Page 42 of Mila: The Godfather

“I can take care of myself and my people.” She speaks a bit louder now.

“I know you can.” But now I’m here, and I’ll take care of you. I want to say, but I swallow the words, not wanting to reveal all my truths early and spook her.

Her eyes try to focus on my face for a second longer than last time, and even though I had her eyes for less than a minute trained on mine, I could feel her gaze burning my soul. Those beautiful eyes of hers will surely be the death of me because one look from her years ago burned itself in my memory. Just one look, and she made herself my business.

“My assessment of you from before is incorrect.” She says while tapping her chin three times and looking anywhere but my face.

I suppress the need to laugh because I don’t want to make her feel like I didn’t take her seriously. I lean back in my seat and ask with a straight face. “How so?”

“Well, back at the alley, I thought you were a villain who came to hurt me…” Her words sound childlike, and it angers me how such a tenderhearted heart could ever be treated the way she was. Grinding my teeth, I suppress the need to tell her how I really feel about her scum of a family, but instead, I remain quiet, allowing her to continue. “But you haven’t hurt me, and I don’t believe you will.” A breath I didn’t think I was holding escapes me when she says it. Good. At least she doesn’t fear me. In this world, there are plenty of things a girl like her should fear, but not me. Never me, and from this moment on, if I have anything to say about it, she will never fear anything again. Because even when I wasn’t with her, I was present. In many ways. She just doesn’t realize it. She will. “I think you’re a little bit of both.” Her softly spoken words interrupt my thoughts.

Taking out my zippo, I play with the metal lid. “Both?”

She nods enthusiastically as her wild curls jump up and down around her face. “The villain and the hero.” She beams before leaning back on her seat, holding tightly to her seatbelt.

She thought of me as a villain and now as a hero, too.

Something in my chest moves.

There’s pressure, and I have to try hard to catch my breath because her trust in a man like me is admirable, even after the life she’s had. And yet, she saw me murder a man and still sees heroic qualities in me. No one has ever looked at me like she has in just a day.

See me the way this sweet girl has.

Except for two people.

My parents.

So right here, right now, I vow to myself that I will treasure her trust and even in my darkest moment, I will hold on to it. Because a man like me knows a girl like her is too fucking good to be true.

She should have been the last woman I was interested in. Mila is sheltered and kindhearted. She sees light in the darkness. Goodness in the hopeless.

Her skin is perfectly intact, and mine is not only inked but scarred from the sins I’ve committed throughout my life.

I enjoy the sound of my gun going off right before I claim a life, and she gets triggered by it.

This hold she has on me is inexplicable, though maybe that was what I liked best about her.

But there was just something about Mila.

It doesn’t help that she is a knockout.

And she doesn’t even know it. I’d never met a beautiful woman who wasn’t at least somewhat aware of their attractiveness.

The light moved higher, taking in the ends of her curly blond hair that was fanned outward around her face.

Fuck.

And what a face.

Full, somewhat oversized lips, prominent cheekbones, a straight nose, somewhat natural brows - which was refreshing. Actually, as a whole, she seemed to have almost no makeup on, save for a little pink to her lips which I think is the natural hue of her lips. Gorgeous.

That night when I first met her, I left the Volpe mansion and tried to push the image of the girl with sad eyes out of my mind, but I couldn’t. I failed. I wondered if she was okay. If she was being mistreated in any way. At first, it was just innocent, until years later, when the lines I drew started to blur, and I couldn’t stop seeing her. Those damn butterflies in her hair. Those unfocused, pained, light blue eyes looking up at me. And it suddenly became my fucking business.

Yeah… women like Mila don’t end up with men like me, but fuck it, if I’m not going to give it all I got.

Twenty minutes later, Imogen arrives with our food and with a new attitude. Then, I spent the rest of the flight nursing a glass of whiskey while Mila stuffs her face and shares a dozen or more scientific facts she learned just this morning.

Without a doubt, I can say these four hours with her were some of my best in a long time. If not the best.

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