Page 105 of Mila: The Godfather

Despite its proximity to the city, the place was a mansion with so many windows that I wondered how the view would look when winter came.

“Is this yours?” I ask, unable to help my awe as I look around at the garden and the towering willow tree in the very center of it.

“As of a week ago, it is.” He quickly answers.

Wait a second.

A week ago?

I turn quickly, trying to read his expression. “You purchased this castle a week ago? Just like that?”

“It’s not quite a castle, baby, but yes.” His smile was a touch clever. “Are you impressed?”

I nod. “Very much so.” I answer truthfully.

Riagan’s laughter echoes as a man with a gun strapped to his chest and wearing an earpiece opens a large, ornate door for us. I watch as Riagan steps to the side to allow me in first. I do.

I thought I was prepared for the opulence when I stepped inside—something that reminded me of a museum more than anything else—but instead, I got the complete opposite.

Art hung along all the walls, colorful sculptures tucked in corners, and the sofas that I could see weren’t made from leather or some other impossible fabric that meant it could get damaged very easily. The living room itself looked open and inviting, as if it were well-lived in rather than just a room meant for show. I could feel his energy surrounding me.

Paintings hung on the walls, some abstract—made of harsh brush strokes in bright, vivid colors—while others were more classical, beautiful, and incredibly old.

With Riagan still distracted for the time being, I wandered on my own to check out the rest of the place.

As far as I could tell, there were three bedrooms on this floor alone and just as many bathrooms. As I swept through the back hallway, I found another spiraling staircase that led down instead of up, and the closer I came to stand by it, the better I could smell and even hear the water below.

There was a pool down there. Somewhere I would definitely need to explore while I was here, but that would come later.

“Welcome home, butterfly.” Riagan whispers from his spot behind me. Turning, I look up at him for a moment before going back to inspect this place. Welcome home.

I never had a home. Not really.

Love made a home.

Love and care.

My sisters were my home.

Now, there’s Riagan.

How strange that it really feels like that.

Like a home.

“You have white walls here too.” It’s the first thing that comes out of my mouth. I chuckle awkwardly, trying to not sound so brash.

“Think of them as a canvas.”

I whirl around so fast I’m sure I pull a muscle on my neck. “What?” I look up at him once again, but this time I force my eyes to remain trained on him. Blue. So pretty. And not at all angry like before when he took the lives of those strange men.

I stare at him as he reaches over and plays with one of my curls. He does that a lot, I’ve noticed. It makes my heart flutter every time he does. “Do whatever you want with the walls. Paint them. Redecorate them. Make this place your own. It’s been sad for far too long.” He whispers, and I detect a bit of sadness in his tone. Reaching up, I tap his chest three times I stop, and then do it again. His heart is hurting. I don’t like it when he is hurt. I can’t stand it when he doesn’t smile. It feels as if my day turns dark.

“Bruno! Heel! No! Bad doggy!” I am startled by a loud feminine voice and a tiny bark. “Oh, Riagan, you’re back!”

Giving Riagan my back, I turn just in time to watch as a small golden retriever comes running my way with his tongue out. A short, curvy girl that looks to be around my age with a boisterous laugh, wild, red-colored locks and big brown eyes runs after the puppy.

I instantly become on high alert, knowing I don’t do well with new people. It took me at least a day or two to get used to Cianne’s presence before I was able to not feel anxious around all the time.

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