Page 183 of Mila: The Godfather

“Madden, this is our daughter Willow.” Mila smiles warmly at this Madden kid. I notice he hasn’t let go of her hand.

I watch as the kid slowly turns his head away from the sea and looks at my girls. His eyes are empty, or so I think because I see something there.

Something I saw every day looking back at me in the mirror.

Tenderness.

Shit.

Then, my sweet girl steps forward and points her chubby finger at the boy’s shirt that’s a dark shade of green and signs.

I watch as my wife’s smile widens and her eyes soften while the kid looks down at her with an expression of boredom.

“She’s telling you that green is her favorite color.” My wife explains to the kid.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Fucking nothing, boy.” I bark, ready to tear the little asshole apart if he says something to hurt my daughter’s heart.

“Willa communicates through sign language. Nothing’s wrong with her.” Mila tells him with the patience of a saint. Even though Willow and I have a special bond, I know Mila and our daughter have a special one, too. My wife is not one to fight or hurt anyone’s feelings, but for our child, she’s willing to go to war with anyone who tries to hurt Willow.

“Will you teach me?” The young boy whispers this time at Mila instead of Willow.

“Teach you…?”

“To talk to her. Her language.”

That makes both my girls smile brightly.

I don’t trust this kid, not because he’s part of the foster system but because he is a boy.

One that is not blood-related to us and that has put those little stars in my baby’s eyes.

Shit.

As if on cue, with my sudden change in mood, thunder sounds, and the sky darkens.

It’s about to rain.

“Let’s head home.” I move to pick Willow up, but she shakes her wild curls at me and latches onto Madden instead.

It’s starting.

Fuck, it’s happening.

Boys.

“It’s good for her. It’s good for both of them.” My wife grabs my arm and hugs my side.

My gaze moves between my wife and the kids. “I don’t think this is a good idea, butterfly. I’m mad. You never said it was a boy.”

“You would have said no.”

I wouldn’t have said no. I could never say no to them.

“He’s one of them.”

“On of what?” She frowns and takes a second to realize what I mean. She laughs. “A boy, you mean?”

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