Page 156 of Mila: The Godfather

I showed him in many ways.

Heat reaches my cheeks when I think back to the things he did to me.

The things I did to him.

I never would’ve thought, not even in my wildest dreams, that I would feel so comfortable being naked and sharing germs with someone else, but I am, and I like it. I like it a lot.

Picking up the small brush, I continue painting the wall where I left it yesterday. It’s coming along beautifully, and I am very excited to see what he thinks of it when he sees it. He has given me so much, and I know this is not a lot, but it’s a gift from my heart.

And thanks to Cianne, I’ve managed to keep Riagan away from this part of the mansion. Every morning when Riagan leaves to deal with his men or his other businesses, Cianne helps me uncover the wall, and in the evening, he also helps me cover it so no one will spoil the surprise. No one knows, not even his house staff.

Cianne has made sure of that, which I’m grateful for. Just as I’m grateful for his company. He’s in charge of looking out for me while Riagan is away and he treats me like a person and not a job. We talk, well he does most of the talking, but I listen to him and enjoy his tales and funny remarks, even when I don’t understand half the jokes he tells me, but that doesn’t bother him. When I don’t give him the reaction he wants, he explains.

We’ve been laughing all afternoon as he shares tales of his time working as Riagan’s clan chief, but he stepped out for a second to take Bruno to the patio to do his business. He should be back any minute now. Cianne won’t admit it, but he’s enamored with the tiny pup. He’s always complaining about Bruno chewing on his stuff but he will be the first one to come home with a brand-new chew toy or a treat for the puppy. He doesn’t fool me. I’ve also caught him scratching the dog when he thinks no one is looking.

I’m so deep in my head that I don’t realize until it’s too late that someone called my name. My mind is barely able to process what happens next, even though I’ve been through it many times in the past.

I zoned out, and someone got angry.

“Mrs. O’ Sullivan.” Someone snaps at me, then throws a tray of food next to the floor, startling me and snapping me out of my own little bubble. I also don’t miss how he called me retarded under his breath.

I hurriedly pick up my cap and put it on my head, trying to hide from the scrutinizing gaze of the man towering above me. The brim of the hat hides my eyes, which I prefer. I’ve been told my gaze is weird because I don’t like to look people in the eye when I talk. Some people get freaked out. It has happened before.

At this moment, I wish the ground would open up and swallow me. It’d be better than facing this situation.

I hate confrontations. I don’t react well to them.

I tend to freeze, which only makes them angrier.

“The fuck is going on here, Mitch?” A growl comes from somewhere near, but I pay no mind to the voices. Instead, I focus on the paint I dropped on the clean floor. Oh, no. I made a huge mess. It takes me back to when I was younger, and my father would yell and punish me for making messes with my crayons or liquid paint. “Get the fuck out of here. He’ll deal with you later.”

“Sir, I—” The man, who threw the tray of food and called me a name I rather not repeat, tries to argue, but he gets cut off by the newcomer. “Save it. Get the fuck out before I deal with you myself. Trust me, you don’t want that, boy.”

Twinkle, Twinkle, little star…

I sing, trying to drown out the loud shouts. Riagan is not here. He can’t save me.

Snap out of it, Mila. The little voice in my head orders, but I can’t make myself move. I’m frozen.

“I’m touching you, darling girl.” The familiar voice says before the cap is taken off my head. I instantly shrink into myself and whimper. “It’s okay. It’s just me. I won’t hurt you.”

It takes me a few minutes to calm my breath and find the courage to look up at the person kneeling next to me. A person with hollowed eyes and sunken cheeks.

Kind eyes that look identical to the ones I love so much.

Cathan.

Riagan’s father.

Hurt spirals through me. I’ve been called names hundreds of times before, but this one hurt more than normal. Riagan’s employee called me that, and if he thinks I’m retarded, maybe deep down, Riagan thinks that as well?

Does Cathan?

I can’t help but feel ashamed.

Ashamed and embarrassed that he witnessed someone calling me such an ugly word.

Ashamed that he saw me just lie down and take it.

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