Page 100 of Mila: The Godfather

But now that you’re not a kid, this friendship we’ve formed doesn’t feel appropriate.

Your ‘one day’ will come.

I promise you.

But for now I have to go. - C

Her Villain

RIAGAN

“She is my only virtue.” — R

“What is it about that girl that has you losing your fucking mind?” The other bane of my existence, Kelly, asks while cleaning his gun for the third fucking time this night. We’re at Mayhem or more like the abandoned basement below. It just got done sending one more useless cunt to meet the Reaper but not before having a little bit of fun with him first.

A loud, incoherent mumble sounds from my right. Turning away and ignoring Kelly, I walk towards the man currently hanging from the ceiling by a hook on his shoulder with blood staining his cream-colored shirt. Men like this fuck don’t deserve to breathe. Their kind is filthy, and as such, they should be treated like it. Hence why he ended up in my hands. The Russians wanted him, but I got to him first. How does the saying go? The early thug gets the pedo? No, I don’t think that’s right. Although, my version sounds much better.

Looking at Elijah Walter, I think back to the shit my men and I walked into a month ago. I’ve seen sick shit, shit that would turn the stomach of any man, but the things this motherfucker has done would even make the devil cry, and it did.

The Solonik brothers were the ones who were impacted more, and that is the only reason why I am not killing this bitch now. Let the Russians have the honor, but until it’s delivery time, I’ll enjoy each and every second we have left together in my playground.

We cut and burned his body until the fucker passed out, and once he gained consciousness, Kelly fucked him in the ass with his favorite rifle. One with a magazine grip designed to quietly kill wounded animals. This fuck is no wounded animal, and he was shown no mercy.

There is no mercy for the ones who hurt the innocent, and this sick son of a bitch snuffed out the light and the purity of children and women as a sport.

I am not a good man, but even I have limits that Elijah crossed.

Now, he’s here.

“Having fun yet, Elijah?” I smile when the asshole shakes his head and mumbles, clearly in pain and seeking mercy. “No? I’m wounded.” Touching my heart, I feign disappointment. “And here I thought we were having a blast. I guess we should continue then. See if anything changes for you.” I slap him as if we’re the best of friends. I’m having a blast.

Taking a cig out, I place it between my lips and then pull out my zippo, lighting it up. I take a deep and long puff before expelling the smoke his way. My grin widens when his eyes widen, and he starts to fight against his restraints, but the loveliest thing is that when he fights against his restraints, the ropes burn his already-burnt skin, and the hook goes deeper, making him scream. It’s painful, I imagine.

Still, it is not enough.

It will never be enough compared to what he subjected those children and young women to.

I deal in the gun and drug trade but never flesh trade.

Only the sick fuckers of this world have the heart and the stomach to do that shit.

The second I walked inside the wagons with my men, where the kids were being stored in until they were transferred to be auctioned as if their lives were not their own, I knew I would never be the same man I was before I walked into that hell.

I also vowed for as long as I have breath in my lungs and blood in my body, I would not rest until I rid this fucking world of scums like this one, but for that I needed a little help, and that is how New York and Chicago come into the equation.

I don’t care about wars. Wars are for stupid and weak men.

The real winner is the one who knows he does more with allies than enemies.

And although I may have my differences with not only the Soloniks, Sandoval and even the fucking president of the United States, I know they stand for the same shit I do.

The wicked are fair game to us.

Getting out of my head, I step closer to Elijah, removing the cloth from his mouth. I want his screams. I get off on their screams. Their shouts of agony feed the sadistic animal in me. It always has, and this time is no different.

Once the gag is removed from his mouth, the fucker starts to plead. Ignoring him, I take another long drag of my cig while holding onto his face tightly so he doesn’t move. He’s helpless against the brutality he’s about to suffer. Good. Let him feel what they all felt. What I felt when I saw the kids, covered in bruises and naked, knowing I couldn’t save them from the horrors this man and his colleagues put them through.

“Kelly.”

---