Page 143 of Mila: The Godfather

Her.

My queen.

Shit, I’m obsessed.

Riagan’s Secret Thoughts

When our lips touch, I can taste forever.

Blood and Mayhem

MILA

“If you look at her the wrong way, I will hit you so hard, you will puke out your balls.” - R

“Are you sure this is safe?” I look at the big men stepping out of a fighting cage with blood-covered hands and lots of visible bruises. Some have blood running down their noses, and one big burly man is being held by two men and that looks even worse. He has bandages on his head, and I’m pretty sure he has a concussion. My head starts to spin with the possibility of Riagan getting hurt, and it makes me feel anxious. So much so that I make up scenarios in my head in all the ways it can all go wrong. “Did you know that the probability of you dying while in a fighting cage is 73.6 percent? Did you know that?” I blurt out.

Okay, I might be stretching the truth a little.

The overall injury prevalence for combat sports like this one is reported to be 73.6 percent, so I stretched the truth a lot, but I have good reason for deceiving him. I’m… afraid.

Feeling guilty about lying, I whisper while holding onto his hand, feeling his band-aid fingers. “What I just told you was not accurate. I apologize.” I tell him truthfully while looking down at our joined hands.

I hold my breath and wait for his response.

Is he mad? Disappointed?

He chuckles softly. “You don’t need to worry, baby.” He tips my chin up, making me look at him. “I won’t lie to you or insult your intelligence by telling you that cage fighting is not dangerous because it is.” I frown at his callous way of saying it. How does he expect me not to worry? I don’t want him to get hurt. Ever. But I also know who he is and what he does, so the probability of him getting hurt, is high. “The only one who needs to worry is my opponent,” he says calmly. Too calm, I think.

“Be careful still,” I grumble, worried and he hasn’t started fighting yet.

Looking around the establishment, I notice how crowded it is. Mayhem. I think it’s what Riagan called this place,which looks like an abandoned hospital on the outside, but it fools you. There’s nothing old or abandoned about this place. It looks exactly like how a professional Mixed Martial Arts ring would. On our way here, he clued me in about the place and how it came to be. Riagan’s family, like my own, have built empires out of their legal business, which in this case would be the O’Sullivan brand of alcohol their grandfather founded and the casinos all over the city both Cathan and my husband own. Then there are the underground businesses. The gun trade, the illegal casinos hiding in plain sight in hotels, and the business that is solely Riagan’s.

The illegal fighting matches.

Cage fighting to be precise.

A normal woman would frown when finding out all this but not me. I grew up aware of the illegal activities my father did for Detroit. I might not have been treated like a mafia princess like the other girls in the families were, but I did hear the whispers and saw with my own eyes the same brutality that’s going to occur here tonight.

I just wish it didn’t involve Riagan.

But I trust him.

I’ve seen firsthand what he does to someone he deems as a threat, and he is right. The one who should be worried about permanent brain damage should be the man who decided to get inside a cage with my husband.

“Hey, lost you there. Come back to me, butterfly.” Riagan’s voice snaps me out of my head. I zoned out. Looking up at him and then at his cheek, I smile, not wanting him to think I’m afraid of his life. At one point, I was, and to an extent, I am afraid of losing him, but I don’t want him to think he made a mistake and realize he should have married someone who isn’t afraid of the things he loves.

Why did he have to enjoy fighting? Out of all the dangerous sports, he chose the most dangerous one. Not dwelling on it too much, I shake off the nerves that start to rise and touch his cheek. I touch him to remind myself that he’s here with me and he is real. “Good luck, and fight smart, okay?”

“Okay, butterfly.” He pulls me closer, and the noise around us fades away. It always happens when he touches or kisses me. It’s like he has the power to slow down the world and stop time. It’s almost magical but everything about him is. As silly as it might sound. To me, Riagan O’Sullivan is what dreams are made of, at least for me. I also can see how he could be other people’s nightmare.

Not to me, though. Perhaps, I am biased.

Oh, well.

Then he pulls back and fishes something out of his shorts’ pocket. “Got you these. Use them when the crowd gets too loud.” Looking down at his extended hand, I see pink earplugs in his palm, and just like that, I feel myself melting at the sweet gesture. He never forgets, and he always puts me first. Pulling my curls aside, I shiver when I feel his touch on my neck before he puts the noise-canceling plugs in both ears. Wow.

The noise of the crowd is not that loud with these on. It doesn’t completely drown it out, but it doesn’t hurt my ears. I’m still able to hear, just not as intensely as before. “Thank you.” I breathe out, beaming at him.

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