Page 66 of Mila: The Godfather

Didn’t care about anything or anyone else enough to feel guilty, but I do now.

“They’re my favorite. It’s the perfect blend of sweet and salty.” She mumbles softly. I watch her vivid blue eyes. Her eyes are always moving, always darting, and her hands are never still. One is holding onto a spatula as she unsticks the waffles from the waffle maker, and the other is tapping the counter. “Here. Have as many as you want.” She serves me four big-ass waffles, and I don’t mind one bit.

Taking a seat, I grab a fork and dive in, and when the first taste hits my taste buds, I can’t hold back the moan of pleasure that slips from my mouth. I have had these almost every morning since I grew teeth, and not once have I ever tasted waffles better than these.

“I wanted to show you my gratitude for helping me and bringing me to this paradise.” She says while continuing to tap on the counter.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Three times.

She stops.

A long second passes before she does it again.

“You don’t need to thank me, sweetheart.” I bite down on a strawberry while staring her way.

“Oh, but I do. My nonna used to say that we should always show our gratitude when someone does something nice for us, either with words or with food, and since sometimes, I’m not very good with words, so I chose food. Eat.”

Well, when she puts it like that.

I do as she says.

I eat.

I ate every waffle on my plate and then asked for seconds, and even when I was full and I knew I couldn’t take another one, I asked for more anyway because that smile on her face now? A smile that lights up her entire goddamn face? That’s the reason why I’m doing all of this.

The lying.

The secrets.

All of it.

Because there’s always an endgame, and mine was always her.

Not the three families of Detroit, no.

Not their business.

Her.

Always her.

Then a sick satisfying feeling courses through my veins, knowing that she didn’t smile at Kelly as she did me.

Baby steps.

“Mila?” Setting the plate aside, I speak up while she munches on a waffle. I try my best to divert the dirty thoughts that flash through my brain as I watch her lick the whipped cream off the corner of her pink lips.

She has no idea. No idea at all how fucking irresistible she is. My little forbidden fruit.

Her eyes fall on my face for a rare second, and that’s all it takes for my heart to beat faster. How does she do that shit? I don’t know. “Yes?”

“I need your help again.” Lies. Little white lies.

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