Page 45 of Mila: The Godfather

I listened to her voice and ignored all logic.

Looking at his very expensive car once again, I notice it’s a two-seat vehicle. I voice the first thought that comes to mind. “What about your friend?” I point behind me to where his friend or employee, I still don’t know which, stands behind me without saying much. The man looks like someone out of a fashion campaign, but there’s an air of savagery and superiority around him. One much like Riagan’s. The ’dare look at me in the wrong way and I’ll slit your throat from ear to ear, chop you into pieces and make sure your remains never get found’ kind.

A shiver runs down my spine.

For a second there, I forgot I was in the presence of criminals, and this is not a fictional tale.

These men are in the same line of business as my sister, and they don’t call her the queen of darkness for nothing.

“Kelly can fetch himself a ride and meet us later. Can’t you, Kelly?” Riagan reaches his hand out to me again, beckoning me to him.

“Asshole.” The man, Kelly, says loud enough for his boss to hear.

“Hey.” I turn to him without any regard to my safety. I must be losing it. “That’s not nice.”

“I’m not nice, love.” He laughs, a charming laugh.

Oddly, it’s not a cruel laugh.

Jovial.

Friendly, almost.

Huh.

“You should be,” I utter.

“I should.” He side-steps me and climbs down the plane’s stairs heading in the direction of a black van.

I noticed how he tries his best not to touch me.

Which I appreciate, but it has me wondering how he knows?

Did Riagan order him not to touch him? But how would Riagan know? Then the scene at the alley where the mean man pulled my hair and my panic attack comes to mind.

Ah… that is how.

“Mila.” Riagan’s voice snaps me out of it and I look his way. The smile is gone but the intense look on his face remains.

My eyes travel from his mouth down to his heavily-tattooed hand.

And I moved.

Towards him.

I choose to go with him…again.

* * *

Riagan

“Wow.” Mila breathes out, enchanted with the sight before her. I understand what she must be feeling right now looking at all the beauty around us.

I’m not enthralled with the view of the private mansion nor the beach, but her.

The sight of her always manages to catch me off guard.

How can something as simple as witnessing her experience things for the first time fill me with fucking joy? Fuels me with purpose? But it does. All throughout the entire car ride, she kept looking out the window with her nose pressed to the windshield with this look of wonder in her pretty blue eyes that both saddened and made me want to show her more of this world. I felt something inside my chest start to twinge at the sight of her sweet innocence. “Is this place yours, too?” she asks, while pointing forward.

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