Page 157 of Mila: The Godfather

Does he think I am weak?

Does he think I am not the right choice for his son?

Feeling rough hands on my face, Cathan takes my chin and forces me to look at him. I try to look away, but he doesn’t allow me to. He reaches forward and wipes away a tear I didn’t know had fallen. I try focusing on the sparkly diamond earring on his left earlobe, too ashamed to force myself to stare into his eyes.

“You’re okay, and that won’t be happening again. You have my world, sweet girl.” He whispers, trying to comfort me, and I allow him. I feel myself inching closer to him, not minding his closeness at all. There’s something about Riagan’s father that, even though he looks scary, he also transmits warmth and serenity.

Just like his son.

I think about his promise, but I don’t have the courage to say ask how he can be sure it won’t happen again. People will always look at me and think of me differently just because I don’t act like they expect me to or think the way they do. “Please don’t tell him…” I hiccup, almost begging his father.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, honey.”

I don’t need to raise my head to know it is indeed too late.

* * *

Riagan

Looking at the photo Kelly sent me of Mila sitting on the floor with paint in her curls and face makes me smile. Fucking gorgeous, even covered in all that shit.

I’m saving the photo as my screensaver when a new text message pops up.

Conor: Got a lead on the mercenary who accepted your wife’s contract. Call me.

I read Conor’s message, then get ready to call him back when I hear the distant sound of my father comforting a weeping Mila.

My heart sinks, and I start to move in the direction their voices are coming from. When I reach them, I notice my father on his knees, hugging Mila close to him. On a normal day, the sight of them together would soften me, but not when she has tears in her eyes and food on the floor and all over her. The look of anger on my old man’s face tells me shit went down while I wasn’t here to protect her. Shit that I won’t like, I’m sure.

I’m too fucking pissed and worried to notice the surprise on the wall she’s been hiding for a week now. All I can focus on are those tears in her eyes.

Someone will die for that.

I should have known something was wrong when I didn’t find her next to the main entrance, waiting for me like she does every day to greet me as soon as I come home.

“What’s wrong?” I bark, directing it at my father. When he says nothing and just hugs her trembling figure closer, I try to cool the raging anger bubbling inside of me that promises bad things to whoever hurt my woman in my home. In her space. Fuck. To my girl, I say. “Who?”

“It-it’s not” Her stuttering only pisses me off more. She only stutters when she’s afraid. Afraid or hurt. Then she does something that hurts me just as much as her tears do.

She bows her head as if she’s ashamed.

Bullshit.

The one who needs to be ashamed is the motherfucker who thought to hurt her in my home, thinking I wouldn’t find out. A bold move, and a stupid one, too.

I force myself to stay rooted in place, not wanting the ugly I’m about to unleash on whoever was behind this to touch her. Looking at my father, who looks both tired and angry, I ask. “Who?”

“Mitch.”

That’s all I need.

As hard as it is, I turn and leave my girl clinging to my father with tears still in her eyes and calling out my name, confused and worried, while I go in search of Scotty Flynn’s youngest son.

I should’ve taken out that entire fucking family long ago, but out of respect for the clan and their years of loyalty, I let them carry on even when I took out his father for being an insolent shady cunt but not anymore.

Now, I have the perfect excuse to end them.

What does it matter if they’re loyal when they don’t respect me? If they don’t know their place?

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