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

Part 1 – STOLEN PRINCESS

“Did you know that the word for butterfly in formal Greek is psyche? No? Well, now you do…” – M

RIAGAN – PAST

“Fun fact: Did you know that you could walk from Russia to Alaska?” – M

“You think to lead this family while getting in bed with Detroit?” Scotty Flynn cries from far down the table. He is so far removed from the main branch of the O’Sullivan family tree that he barely warrants a place here, yet Da allows it. When I return his tantrum with silence, he scoffs. “Of course, you would. Your father fell for a…” The fucker has the good sense to stop before he goes there, but it’s too late now.

“Don’t stop now,” I tell the whiny old bitch. There’s no need to raise my voice. Da taught me from a very young age that any emotion indicates weakness in this business. I am not a weak man. “What were you going to say, Scotty?” I stand then and begin to walk around the table toward his side. “Go on. Say it…” I dare the motherfucker. 

Men like Scotty are weak.

They whisper shit instead of saying what they fucking mean.

Scotty bites his tongue and narrows his eyes when I approach him. 

I point to Cianne Kelly, a loyal member of the clan, one of my family’s oldest allies for at least two generations. His Da served once as the clan chief before he was gunned down on a job gone wrong. Now his son, Kelly, has the honor of being this family’s second-in-command. 

“What was he going to say, Kelly?”

“Old cunt was about to trash talk your Mum, cap. Cut out his tongue.” Kelly looks giddy while leaning back in his seat, playing with his zippo. You wouldn’t know the asshole was as cruel as criminals come with his pretty-boy appearance and charming persona.

Grown men fear him, and bitches go crazy for Kelly.

I don’t ask much of my men, but one thing I do demand is fucking respect.

Their loyalty.

Two things Scotty has been lacking lately.

Perhaps, the fuck is getting too old and reckless.

The room grows silent when I turn back to Scotty, placing my gun on the table facing him. “Does anyone have a problem with me doing business with Detroit?” I ask while looking all of them in the eye. “Speak up now.” 

They won’t. I look left and wait for the men sitting on this side of the table to say shit but as expected, they do not. Then I turn right and do the same. No one utters a word to defy me. 

I might be young. 

Much younger than them, but I am something most of them will never be.

My father’s son.

My grandfather’s greatest pride. 

Cathan and Tommy O’Sullivan are the toughest motherfuckers this organization has ever seen. My father was made at the tender age of fourteen, and my grandfather stole the crown from the original gangster of the Irish clan when he was just shy of seventeen. 

Two thugs with charming smiles and a thirst for chaos.

Trigger-friendly fuckers.

I am the very best and worst of them, and these men know it.

However, it seems as if Scotty doesn’t agree. 

I must give it to the fucker, he speaks up even if it guarantees him a one-way ticket to hell, but at least he has more balls than most men at this table. 

Scotty and every man who came before him from his bloodline have always been shady as fuck since they used to have full control of the Irish clan until my grandfather stole it from under them. 

I guess the wound still stings for dear old Scotty. 

“He is joking, kid.” Kyan Daly, one of the eldest members of the family, utters from his spot on the far right of the table. 

Smiling towards Scotty, I ask. “Is that so? Were you joking, Scotty?”

Taking a cig from behind my ear, I place it in my mouth and light it before taking a long drag and expelling the smoke towards the old fuck. I bite a smile when Scotty’s knuckles turn white, and his eyes flash with hatred. How my father worked alongside this snake for so long is beyond me. 

He did teach me that we keep friends close and snakes closer.

Scotty offers me a pained smile and nods. “Won’t happen again, kid.” 

“Captain.” I correct him.

His eyes turn murderous, and his brows pull low. There he is. A jealous little prick. “What?”

Taking another drag, I smile. “Not kid.” I exhale the smoke his way before I say. “Captain.”

Silence follows.

You could hear a pin falling on the floor. 

One.

Two.

“Cap—”

Weak old cunt.

Growing bored, I cut him off before he can finish. “Knife or bullet?”

“Ain’t that nice, Scotty? Cap is letting you choose.” Kelly jokes while looking giddy as fuck. “And people call you heartless.” He tsks while disturbingly batting his eyelashes at me.

My men might be all levels of fucked up and slightly psychotic, but they’re loyal. I can’t say the same for this Scotty fuck.

“Riagan.” A new voice comes from the door behind me.

Da. 

Good. 

Here’s here.

Without turning my father’s way, I focus on the matter at hand. “You have three seconds to decide, Scotty, before I decide for you, and trust me, you don’t want that. I’m not feeling merciful today.” I throw the cig into the ashtray in the middle of the table and pick up my gun. “One.” I count.

Scotty stands, throws his chair back, and starts to panic. Like a sewer rat before it drowns. “You fucking—”

“Three.” Taking my knife from behind my back pocket, I throw it at the bastard, and it hits him in the neck. Scotty stumbles while grabbing his neck, where blood is pouring out rapidly, and when his eyes meet mine, I smile and aim my gun at his head.

“You should’ve held your tongue, Scotty,” I tell him right before I pull the trigger. 

One shot to the head, and he is dead.

The room remains silent. 

This is not the first time one of our own has been taken out, and it certainly won’t be the last. Looking at the blood on the floor, I smile and then look out the window where a blue butterfly is hitting the glass. 

“Clean this shit up,” I order no one in particular. 

I hate being questioned by my men, and the second they start questioning your judgment is when you need to take them out before they turn on you. And it’s inevitable that they turn on you. Hungry dogs always want more. 

Plus, the fucker sealed his fate when he tried to mention Mum. 

I knew then he wouldn’t leave this room with his life, but I wanted to play with him a little longer.. 

Turning away from the men, I head towards the door. I have shit to do. As long as I have two-faced vipers in my den, she’ll never be safe.

Philadelphia is the start, and Detroit is the endgame. 

Reaching Da, I stop. Cathan O’Sullivan doesn’t look a day over forty-five. The fucker could almost pass as my older brother. We look almost identical, aside from my eyes. That I got from Mum. 

The same eyes as my younger brother, Lucan. 

Thoughts of my mother cause a ripple of pain and anger to spread through my chest. Every time. Every fucking time.

“Good job, stoírín.” Da smiles while tapping my cheek lightly. Lovingly. Shit. 

Not even tragedy has hardened my old man, not completely at least. 

“Not going to ask me why I blew your friend’s brains?” 

He grins. “Scotty’s always did talk too much shite.”

And that’s it.

Da never questions me.

He never judges me, either.

My father is the type that stands beside me whether I’m wrong or right.

“That he did, Da. That he did.” I clap his back and head out the door, tucking my gun back inside my holster.

I got shit to do.

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