SUN
Numb, I’m lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
I just got back from the basement, where I had to fuck Anzo. Fortunately, Summer was with us once again, and thanks to him I was able to go through with it.
Anzo got back late today, and when he dragged us into the black room, surprisingly, he didn’t say much about the whole Vito, Massimo, and Franco fucked-up situation.
He just growled, "You’re starting to cost me too many men. It’s getting really annoying," then warned me not to push my luck—’cause next time I’d be the one getting punished, and that he’s not going to let me be the reason problems start brewing inside the fortress.
When I told him it’s not my fault those idiots tried to rape me, he shocked me so hard I couldn’t coordinate my muscles for several minutes.
"A lesson for you: don’t go looking for trouble. Don’t wander around where the soldiers are. Be careful, or your garden privileges are gone, since you clearly don’t know how to use them wisely."
Of course, I don’t say what I really want to: that maybe he should talk to his men, since they evidently don’t respect him enough to stop themselves from trying to rape his own fucktoy.
They’re ready to break one of the most important mafia rules: the one that says no one can hit on another member’s partner.
And especially a capo’s boy should be off-limits. So what the hell?
What does that say about him ?
But the longer I think about it, the less surprising it seems. I get why Anzo doesn’t command much respect when it comes to sexual dominance. He’s a beta. None of the alphas under him are ever going to see him as a true pack leader, it’s just not in his nature.
I once watched a docuseries about the mafia where the capo spoke to his soldati almost exclusively in AO language, giving commands through vibrations, roars, and growls. He’d control their moods with dominant pheromones, keep them in line, dial down their aggression, all without saying a word.
As a beta, Anzo just can’t do it.
On some level, he seems to accept that. Technically, he’s their leader, like a CEO of a company, but he doesn’t radiate that kind of animal power, that stallion energy.
He can’t smell their pheromones. He lacks a very important source of information about their emotional state. He can’t hear the full spectrum of AOs' language, can’t pick up their low growls.
So yeah, they obey him, but their respect, as fertile, high-libido, high-energy alphas, has its limits.
I suspect Rocco, as his second-in-command, does this part of the job for him, pheromonally regulating the energy of the alpha soldiers.
That’s one of the reasons Anzo may be more lenient toward his underboss—without him, his rulership over the soldati would be very fragile, their animal side would be prone to rebelling.
It’s officially my sixth day here. Fourth time I’ve had to fuck him. Every time it happens, it feels like a piece of my soul gets chipped away.
But today… today I managed to steal one tiny piece of it back.
I fucked with the hot gardener. Ragnar.
A fucking purple alpha, as it seems!
Didn’t exactly plan on it, but went with the flow of energy.
The fact itself lifts my mood. Barely. Really, just barely.
But enough to survive another day. And one that already went so crazy I don’t even want to think about what shit happened near the gazebo.
And the strange rescue by Luca and Mauro? Secrets, secrets…
And my brain is just too tired for it.
I’m still staring at the ceiling, like I’m in a trance. I hate my life so much it’s beyond words. Part of me even regrets Vito didn’t just put a bullet in my head.
But hey, it’s not over yet. Anzo is already angry at me. Whatever I do next that doesn’t sit well with him, he may just end my nightmare, consider me too much of a liability.
I shut my eyes and press my forearms to my forehead.
Whether I want it or not, my thoughts drift back to what happened in the shower.
That wild impulse pushed me to do it, even though I knew exactly how it’d end:
I would cry like a baby!
Again. And make everything awkward.
That’s just how I am: I cry after sex. And yeah, I know it looks weird. I could tell it completely threw him off. Made him want to bolt right out of there.
Can’t blame him. That kind of reaction isn’t something people want to deal with during a hookup.
It’s one of the reasons I decided a long time ago to only sleep with people I actually date.
I can explain once—"it’s just how I am"—and not have to feel stupid in the next incident.
But nevertheless, at least it finally happened. My first orgasm since Anzo abducted me.
And for that, I’m grateful to Ragnar. I can still phantom-feel that monster cock of his deep inside me. No one’s ever stretched me like that. No one’s ever gone that deep.
It was a weird, primal feeling. Peculiar, but so exciting! And just like I’d hoped, in those few moments when he was fucking me, I managed to forget everything. My shitty fate. Anzo. The danger.
But then it all came rushing back, like it always does. That feeling that I’ve wasted the last two years doing everything I shouldn’t, hurting myself more than anyone else, refusing to heal, to move on.
Even though I really didn’t want to break down… I did. Sobbed. It all just overwhelmed me.
That crushing sense of being trapped with no way out. Trapped in my life, not just in The Sun!
It’s the most frustrating part: Me. I threw myself into one kind of hell after another, long before Anzo shoved me into a new one.
I roll over and press my face into the pillows, not wanting to think.
Hating to think.
I just want to drift off. Sleep.
***
I wake up the next morning to someone knocking on the door.
I open it, and standing in the hallway is a man I don’t recognize. A short beta, holding a package. He gives me a stiff little bow and says,
"Mr. Anzo sends you this outfit for the event."
Without waiting for a response, he walks in, sets the package on the bed with a blank expression, then turns around and leaves. The staff Anzo hires seem incredibly robotic.
I immediately tear into it. Inside is a delicate Greek-style outfit, tied at the shoulders with golden rings, made of sheer, almost see-through fabric.
There’s a golden rope belt to cinch at the waist, a pair of gold sandals, and a laurel wreath for my head.
There’s also a whole collection of gold jewelry: bracelets, rings, necklaces, earrings.
All of it looks real. Wow. Anzo seriously wants me to dress up like the god Apollo.
I’ve read a little Greek mythology before, among other things, Apollo was this beautiful god of music, prophecy, but also death and healing, ironically, often depicted with long golden curls, playing instruments like the lyre.
As if on cue, I hear footsteps outside, and then a knock on the door again. A few men walk in and silently carry out my harp that had been sitting in the corner. I don’t say a word. I figure they’re taking it to the garden, where I’m supposed to play during the banquet.
I rush to the window. Down below, on the flat lawn of the inner garden, a whole crew of people is setting up for the event. Tables, chairs, long couches for lounging. A few workers are even building some sort of stage, probably for performers or dancing.
I watch it all, my throat dry. Am I really supposed to play for a bunch of underworld big shots? The idea doesn’t exactly thrill me. I’ve never been especially shy, but the thought of performing for Anzo’s friends in that ridiculous costume makes my stomach twist with nerves.
Then the loud knock on the door comes once more. This time Matteo walks in. He hasn’t been announcing breakfast for the last few days; I’ve been going there on my own, so that’s new.
"Breakfast is earlier today!" he snaps, shooting me a hateful glare. Right. Massimo and Franco were his buddies, and now… they’re dead. He probably blames me, and I—well, I blame them!
We head downstairs in silence. If looks could kill, I’d drop dead before we reach the dining room.
To my surprise, only Eliano and Summer are sitting at the table. None of the other brothers. No cousin Ennio, no Anzo either. Too busy getting ready for the banquet?
I glance at Eliano. He meets my eyes for half a second, tense and jumpy, his jaw clenched tight. He always looks like a ball of nerves, like something’s gnawing at him from the inside.
Should I say something? Try to connect? Luca and Mauro took my side, after all. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to win over one more brother. Or… would that just come off as scheming, making allies?
"What time does the banquet start?" I ask, just to test the waters.
Eliano lifts his curly head, dark locks falling into his cheeks. Once again, I’m struck by how pretty he is. Not handsome—pretty. He’s got lashes as long as mine, if not longer! He looks surprised I’m even speaking to him.
"Think it’s at five," he mumbles.
"Is everyone dressing up? Is it, like, a costume party?"
He shrugs. "No idea. I’m not invited."
I hesitate, unsure whether to keep going.
"Are you in school?"
That makes him tense up even more. His fists clench, and he throws me a sharp glare.
"Why do you care?"
I shrug. "I dunno. You look like you’re around college age," I mutter, instantly regretting how dumb that sounds.
"I study law. Online. Junior."
"I was supposed to start music school this year. Guess that’s not happening. Your uncle’ll probably kill me first."
Eliano's jaw clenches again, the constant tension surely leading to muscle soreness from lactic acid buildup. His lips turn pale. He hunches his shoulders.
"If you think I can help you, think again," he says, voice tight. "I don’t have any say in what my uncle does. He calls all the shots. And if you’re smart, you’ll behave.
He seems stable, but you have no idea what he’s capable of.
Trust me, don’t push his limits. That’s my advice if you want to survive. "
I shrug and sip my pomegranate juice.