Page 11 of Mila: The Godfather

If they only saw the filth my soul is covered in.

The mayhem my hands have caused.

All the lives I’ve collected all for the sake of this city.

They only see the charming smile and good looks.

It’s all for show.

What hides beneath is much darker.

More depraved.

But tonight, I don’t show them that side. Instead, I climb off the ring and head towards my office, wanting– no needing a moment to myself after the day I had.

After all the blood I spilled.

Callan was not the only one.

Entering my office, I walk toward my desk and take a seat, noticing the stack of bills next to my untouched glass of Irish whiskey. I rake a hand down the scruff on my face, tapping the stack of bills together and putting them into the safe under the desk. Another day, another ten-thousand dollars’ worth of fighting.

It was a good night.

Most of them were these days. If there was one thing you could count on people paying for, it was brutality and savagery. You could say I’m a piece of shit for capitalizing on the bloodthirsty fights, and you would be correct.

Business was business.

And I took care of my men.

If they wanted to put their bodies on the line in the ring to make some extra cash, why should I care? We lined both our pockets. Win or lose, we all made bank.

The fights brought in as much money as the gun trade and dirty businesses of the clan did.

Dirty business as in drugs.

My men and I have been dealing all fucking night with a shipment of guns that left for Detroit and a cargo container full of drugs that will arrive late tonight. Once my little brother Lucan stepped down as boss of the Volpe boss of Detroit, he handed me a piece of Detroit, much to the dismay of the other two remaining families of that filthy city.

The only reason why the other two families, Nicolasi and Parisi, still stand and I haven’t taken them out as I should have is because a piece of my mum’s heart is now married to that fuck Lorenzo Nicolasi who also happens to be Lucan’s wife brother.

I’m too entangled with those fuckers.

Then there is the Parisi family.

The three women have proven to be thorns in my side.

But one?

The youngest.

That one is different.

That one consumes my thoughts in a way she shouldn’t.

Ways that a man my age shouldn’t allow.

A good man. A man with honor would leave the girl in the memories of the past.

But I am not a good man, and I know what I want.

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