Page 152 of Mila: The Godfather

“A few more steps, baby.” Her childlike excitement warms my heart and has me planning my next surprise already. If surprises make her this damn happy, I’ll plan one each day for the rest of our lives.

She deserves that and more.

Today, she’s crossing off another dream on her bucket list, and fuck if it didn’t make me feel proud as fuck.

She passed her driver’s license today with flying colors. Not that I didn’t think she would. Mila’s brilliant, and she does exceptionally well with everything she sets her mind to.

Most girls her age have outrageous bucket lists or shallow goals like becoming famous or some shit like that, but not my girl, no. She’s all about the little things. The ’normal’ things us humans take for granted and see as insignificant.

Like changing someone’s life or learning to drive.

That’s how sweet and kind she is.

“I’m excited, Riagan. Did you know that good surprises trigger the release of dopamine - the brain’s feel-good neurotransmitter.”

“That’s our happy chemical, yes?” I ask while reaching our destination.

“Correct!” She gives me a thumbs up.

Fuck, my wife’s cute.

When we are close to the garage, I stop. “We’re here.”

“Finally.” She claps excitedly, and the gesture shoots daggers through my heart.

So sweet. Fuck, her sweetness is addictive.

“Are you ready, baby?” I ask, releasing her hand and reaching for the bandana that’s covering her eyes.

“Yes!” She jumps in place.

“Here we go.” I remove the bandana from her face and let it fall to the ground next to her feet. “Congratulations, butterfly.”

A shocked gasp escapes her when she stares at the 2023 white Mercedes GLC and the light blue Model X SUV. I remember a conversation she had with Maeve a few days ago, where Mila mentioned she couldn’t wait to own her car.

Now she has two.

I would’ve gotten her one or two more, but I know that’s not who she is. She would’ve been just as grateful if I gifted her a beat-up bicycle.

I watch as she freezes for a moment too long before she turns to me and asks. “Are those cars for me?” Her voice shakes, breaking my heart a little. Shit, a lot. Every time I do something nice for her or give her nice things, she over thinks it, or it’s hard for her to believe it’s all real. A sign that she still carries trauma from her life back in Detroit. She’s slowly healing those traumas, yet some will take a little more time. But I have all the time in the world.

Reaching forward, I caress her cheek, smiling reassuringly at her. “They’re for you, baby. Think of them as an early birthday present, yeah.”

“But two cars? One is too much, but two? I-I can’t—”

“No buts.” I poke her nose playfully. “You said that you love seeing me smile, correct?”

She narrows her eyes adorably. “Yes. Where are you going with this?” she asks suspiciously.

Smart girl.

I contain the laughter that’s bubbling inside me at how cute she looks right now.

“Well, teaching you new things and giving you gifts makes me happy, which in turn makes me smile.”

“Oh, that’s not fair!” she argues.

“Nonsense. It’s a fair transaction.” It is. Money and cars mean shit to me. But the happiness she brings me? That means everything. Every-single-funking-thing.

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