Page 54 of Mila: The Godfather

White, blue, and silver dominate the color scheme, consisting of a huge leather couch and two chairs next to it. A small round table stands in front with several books on it. Classic literature.

My brow furrows, and I get closer, picking up one of the books and opening it, only to cough loudly when the dust twitches my nose. Waving it away, I read the title. “A love that never was.” Romeo and Juliet. Huh…

Flipping through the pages, my eyes widen when I realize this is a first edition of this particular tragic tale. Every detail I discover about this mansion makes me feel as if it was made for me.

From the decor to the choice of reading material.

The odd art and the beautiful and quiet atmosphere.

Putting the book down, I go back to studying the interior around me. My gaze lands on a glass bookshelf, where there are tiny sculptures and antique items of different shapes and sizes, and by the exquisite work, they must be very expensive. He also has unconventional art hanging on the walls.

There’s a painting of a roman warrior drenched in gold paint, and his armor is made of glass hanging right above a huge white sofa. The painting seems like an odd choice when this place has a more nature-outside vibe. And Riagan doesn’t seem like a man who enjoys classic art.

I did read somewhere that the rich love to collect antiques and old paintings for fun.

How unique…

Does he collect antiques and rare things?

He must because why else keep historical artifacts inside his home? Then I remember that Lucan Volpe is his brother and also a world-known artist who has exhibits of his art all over the globe.

I always found Lucan Volpe fascinating.

Who knew that underneath the blood, chaos, and duty to the three families, there was more to him? More than what his father wanted for him.

Ambition for more than mayhem.

A remarkable talent.

Does Riagan keep his brother’s masterpieces here? Are these it? I feel pressure in my chest like before, tapping my chest, I try to make the ache go away as I start to move forward towards what I guess is the kitchen.

I pause in my steps. Riagan is sitting on the kitchen island, chewing gum with a cigarette behind his ear and a bare chest. I knew he was tattooed, but now that he has no shirt on, I can’t find a single piece of virgin skin. I’m transfixed by it, and all I want to do at this moment is reach out and trace the black ink. He looks like one of my canvases on a good day.

The room is a bit dark since nightfall is near, but I’m still able to see him. My eyes roam from his chest up to his face. I swallow hard when I find him looking straight at me as if his stare could penetrate my soul.

“You’re up.” My eyes clash with his for a rare second before I drop my head and look at his feet. Heat rushes through me when I feel the burn of his gaze on my skin. Chewing on my bottom lip, I raise my head, remembering how he said I shouldn’t hide my face. I’ve been hiding from people all my life, and yet I don’t want to hide from him even when every molecule in my body is screaming for me to do so. I don’t. But I still feel embarrassed for sleeping through an entire day when I’m a guest in his home. “What’s wrong?” He barks, and I jump, startled by his tone. I try to silence my mind when it jumps to conclusions. Is he mad? Why did he raise his voice? “Shit. I’m sorry.”

That makes me lift my gaze to his. “Why are you sorry? You didn’t hurt me.” You say sorry when you hurt someone who doesn’t deserve it. Those were his words. “You did not hurt me.” I smile shyly at him.

A small grin appears on his face. “I clearly scared you, butterfly and for that, forgive me.”

“It’s okay.” I shrug, looking at his neck, avoiding his gaze. So I look at his chain instead. It’s pretty, and it sparkles whenever his chest rises. “I’m used to it.” I don’t look away from the piece of jewelry, and at the same time I hear a growl. A growl like I think an animal would make moments before he attacks his prey. But there are no wild animals here. Just Riagan.

“Used to it? You mean being afraid?” I look away as he continues. “You shouldn’t be.” He hisses. “Not with me. I regret raising my voice. Know that it is nothing you did.” Why does he say things that make my heart rate spike? Is he aware that he does it? And why do his words always make heat creep up my neck to my cheeks?

Not knowing how to respond, I nod and step closer to the kitchen, and while the dark room won’t allow me to see it in all its glory, I do notice many cooking devices and a triple-door refrigerator. We have a lot of the same things back home, and the kitchen, like the garden, is one of my favorite parts of a house.

You see… since I was a little girl, I loved to play chef with my sisters, and I would imagine I had my own bakery, and my sisters or Carlotta played my customers. It made my heart happy to pretend to bake them goods and watch their faces light up every time we played. Once Kadra took over the family and my parents were long gone, I was allowed to safely roam the mansion, and one of my favorite places to get lost in was the kitchen. I searched the internet for recipes and watched cooking videos until I mastered the craft of baking. I don’t play pretend anymore. Because of Kadra and Arianna, I didn’t have to hide anymore and was able to learn and do the things that make me happy. In hindsight, baking makes me happy. Do you know what also makes me happy? Knowledge. Right now I know very little about my situation here. This weird arrangement has yet to be explained fully to me. Turning to Riagan, I speak. “I have questions.”

He nods once, rises to his full height in all his bare-chested glory, walks to the garbage bin, spits his gum out, and walks toward me. I stand there watching his every move like a scientist studying the human brain. It’s fascinating, actually. Everything he does causes a shiver of excitement to run through me, and I know this reaction to him is not normal. “Follow me.” He says roughly before passing by me and making his way out of the kitchen towards the back area.

And I follow him.

He could be leading me to my death, yet I follow his every step.

Message from C

One day. - C

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