Mila: The Godfather (Unholy Trinity Book 7)
Mila: The Godfather: Part 1 – Chapter 8

RIAGAN

“Some say snitch bitches, get stitches.

Nah, they get buried.” – R

“Wait a fucking second. I must be hearing wrong because ain’t no way you want me to work for the filthy Italians. Am I hearing this shit right, Cap?” Bain, one of the few people I trust in the clan, spits over the line. It’s three in the fucking morning and I’m parked outside a residence, in the street like a fucking creep, when I should be dealing with the fallout of the three families of Detroit’s decision to take over and get rid of the current bosses. 

Benedetto Nicolasi, Gabriele Parisi, and that fucking rat Tommaso Volpe are gone. I should be drinking to celebrate their much-deserved fall from grace. Instead, the night led me here.

To the Parisi residence.

All paths led me here. 

To her. 

For the life of me, I can’t quite put a finger on what it is about that young girl that touched something in me that Halloween night months ago.

It’s so fucked.

I’m fucked.

She’s the youngest spawn of that fucker Parisi. Why the fuck do I care about what happens to her is beyond me. 

But I do.

I fucking care.

I have no single fucking clue what it was about her that tugged at the dusty ass strings of my fucked-up heart. 

Maybe it was the way her eyes, her sad eyes, called to the darkest part of me when she looked my way.

The fucking smoking fun fact. 

Or the damn butterflies. Butterflies that have been haunting me ever since I was a boy.

Reminders of my mother.

I don’t believe in coincidences, you see.

That girl crossed my path that night, and there has to be a reason. There has to be a logical reason as to why, after I left the Nicolasi mansion that night, the girl kept popping into my mind.

I thought I stashed her memory away like I do everything that means shit to me, but that was not the case. 

Instead, I found myself wondering why no one utters her name in the three families. Why after working for the families undercover for years, I never, not even once, saw her face. Not once. Just her two oldest sisters.

I kept wondering why she was kept hidden, as if there was something wrong with her. As if that fucking family is hiding something.

But what?

Remembering that I have Bain on the line, I speak up. “There’s a girl.” I look at the mansion and momentarily wonder which window belongs to her room. “The youngest Parisi. No one outside of the three families knows that she exists, and I want to keep it that way. I need you to keep her safe, and you don’t get caught, you got me? There’s word that Kadra Parisi will now take her father’s place as the boss and will clean house. That’s your way in.”

“Fuck me, Cap, can’t believe you’re making me do this shit. Those scums…” He breathes harshly, and silence follows his protest before he speaks again. “For how long?”

“For as long as I need you to.”

“What is it about the girl?” he asks suspiciously. 

How the fuck do I answer that without sounding like a fucking psycho?

Not that I give two shits about what others think of me.

But I don’t even know what exactly it is about the Parisi princess.

I tried to go on with my life as if I had never met her, but her eyes kept flashing through my mind. The sadness and loneliness made my chest ache when I haven’t felt anything remotely close to sadness since I was a young lad. Nothing but anger.

“Just do as I say and keep me updated. I want to know everything there is to know about the girl.”

Bain sighs. “Sure thing, Cap.”

Typical Bain.

He bitches just for theatrics when he knows he’ll end up following orders.

I told him the truth.

I trust the man, that is why I chose him with her.

Bain might be a hothead, but he has a gentle heart.

He also has a soft spot for kids.

“One more thing.” I flicked the cigar out the window. “Don’t use your name.” Right after, I drive off, knowing there’ll be a long while before I’m back in this god-awful city. 

“Why the fuck not?” Bain barks.

“Too Irish.” I rub my temple at the same time as I take a long drag of my cig. 

“What the fuck should I call myself?”

“I could give two fucks if you call yourself Augustus or captain dickhead. Just don’t use your name.” With that last comment, I hang up and speed the hell out of this city with a new purpose. One I don’t understand right there. Not until a few years later when I see the little butterfly again.

Present

If there was one thing I’d learned growing up with a ruthless gangster for a father, it was that you were always surrounded by animals. Savages.

Snakes even.

Those are the worst.

I might be a heartless motherfucker, that is true but I don’t fuck with people that can’t defend themselves.

What I also am is selfish. I never quite liked to share my toys when I was a lad. To be fair, Da never raised me to be generous or kind. He taught me that what was mine was that…mine. To this day, that is the only rule I live by.

And when someone tries to fuck with what is mine? I get angry. Real fucking angry.

Murderous and trigger-friendly.

Like in this instant.

I pull out a cig and spark it up. I take a long drag and watch the scene before me. One that has my blood boiling. Touching the gun inside my holster, I watch the piece of shit holding his gun to the back of a pretty blonde hair. Hair that I know all too well.

A hair belonging to the sweetest and most innocent creature I have ever met.

An innocent.

Mila Areya Parisi.

The hidden jewel.

The youngest Parisi.

A girl with a hit on her head of ten million to the first hitman that pulls the trigger.

Mila lies on the filthy ground next to a dumpster, rocking herself in a fetal position, unaware that this cunt is hovering over her, ready to pull the trigger.

I notice her lovely white summer dress is stained with what seems like grease, and her elbows have red welts on them.

You know… I was going to drag this motherfucker’s death and prolong his pain. That was the plan. What I didn’t plan was losing my head in a public space because I sure as fuck don’t need this kind of heat on me in plain daylight, but then the cunt mocks her and makes her cry out, in return making my blood boil even hotter. And then the fucker had to reach forward and snatch her hat off, startling her and pulling her hair, making her cry out in pain.

A red mist descends over my eyes until all thoughts are of the fucker covered in bullet holes. That’s what I do. Pulling out my gun, I start firing. I run forward, not caring that there are witnesses around us.

I just focus on the screams coming from the sweet girl currently crying on the floor.

Bullet after bullet leave my barrel and slice through red flesh, ripping into the fucker’s liver and lungs, dropping the bastard to the ground. I keep firing.

I walk forward, giving zero fucks that the asshole got a bullet in me before he hit the ground. I got as close to the prick as I could, pressing my barrel to his head, and splattered his brains up the dirty walls of this alley.

I could hear my breath pumping in my ears. Feel my fucking heart pounding in my chest.

Because of the girl.

But I can’t think about this now.

She’s in danger.

Fuck, if I had arrived a moment later, she would be the one with a hole in her head and blood oozing out of her pretty mouth. She’s a target now, and there is no doubt more men like the piece of shit on the dirty ground are coming for her.

Hardening my heart, I step over the dead fucker and move closer toward a now-shaking-uncontrollably Mila.

I know I shouldn’t touch her while she’s like this. I know this, but I am not risking her safety.

Like my heart has been stabbed with a shot of adrenaline, I grab her and run for my car. “Shhh… sweetheart. You’re safe.” I whisper and to my surprise, her whimpers calm and her breathing evens out just enough for me to get her inside the car and away from danger.

“I know you…” she says, looking at me with those pretty eyes that have haunted my dreams for what feels like thousands of nights before she falls unconscious.

Shit.

Shutting the passenger door, I run to the driver’s side, get in, and quickly rev the engine, speeding the hell out of there.

I never ran from anything a day in my life.

Not once.

Not from a challenge or from danger, but for her I do.

Because there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for this girl.

For the girl with a kind heart and the most beautiful smile that managed to pierce my dead heart.

There is no doubt that I am interested in her.

There was just something about her. Her sweetness, her softness. It was something that my life had afforded me very little of.

I hadn’t realized I had been craving it until it was right there in front of me.

I met her once and she left her mark on me.

The girl that no one saw.

Everyone overlooked her.

It’s the woman I can’t stop seeing.

The mafia princess with butterflies in her hair and stars in her soulful eyes.

Mila Areya Parisi.

Even her damn name was fucking beautiful, but it would sound so much fucking better if it was followed by my last name.

All in due time.

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