RAGNAR
For Anzo’s party, the head butler, Roberto, asked me to move some of the decorative planters along the lawn edges to make it easier for guests to walk around, and to shut off the sprinklers.
Naturally, I wasn’t invited to the event itself, but I came up with an idea of how I might get into the inner part of the grounds with something that I thought sounded believable.
I can see he likes the idea. He hesitates, but then nods, looking pleased.
"Of course," I say with an innocent smile.
I take one of the small electric carts we use to haul dirt and stones around the estate and load the first planter onto it. I don’t rush. I move each one at a calm pace, unloading them just as lazily.
One by one, the planters circle the stage. It actually looks pretty decent—not that I give a shit. I’m not here to pour my heart into making mafia banquets look nice.
I time it so I can haul the last planter around 4:45, so at 4:30, I’m still delivering the second-to-last one.
As I’m placing it beside the stage, I notice the glass doors leading from the western part of the estate slide open. Three figures step out; one short servant and two people in Greek chitons.
I’m crouching low, mostly hidden behind the stage, which gives me a perfect vantage point to watch them without being seen.
The taller one is Sun.
And the smaller figure next to him… my heart lurches hard in my chest…
That’s my little brother, Summer!
So he’s alive!
Fuck, he’s alive!
A wave of relief crashes over me, so strong I drop from a crouch to my knees, gripping the edge of the planter. He’s here . There’s still hope I can get him out.
My guilty conscience I’ve developed over failing this mission for so long eases a bit as I stare at him, careful to keep myself hidden behind the oleander leaves.
Summer’s delicate face is sad, downcast. He and Sun—who, I should mention, looks just as grim but very sexy—head toward a small sofa placed across from the stage.
It’s isolated from the rest of the setup.
Interesting that they have such a lonely spot, like they’re really not a part of the other guests’ space.
I keep pretending to pick off dead leaves so I can keep watching.
And Sun… fuck. There’s no denying the way my heart speeds up. That flowing chiton clings to every perfect line of his body, and the deep gold of his hair gleams in the late-afternoon sun like molten brass. He truly looks like a young Greek god.
That bastard Anzo has two of his own personal slaves: one stunning alpha and one stunning omega.
Perhaps he thinks it boosts his status, that owning such gorgeous people makes him look more powerful? Maybe he’s compensating for being a beta, trying to gain more respect from the alphas around him? I seriously doubt it works, after what I saw with Vito.
Summer sits with his head bowed. Sun stares blankly at the servers moving food around.
It hits me just how accurate the word ‘slave’ really is in this situation. It’s painfully obvious that neither Summer nor Sun is here by choice, and neither of them is enjoying any of this in the slightest.
Only Moon came here willingly at first, back when he met Anzo four years ago.
Moon worked at an animal shelter. The owner was trying to find donors to keep it afloat, so Moon ended up manning a table at a charity event, handing out flyers.
Anzo also came. I have no idea why. Maybe just to show his face, flash a bit of blood money at a few causes that made him look good. That night he donated a massive sum to the Beta Empowerment movement and threw some cash at the animal shelter too, probably because Moon caught his eye.
Over the next year, Anzo courted Moon the usual way. And maybe it worked. Moon was… unique. He had his issues. He used all kinds of substances, mostly psychedelics, trying to silence the visions in his head he couldn’t understand.
At the time, I was serving in the military, so I only got bits and pieces of the story, updates from our parents and the rare video call with Moon.
One year after they met, Moon agreed to marry Anzo. It came as a shock to our parents, who couldn’t understand how anyone could fall for a mafia boss.
Moon lived in the fortress for two and a half years, barely ever seeing our parents. And when he did, he was rarely sober.
Exactly nine months ago, our parents called me to say he’d vanished…
At least today, I made some progress—after so many months, I finally have confirmation of Summer's whereabouts.
If I had to break this mission into four steps, the first would be confirming Summer’s status. Second, learning what happened to Moon. Third and fourth, getting them both back safely. Right now, I’m only on step one.
Still crouched behind the planter, I keep staring at my little brother’s petite figure.
Anzo hasn’t gotten bored of him. Not yet. That’s all I need to keep going.
With Moon, I always felt the twin bond. But Summer… if he were killed, I probably wouldn’t feel it. He’s four years younger than us, and I spent so many years abroad while he was growing up, pushing through his teenage years. Still, he’s my brother. My family. I owe it to him to help.
I lose track of time, staring at them. They’re sitting quietly on that sofa when I suddenly hear footsteps behind me. My heart jumps as I turn—
And see Mauro standing there.
His dark hazel eyes are locked on me, intense and unreadable.
My pulse spikes. Fuck. Did he see me staring at Sun? Or maybe Summer? He must have noticed I’ve been squatting here in the same spot for several minutes straight.
I get up quickly and give Mauro a slight nod, like a casual greeting, pretending all is good, then walk past him toward the electric cart waiting nearby.
But his gaze stays locked on me the entire time.
Does he know I spent more than just a few minutes in Sun’s room? That it wasn’t just shower and go?
What if he thinks I crossed a line—that I abused the trust they showed me, took advantage of their help, and in return, went and fucked Sun?
Who knows.
Even if Luca and Mauro aren’t like Rocco, they’re still tied to the same organization. Blood means something: a certain loyalty, when nothing else does.
There’s still one last planter left to bring over, but I hesitate. If Mauro has his eyes on me, maybe it’s smarter to disappear for a while. No matter how ‘nice’ they’ve been during the Vito situation, their moral code is probably nothing like mine.
And I’ve broken it. Repeatedly.
There’s also this little flicker of fear in me about the Vito situation.
The fact that Luca called me by my real name. That he wasn’t surprised about my purple nature. That neither he nor Mauro questioned my reasons for being here. Didn’t take me aside and ask in-depth questions.
There’s only one, incredible , possibility. They do know who I am. They recognized me as Moon and Summer’s brother, or more precisely, Mauro did, during the job interview. And they allowed me in!
But why? I can’t find a good answer to it, no matter how hard I try. Nothing makes sense.
In a normal situation, if my cover was compromised, I should call the mission off. But I just… don’t do it. I’m going against simple logic, my military experience, even common sense. As long as they let me stay—I’m staying and trying to free my brothers.
As I walk toward the passageway, I glance at my phone.
It’s already 4:50. I shouldn’t be lingering around the garden, the guests will arrive soon, but something keeps me tethered here.
I stop by the cart, power it on, and steer toward the passageway.
The guards usually don’t pay much attention to the inner garden, but this time, I notice two of them sitting by the window, watching the setup with vague curiosity.
I pull the cart up right next to the guard booth.
"You guys got a toolbox in there?" I ask tentatively.
"One of the wheels on this thing keeps jamming. Gotta take a look at it, oil it or something," I add, speaking to Bonzo, who’s lounging in his chair, sipping coffee, eyes half-watching the waiters finish setting up the last round of hors d’oeuvres in the garden.
"There should be something," Bonzo mutters, and rummages under the cabinet next to his knees, pulling out a battered toolbox.
I get to work on the back wheel, actually take it off completely along with the spring, and bring it with me as I step inside the booth.
"Mind if I sit for a bit? Gotta take it apart."
"Sure, go ahead."
Now that I’m inside, I’ve got a perfect view of what’s happening through the window.
And I can’t seem to pull myself away.
From here, I watch the first guests arrive. Of course, they all have to pass through the passageway to get into the central garden. One car after another starts rolling in, each one pulling into the garage that runs alongside the passageway. The guests step out and head toward the garden entrance.
Naturally, I don’t recognize most of them. I’m not part of this city’s elite, and definitely not the criminal kind. But I do spot a few familiar faces. There’s the mayor Ronalds, a beta with a fake smile, and I see that leech, Dante Moll, from Beta Empowerment.
Then there’s one more guy I recognize: Mark Ferguson, a rising political star. I’ve seen his face all over town on campaign banners. He’s running for state senator.
He’s got his beautiful husband on his arm, a tall man with waist-length white-blond hair.
"Looks like it’s gonna be a hell of a party," I mutter to Bonzo as soon as his two goons, Gian and Raul, step outside to start ushering people in.
Bonzo sighs. He’s a pudgy, lazy guy who usually hangs out in the booth playing solitaire or cards with the other guards. He’s supposed to be retiring from the mafia, but he just hangs around, always looking disinterested.
"And then we spend half the damn night dragging drunk guests out of here," he grumbles bitterly.
"Yeah, and I’ll have plenty to clean up in the garden," I add, keeping up my role. "Trampled grass, broken plants… gonna be a mess."
"This is how the rich party. And there’s nothing we can do about it."
From day one, I’ve tried to stay on good terms with Bonzo. He’s the oldest of the guards here, and if there’s one person I definitely shouldn’t piss off, it’s him. The others treat me like an outsider, and fair enough, but Bonzo never shows it. He’s just as gruff with his own crew as he is with me.
I go back to fiddling with the cart wheel, pretending to fix it. There’s nothing actually wrong with it. But I make sure it looks convincing. I even ask for a bit of motor oil, which they do have, and I use it under the pretense of lubricating a few parts.
All of it just to keep watching the garden.
Before long, the party is in full swing.
All the guests have arrived. From what I can see through the window, most are already mingling in tight groups, chatting, drinking.
Others sit down at the long tables, sampling the endless stream of snacks delivered by a small army of waiters.
Alcohol’s flowing like water, and I’m pretty sure there are other substances available too, for anyone who wants them.
It’s hard to spot Sun or Summer from this far away, but eventually, I see a harp being carried up onto the stage. Then Sun appears, sitting down behind it. Even from here, I can tell he’s tense.
Bonzo suddenly speaks up.
"That new boy is a real piece of tasty ass," he mutters, rubbing his chin, eyes locked on Sun’s slim figure on stage. "Just asking to be bent over."
What a disgusting pig. But of course, I could use it as an opening for gossip, maybe a chance to dig a little deeper, even though it’s extremely irritating to talk to him about Sun.
"Your boss got a thing for blondes?" I murmur, trying to nudge him into a certain direction. Maybe he’ll say something about Anzo’s past lovers?
"Especially the pretty ones," Bonzo grunts, still staring at Sun playing the harp. I wish the thick glass wasn’t muting the sound so much. The noise from the guests drowns out most of the music.
"Bet half the guys out there are hard," Bonzo mutters nastily. "Drooling all over that little doll," he adds, licking his own lips like a creep.
Am I one of those creeps? Let's be honest, I was drooling from the beginning.
"He’s an alpha. Not everybody’s into that," I say under my breath, starting to feel even more uncomfortable.
"So what? Still a looker. I’m sure plenty of these pigs would pay good money to get a piece of his ass," he grumbles, face red now. Then he clears his throat and glances at me. "Maybe you should turn on the sprinklers, cool ’em down a bit," he snickers.
I bite the inside of my cheek, cringing.
The sprinkler controls are right there in the garage, just a few steps away.
And Bonzo should be the one getting sprinkled.
I can smell his fucking arousal, and it stinks.
The heightened sense of smell has its drawbacks, being strong enough to literally pick up what’s in other people’s underwear and armpits and socks, fresh or not.
Blocking it out takes a lot of effort, and I have to do it now, before I throw up.
"Or even better!" he chuckles. "Fill the sprinklers with champagne. They’d probably thank you for it."
He bursts into another wheezy laugh, clearly impressed with his own joke. I try to politely smile but nothing moves on my face.
Instead, my eyes lock on Sun. He’s just finishing his performance, stepping off the stage to a round of applause. God, that boy is talented. What a fucking tragedy he’s here.
Then my gaze shifts to Summer.
Control yourself, Ragnar.
The clock’s ticking. You know now what to do. It’s time to stop obsessing over pretty boys and finally start rescuing my family.