SUN #2
"Won’t help. There’s no way to survive here. Doesn’t matter how polite I am. Sooner or later Anzo’s gonna get bored of me and kill me. And if I try to run, he’ll go after my family. I’m screwed either way."
Summer watches me the whole time, quiet, guarded, but doesn’t say anything. He eats his salad and plays with a handkerchief, mindlessly rolling it over his thumb.
"We’re all screwed," Eliano snaps, lowering his head and stuffing big bites of food into his mouth like he wants this conversation over now.
So, was I right earlier? Is he a prisoner here too?
I study him for a moment. His hands are shaking slightly. I’m not exaggerating—he’s seriously a bundle of nerves. That’s when I notice the bruises on his wrist, peeking out from under his black long sleeve.
"What happened to your wrist?" I ask, keeping my tone casual, like I’m just asking the time.
He rolls his eyes. "What’s with the questions?"
"Just making conversation."
"None of your business."
Of course. I sigh. I'm a fucktoy for him, don't deserve a human conversation.
We continue breakfast in silence. But I can’t—I just can’t keep it in.
"You probably think I’m some slut who came here willingly and now dares to grumble about it!
I’m not! I never agreed to be here. I turned down his fucking million dollars to have sex with me, and then he kidnapped me anyway!
I’m eighteen and he threatened my whole family!
" I throw it out of myself in a wave of frustration.
Eliano rolls his eyes. "And you think I don’t know that? What didn’t you understand when I said ‘you have no idea what he’s capable of’? He killed people I loved too, and believe me, there was nothing I could do about it!"
"How can you live here? Why don’t you run away?"
"Well, I tried a few times. Wanna see my back? I’m glad I even made it out alive! So, no, don’t ask me to help you. Maybe I should ask you?"
I lower my head and don’t say anything for a while, digesting what he said. It’s even grimmer than I initially thought.
"He did that to you? Your wrist?"
"In a way, you could say it was him. We’ve all been forced to train in martial arts since we were kids.
According to Anzo, no Ferro can be a weakling.
Boxing, jiu-jitsu, Muay Thai, even Kendo.
If you don’t act the way he wants, you get thrown into the underground ring, in one of the Ferros’ fight clubs. "
"Wait, he sends his own nephews into that?"
"Of course. Luca and Rocco fought there for years, though they actually liked it. Mauro and I try not to piss him off, but even so, he still throws us in now and then as punishment. This bruises are from my last fight."
I study him more carefully now. Only then do I notice the subtle signs that Eliano’s been through some real training.
There are faint, healed scars along his brow ridges.
I also catch a glimpse of his ear between his dark curls, the auricle is slightly deformed at the rim, like it often is with wrestlers.
"At least do you get to choose your opponents?"
Eliano gives me a look that makes it clear what the answer is.
To be honest, I have nothing more to ask. It's just one more piece of the Ferro puzzle, and even more hopelessness floods over me.
Overwhelmed, I try to eat slowly, pacing myself with Summer.
When he finishes, I get up too, and we head to the door together, leaving silent Eliano hunched over his phone.
"You going to that party tonight?"
He nods.
"You ever been to one before?"
"Yeah. Twice."
"Do they let press in? Anyone taking pictures that could end up online?"
He shakes his head, not looking at me.
So much for the slim hope that someone might notice I’m missing.
But then again, is that a bad thing or good?
If a photo of me leaked, Anzo Ferro’s new boy toy, my parents would go to the cops. But the cops are on Anzo’s payroll, so nothing would happen. I’m of age. My parents would just suffer, knowing where I am. They might even try something desperate to save me, and that would only end in tragedy.
I realize my plans and hopes are all just noise: chaotic, pointless, going nowhere. Nothing makes sense.
Then I think again of Eliano, and my mood diminishes even more. Even he’s not safe, and he’s Anzo’s own family. That thought squeezes my throat.
It's suffocating. I'm trapped, really, really trapped. And there’s not even a sliver of a way out.
***
By 4:30 pm, I’m ready. I put on the chiton Anzo’s servant brought me, let my hair fall loose, and place the golden laurel wreath on my head. I glance at myself in the mirror. I actually look good.
A bunch of shady men who hang out with Anzo will run their eyes over my body while filthy thoughts crawl through their minds. Just the thought of it makes me shudder.
A few minutes later, the same servant returns. I follow him without a word. He leads me to Summer’s room, and right on cue, the door opens. Summer steps out, dressed almost identically to me: another Greek-style chiton, just a smaller version.
His caramel-gold hair is down too, and unlike mine, which stops around mid-back, his spills all the way down to his waist in thick, silky waves. He’s also wearing a gold laurel crown and delicate gold sandals on his small feet.
His mismatched eyes flick over me, but he doesn’t say anything. He just lowers his gaze.
In silence, we both head outside toward the garden.
This day has no intention of ending anytime soon.