Mila: The Godfather (Unholy Trinity Book 7)
Mila: The Godfather: Part 2 – Chapter 72

RIAGAN

“Nothing you do will ever be wrong.” — R

“Make a wish, a sheòid,” Da says while he smiles at me proudly alongside all his men. Every year he throws me a big Irish-themed party with all the O’Sullivan members and their kids in attendance. 

Today, I turned ten years old and just like all my birthdays before, he asked me to make a wish. I do as he says, not wanting to make him feel bad. Because I will if I show him how I truly feel inside. I’m all he has aside from his men and this city. I’m all that matters to him. My happiness is his priority. I know this too.

That is why I act like nothing hurts and that all is well because I know he needs me to be okay, but I don’t tell him I don’t have dreams or believe in wishing for shit. 

I’m not a kid who believes in magic and unicorns like most children my age. I used to once, although I don’t remember much about those days.

All I do remember is that all my dreams and wishes faded to black when she left. My home was no longer full of light and laughter but sadness and fury.

My old man is not the same, not even when he pretends.

But I do pretend for him because he’s the most important person in my life.

That is the only reason why I close my eyes and blow out the ten candles as everyone cheers and whistles loudly around me.

Irish people know how to throw a party, and every year, my father goes above and beyond.

Expensive decorations and cool as fuck gifts.

Today, whereas a normal kid my age would get a video game or some shit like that for their tenth birthday, I got my first gun. I don’t mind it one bit.

All I ever wanted was to grow up and be like my grandfather and father.

Live the life they do.

Fast cars.

Fights.

Power.

It all calls out to me more than anything else.

But I also know that not even that can fill the hole that’s been slowly growing in my chest.

The void I feel.

Instead of communicating all this with my old man, I chose the easy route. 

I smile wide for him.

For him and his men, even when it hurts.

Smiling hurts when you fake it.

I’ve been faking it for as long as I can remember. 

“Atta, little man.” Da bends down and kisses my forehead, then ruffles my hair affectionately, and I wonder if it hurts him, too?

If he fakes all his smiles for me like I do?

“Make a wish, Riagan!” The sweet and exciting sound of my wife’s voice pierces my soul and brings me back to the present and away from the past. “And smile wide!” she beams happily.

Shit, I do.

I smile with my whole face because for the first time in a long fucking while, I am truly happy. I don’t smile because I was granted another year on this earth, especially with the life I lead, but because I have her. I have someone who makes me believe in magic and happily ever after. Someone who has trouble expressing her feelings, so instead, she shows me with her actions. Someone who had tears in her eyes yesterday but woke up with the most blinding smile on her face today. She spent all morning and afternoon decorating and baking with men twice her weight, and who look like serial killers, even when gets shy and sometimes has trouble relating to them. Yet she tries.

For me.

I also smile wide when I see her holding a waffle cake with green frosting—- my favorite that she baked with the help of two of my men, who now seem to like her more than they like me, and I have zero issues with that unless they step out of line, which they won’t because they value their lives.

My girl is wearing ripped jeans that show a bit of creamy skin and an oversized mint shirt that reads ’Ask Daddy.’  I don’t think she realizes the sexual meaning behind the message, but I’ll gladly show her tonight.

What makes me laugh is the crooked birthday hat she has on— the same one she put on the dog. That’s another one who quickly attached himself to her.

Good because he was always meant for her.

All I’ve built for the past couple of years, I did it with her in mind. With the hope that one day, maybe she would be here in my world.

And here she is.

Celebrating me when, before her, everyone knew how little I cared about birthdays, but if celebrating me makes her smile like she’s doing now, I’ll deal.

Tuning out the rest of the men gathered around, I lean over the Irish-themed waffle cake she’s holding and blow out the candles without looking away from those blue eyes that have the power to stop the heart in my chest. Once every single candle is out, I whisper for her and only her. “I got all I want right here, butterfly. Don’t need anything else.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, her eyes grow softer, and that perfect smile of hers widens, robbing me of air.

That’s it, baby.

That’s all I need.

“Dig in, motherfuckers. This shit looks good.” Byrne roughly says. I’m about to call the fucker out for his lack of manners when he playfully touches Mila’s head.

Fuck.

Before I have time to react and break his hand for touching her without her consent, she freezes.

Swear to fucking God, she freezes in place as if she’s trapped inside her head.

Nothing like the time when that filthy cunt that was after her in the alley pulled her hair. This time I watch as she completely goes into her head. Her eyes are no longer focused, and I’m not sure she’s breathing with how still she is.

A long moment of silence falls, and then the cake falls to the floor, crumbling at both of our feet.

Fuck.

That’s when she snaps out of it.

I see the look of sadness that falls over her face when she realizes she dropped the cake.

“It’s okay, baby.” I grab her shoulders and make her look at me when she tries to look around the room, embarrassed. “You’re fine. It’s nothing.” I hug her closer, kissing the top of her head as I do. “Hey, look at me.” I step back and try to get her to look at me, but she won’t.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, dropping her head.

My chest feels tight.

I drop another kiss on her head, comforting her. “Nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault.”

But she doesn’t believe me I know.

I witness how quickly she puts on a wobbly smile and acts like all is fine. She learned to adapt to bad or awkward situations when she was a child. She goes to her head for protection, and when she snaps out of the daze and comes back, she pretends, and that just breaks my fucking heart.

“Baby—” Then Maeve steps forward and steals her from me. I don’t fucking like it, but I understand. She’s trying to ease Mila’s discomfort and distract her.

At least, I’m thankful for that.

I watch as Maeve pulls her with her to the other side of the room, where a table is set with all the food, and ask her how she managed to pull all this off in a day, which successfully makes Mila get out of her head and explain logically all she did to pull an Irish themed party with no professional help.

“Fuck, man.” Byrne steps forward, staring me in the eyes with a look of remorse in it. That’s a first. The fucker is a skilled and trained assassin. A killing machine. But I see my woman got to him too. “I didn’t think.”

Raising my hand, I tell him. “Don’t let it happen again.”

He nods, then turns to leave toward the others who had the good sense to carry on as if nothing happened.

Walking to the bar, where my father is sitting, nursing a glass of water, I serve myself a glass too. Not wanting to drink tonight for some reason. “That girl is gold, son. I’m glad you have her.” The raw pain in his voice makes me turn to look at him. He looks better than he did months ago, but he’s still clearly sick. Fuck.

“I’m glad I have you both. That’s all I need.” I clasp his shoulder gently, not wanting to think about the possibility of him leaving me just yet. Not at all.

“Yeah, boy. You have us.” he breathes out, then takes a cigar from his jacket’s pocket and puts it in his mouth, but he doesn’t light it. “I heard about a wish list or some shit like that you’re completing for me.” he raises an eyebrow at me, all sadness gone from his eyes. There’s only mirth there. “I didn’t teach you to lie, a sheòid.”

“Only to fight and kill, right?”

“Damn straight.”

The heaviness in my heart eases as we both laugh.

Then, I turn and search for my girl but don’t see her where she last was with Maeve and the dog.

Shit.

The sun is already setting, and the sky has a beautiful pink hue. Mila loves the sunset. That’s why it doesn’t surprise me to find her outside, sitting peacefully on the swing I set up under the big-ass Willow in the center of the garden.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I whisper as I get closer. Mila’s back tenses, and she stops pushing herself on the swing. I love how her feet don’t reach the ground. “I don’t like it when you’re away from me Mila.” I position myself behind her, and grab the ropes to help her, and gently start pushing her.

“I ruined your cake and your party with my issues.” She mumbles, sounding sad.

“Bullshit. You did no such thing.” I try to keep my voice soft, but when she apologizes for being herself, it pisses me off. She never has to apologize for her past or her beautiful and endearing quirks. “Byrne’s sorry.”

Her head whips around as she looks at me over her shoulder. Well, with our height difference, when she’s sitting, she comes face to face with my chest. “He doesn’t have to apologize. It was—”

“He does have to apologize, and he did. People shouldn’t touch others without their consent. You never know what could trigger them.” I didn’t think that way before. I honestly believed this world was too damn sensitive, but after she came along, I started looking at it in a different light. A beautiful one. It sometimes scares the fuck out of me because I’ve witnessed just how ugly this world truly is. Hell, I contribute to that ugliness. “He’ll do better from now. That I promise you. They all will.” It’s a process, but at least my men are mindful of her. They don’t have a choice. I’ll kill any of them in a heartbeat if they make her cry. If they step out of line like that dumb-fuck — Mitch.

“They’ll look at me differently now.” She whispers, hurt, while I push her gently. The wind is blowing her curls, and she’s never looked more unreal than right here to me.

“You are different,” I tell her, feeling her back grow rigid. But before she goes and starts thinking things that aren’t true, I speak again and explain myself. “You’re not one of them. You’re my wife, and as such, they need to treat you, but you also carry a soft heart, butterfly. Men like me aren’t good enough for it, but we try. We try like fuck to deserve it. My men aren’t used to exceptional humans like you, but they care for you.” I won’t mention her disability. Her disability is not her, and my men know this. All they see is this sweet creature that scares them. I know it. Because she sure as fucked scared the hell out of me when I met her, and she still does. Maeve was right, and we all know it. Soft hearts are a challenge but worth it. I also didn’t lie when I told her my men care for her because they do. Bain got attached to her in all those years of keeping her safe. Too fucking close, if you asked me.

Kelly’s eyes grow soft every time he finds a sticky note with a positive message on his car door or stuck in the fridge where she leaves them, knowing he’ll find them. She doesn’t know it, and he doesn’t know I know, but it makes his day.

Then, there’s Maeve, who’s never been happier now that there’s someone else who listens to all that genius shit she likes to go on about for hours with her twin. Now, they have added Mila to the nerd club.

Maeve’s words. Not mine.

Fuck, even Byrne.

My warlord is emotionless. In all these years, I’ve never witnessed him look remorseful, but he did today.

They all care in their own way, and I’m fucking glad about that.

If the time comes to lay their lives down for her I know they will just as they would for me.

I also know where she’s coming from. A man attacked her in a place where she was supposed to be safe from the cruelty of the world. And today, she was triggered, even if it was unintentional.

“I’m sorry there’s so much ugly in the world, butterfly.”

“Well… we can only appreciate the light because of the dark.” When I think she doesn’t hear me, she does.

“I don’t want to leave.” She blurts out.

Frowning, I stop pushing the swing. “Leave?” The thought of that happening cuts deep.

“I don’t want to ever leave this place,” she whispers, and she looks away from me. With my heart thrumming in my rib cage, I move until I’m standing in front of her. “I don’t want to ever leave you.”

Thud.

Thud.

Fucking thud.

Gently, I lift her off the swing and into my arms. Once her eyes are on me, I say. “You’re not going anywhere, Mila. You are mine, and I am yours.”

“I love you,” she says quietly, then hesitates before she speaks again. “Since the first letter.”

I’m taken aback but not at all surprised that she figured it out. I’m surprised it took her this long.

“How’d you figure it out?”

“It took me a while to connect the dots and you, with him– the one from the emails-but then, with every little and big gesture, I started to wonder how you could know things not even my sisters knew. Only one person knew my heart’s wishes, and then I felt with you what I felt when I opened every message. I no longer felt alone. I was excited and couldn’t wait to find out what was written inside. I’ve felt the same here.” she touches her chest. “That’s how I knew.”

“Baby–” I exhale, lost for words.

“Plus, Maeve let it slip.” she laughs, and the sound goes straight to my heart. “She said, and I quote: “Don’t let the tattoos and the kills fool you. Bossman is a big romantic teddy bear. He even writes love letters.”

Maeve and her big mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, frowning now.

“I wanted you to fall for who I am. Not just the man from the letters. All of me.” I say truthfully.

And she had.

Because I’d shown her my black soul, and she chose me anyway.

“Oh, that makes sense.” I watch her cheeks turn pink, and her eyes fall to my mouth. “You didn’t say it back,” she says.

Smiling like a fool, I kiss her forehead and whisper back. “I love you more.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, Riagan.” Fuck, so sweet.

“It is. Trust me.” I hold her tightly in my arms while her arms hold onto my neck. Her eyes no longer look sad but full of love and happiness. They’re shining. “I think I loved you long before I met you. Long before the letters.”

“Perhaps, we’ve met in another life.” She frowns, and I can tell she’s trying to find the logic in my statement. “That does explain all the deja vu feelings I’ve been experiencing since our very first encounter.”

I was not one to believe in past lives and all that shit that most people believe in when they fall in love, but she makes me believe in it. In soulmates and love after death. Multiple lives and finding your soul mate in each and every single one of them.

It started with a lonely girl who stirred the protective instinct in me.

Then, life threw me the biggest plot twist.

The sweet girl who tugged at my rusty heartstrings grew up and became my wife.

My heart.

My thoughts are interrupted when she squeezes my neck tightly and breathes out. “Thank you for loving me, Riagan. For who I am.” There’s a vulnerability in her words that makes my chest ache. One day, I’ll get her to see just how extraordinary she really is. One day, she won’t doubt it.

“You’re perfect,” I answer seriously. “You make the world pretty, butterfly.”

Her blue eyes turn soft. There’s tenderness in them. “Ria—”

My mouth cuts her off as it crashes down on hers.

Her taste made an addict out of me.

One taste has me weak in the knees.

Weak for her.

My sweet vixen.

Pulling back, I release her lips and watch her pretty face as she scowls adorably. “More.”

Laughing, I reach inside my jeans pocket and pull out the crumbled piece of paper I’ve been carrying with me for weeks and place it between us. She untangles one arm from my neck and grabs the paper.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

“This is my bucket list.”

“Wish number nine made. You can cross it out, baby. And while you’re at it, cross off numbers one and seven.”

“But I can’t. I haven’t changed someone’s life.”

“You have. You changed mine, butterfly.”

She stays quiet for a moment too long, and I wonder if I pushed too hard, but then she grabs my face and whispers close to my lips. Her sweet scent was all over me. “Forever, Riagan?”

“Forever, butterfly.”

And then she surprises me by kissing me as if she needs me to breathe.

I do.

I need her to breathe.

I’m utterly obsessed with the tiny magical girl who appeared out of nowhere and made her home in my once-black and hollowed heart.

My Mila.

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