Page 57 of Mila: The Godfather

Her next words undo me.

“Not anymore.” Eyes the color of the sky on a perfect day stare right through my soul before looking somewhere else. “How odd…” she mumbles absently.

The look on her face when I share a kind word or I’m brutally honest with her does things to me. It’s like witnessing her discover a new feeling or unlocking an old joyful memory that had been suppressed for years and now is coming back to her. It’s…touching.

“Ask me your questions, butterfly.” I rasp. I know she has a million of them, and I haven’t given her clear answers. I know it bothers her. Mila is the type of girl who follows her mind instead of her heart, but somehow, this time around, something tells me she shut her mind off, even if just for a little while, and trusted her heart.

Fuck, I hope that’s why she decided to act recklessly and put her trust in me.

“Why am I here? Truly? It can’t just be about my safety and the promises you made to my sister. There’s more to it. I feel it.”

She deserves answers, and I’m going to give them to her along with some little white lies.

Because the truth is I can’t tell her my truth just yet.

She’s not ready.

But she will be.

In time.

* * *

Mila

I’m no stranger to heartbreak.

I guess I knew what a broken heart was before most girls my age.

A boy didn’t break my heart, no.

Life did.

The pain my sisters were subjected to because of how I was born did more damage to my heart than the insults and neglect. Yet that seems small and insignificant compared to the feeling of despair in my chest just thinking about both my sisters being so far away and possibly in danger, and I can’t do anything about it but stay here and let this man keep me safe while the bravest person I know, Kadra, fights demons that have haunted this family for far too long.

She has always been my protector, and in my naivety to find her peace, I got myself into this situation. But the guilt I feel? The guilt is what hurts me more because, even though a part of me hurts for putting her in a position where she will worry about me, another part of me feels free. Free to finally see the world through my sister’s eyes and to experience it as well.

To finally live.

“My father is really sick.” Riagan’s deep voice breaks through my own throws, bringing me back to the moment at the same time as a gust of wind comes without warning, causing goosebumps to spread over my skin. Looking up at him, I study not only his facial expression but his stiff demeanor. I quickly catch his gaze and find darkness there.

“Is he going to die?” I cringe a little when I realize what I asked and how it might’ve sounded to him.

I sometimes forget that normal people don’t wish for their parents’ demise. Most children actually like their parents. I need to be more careful with the way I phrase things around him, to be cautious of not offending him. He might say that could never hurt him or make him mad, and he might say that now, but people change. That I know all too well. Once I open my mouth and say things with no ill intent but are painful truths, people get offended.

And when you offend someone in my world, they get angry. Furious even.

Then…I am the one hurting.

Hurt feelings and sometimes busted up lips or broken skin.

It all depends on their mood that day.

Riagan grunts. “He won’t die.” He clears his throat before speaking up again. “But he did ask something of me, just in case he lost the battle to cancer.”

“What did he ask?” I watch him, standing before me like a stone statue that bleeds fury. Dark and menacing yet soft at the same time.

The man is a mystery.

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