heavy knot in my throat, one that only tightens with every step I take.
Why should I care so much? Getting attached would be deadly stupid. But… that knot won’t loosen.
In my room, I walk to the window and press my forehead to the glass. I see Ragnar outside, mowing the lawn like nothing happened. Vito’s no longer by the kitchen door.
And I’m still left with one burning question: Why did Luca step in? Why didn’t he take the side of a made man?
What the hell is really going on in The Sun?