Mila: The Godfather (Unholy Trinity Book 7)
Mila: The Godfather: Part 1 – Chapter 10

MILA

“You still smoke? Do you want to die?” – M

My scalp burns from my father pulling on my hair, and my ears are still ringing from his shouts. My legs are stuck. I tried to move them, to run to Arianna, who was crawling on the floor a few feet away, but I couldn’t reach her. My big sister’s expressive green eyes widen in fear as she reaches for her throat.

There’s blood.

So much blood begins to pour from her throat, her ears, and her mouth. “No! I cry, feeling my heart crack down the center into two broken parts.

I try to scream, but it gets stuck in my throat.

I am powerless.

Useless.

“S-sstelina?” I snap my head to the right and watch as Kadra stumbles through a dark fog.

Her arms are stretched wide, and her eyes are watery. She’s looking for me, reaching out her gloved hand for me to take. To guide her home. She always did say I was the light that guides her in the dark when she feels she’s reaching the point of no return.

Today, I am not her light.

I am helpless.

I can’t guide her in the dark.

I try, regardless of the pain in my head and the heaviness of my heart.

“Kadra,” I whisper brokenly, reaching out my hand, but before her fingers meet mine, a knife comes out of the fog and plows right through her chest. Kadra’s lips moved in a silent cry for help as she dropped to the ground. I scream at the top of my lungs as she falls, and Arianna’s body disappears into a pool of her own blood.

Then the fog clears. It clears, and they both are gone. My sisters. They are gone … they are dead. My throat is raw from screaming, and my cheeks are sore from tears. I couldn’t save them. I couldn’t save their lives…

I failed them.

All I do is fail them.

Do you know that place somewhere between asleep and awake? The in-between. That place where you’re aware of your surroundings but can’t simply open your eyes because of how heavy they feel– because of how tired you are, and somehow in-between, you feel safer than being awake. I must be there. Except, possibly, a little more asleep than awake. I must be dreaming because there is no way this is happening. I feel myself being carefully shuffled out of a warm car, then nestled against the smooth material of an expensive shirt, the side of my face resting in a neck that smells of man and a smooth, crisp aftershave, with arms under my knees and around my back, strong, but somehow holding me ever-so-gently.

I feel tired. Tired as if I’d been walking the desert for a thousand days with no water or food. My limbs ache, and there’s a pounding on the back of my head.

What is happening?

Opening my eyes, I notice the light hurts, only worsening my headache.

Then it all comes back to me. Gus.

The loud noises.

The ringing in my ears.

The pain in my heart for leaving my friend behind, the rough hands of the cruel man pulling on my hair, and his ugly words.

Lastly, the man.

The tattooed giant with kind eyes and a devious smile as he emptied round after round on the man who was seconds away from hurting me more than he already had.

I know you…I whispered those words to my savior.

He appeared out of the blue to save the day like most heroes in romance books do.

But is this man the hero or the villain?

Perhaps, both?

I angle my head up to look at my maybe ’prince charming’. Except he didn’t exactly look like a prince charming. True, he was beautiful. In an extremely perfect and rugged way, with his amazing jaw, great nose, strong brows, and full pink lips. His hair was the color of sand after rain, as was the abundance of lashes he had framing his sky-blue eyes. He was a large man. Enormous, really. He’s taller than anyone I know, and his arms look as if he could crush me if he held me. He was that big.

Let’s not forget the abundance of dark ink that runs from his neck down to his knuckles. I’ve seen plenty of men with tattoos. Women, too. None with as many as this stranger.

He looks like a gigantic coloring book.

I also noticed his clothes were crisp. That’s always good. I like neat clothing. Neat clothes mean he’s not messy, and he doesn’t look dirty. I like that. I have come to learn that messy people have messy minds.

I don’t enjoy messy minds.

Forgetting all about his clothing and his potential tidiness, I concentrate on what happened back in the alley.

The image of him shooting the mean stranger in the chest without any remorse on his face should scare me. Heroes don’t look like he did. Giddy. Satisfied. Thirsty for more chaos.

His eyes.

Those blue eyes flash through my mind. There was something in them that made a shiver course through my insides and made me feel just slightly less like I was dreaming. Was he a figment of my imagination? Am I dreaming?

No, it can’t be.

He felt real.

Then, as that thought triggered it, sleep pulled backward like a fog lifting, making the quiet numbness seem to wear off.

Feeling overwhelmed and completely not understanding what was going on, I heard my voice say in a very small, very vulnerable way, “My head hurts.” My savage-looking prince seems taken aback at either my words or my tone, his brows drawing together as he watches me for a long moment. “Where are we?” I continue to ask questions until the man gently puts me down on my feet, and that is when I am able to see where we are. It looks like an abandoned plane track. In the distance, I can hear the low sound of what appears to be a plane heading our way.

Oh, no.

I’ve read this scene way too many times to know what this is.

This feels like a scene out of a crime and dark romance.

Villains.

Villains kidnap people. Heroes do not.

Fear should be seeping into my bones right about now, but nothing happens.

The stranger’s rough voice brings me back from my thoughts. “You will feel better as soon as you take something for the headache. Inside the plane, there is aspirin. Are you allergic to aspirin?” He clears his throat, and all I can focus on is that: 1. He has a lot of tattoos on his neck, and I mean a ton. 2. He said inside the plane as if he expected me to go inside.

“Are you kidnapping me?” I blurt out. Nice one, Mila.

The maybe villain chuckles. I don’t know why, but I feel a warm feeling in my stomach as if a thousand butterflies like the ones he has tattooed on his neck are flapping their wings erratically, causing havoc inside me. Huh… how strange.

I never felt that before.

Sadness? Yes.

Happiness? Uh-huh.

But this strange feeling in my stomach just by hearing this man laugh? Nope.

Again… strange.

And that is a very dangerous path because strange things make me curious and lead me to very bad ideas.

“I am not kidnapping you, sweetheart, but that filth from before sure was.”

“You killed him.” I point out the obvious.

The man grunts as my eyes remain on his neck where the tattoos conceal where his pulse should be, on occasion, my eyes drift up to his face. “I did.”

“How did it feel?” I ask, feeling transfixed with not only the man before me but the situation.

“Pretty satisfying.” He replies without hesitation.

“Pretty satisfying,” I repeat. “How odd. I was not expecting that answer…” I frown, most criminals I know hide their cruelty behind locked doors and pretend they’re good and law-abiding civilians, but this one is… proud?

The man clears his throat, and I follow the movement of his lips. “Does that scare you?”

I think about his question. A lot of things scare me, but watching this man murder the big bully from before doesn’t, and that should scare me. It would scare a sane person. “Not really. I don’t lose sleep over cruel men or what happens to them.” I shrug. It’s true.

I learned a long time ago that pity doesn’t live inside of me when it comes to people who cause others harm.

“Huh.” The man chuckles again, and I force myself to look into his eyes, and there goes that strange feeling again.

“What is it?” I don’t quite understand the look on his face. His eyes look bright, but his facial expression is not happy at all.

“You are just…” I hold my breath knowing the punch is headed my way. This is where my brutal honesty makes people uncomfortable so much that they don’t know how to act, so they choose to hurl insults my way or pretend I don’t exist. The latter hurts less. “A breath of fresh air.”

The silly bugs on my stomach go wild the second the words leave this man’s mouth, and suddenly I don’t know how to act or what to say, which is new to me. Although I may not understand social norms, sarcasm at times, and most human reactions, I do know that this strange man with butterfly tattoos, a perfect face, and a rough tone of voice is also a breath of fresh air to me.

Don’t be foolish, Mila… Lucifer was a gorgeous angel once too. Besides, you don’t know this stranger.

Ignoring the very smart and logical voice inside my head, I ask the man instead, changing the subject and steering the attention that is making heat creep up my neck away from me and towards him. “What is your name?” I ask automatically.

I look at the stubble on his face and replace myself fascinated when the muscle of his face pulls up in another smile. The bugs in my stomach are taking over my chest as well. How…new. “I thought you knew me, sweetheart.”

My brows pull down. “I know your face. Not your name. If I knew your name, I wouldn’t be asking.” I tell him, as a matter of fact.

“I see there’s sass under all that sweetness.” He steps closer cautiously as if he’s approaching a wild animal and doesn’t want to spook it. “Rian. My name is Rian.”

Rian. What an odd name.

Rian can be spelled as Ryan and Rian. Most people spell it as Ryan, but I guess this man is not most people. He doesn’t look ordinary, and neither is his name.

I like it.

“It’s Rian short for something?” I notice that his smiling eyes lock onto mine for a brief second before my eyes fall to his lips. And what a pretty mouth he has. “Riagan.”

Riagan.

“That is an interesting and unusual name,” I mumble, still looking at the man’s lips. He has a pretty smile with straight white teeth.

Riagan laughs softly. “I guess most people would think I’m an unusual man.”

I bet.

If he goes around killing men in broad daylight, being called unusual should be the least of his worries. “What is your last name?”

“O’Sullivan.” I think about it for a second. I heard this name before from my sister. It’s Irish.

His surname is of Irish descent.

Then it comes to me.

Lucan Volpe has a brother. A brother named Rian O’Sullivan.

The big and scary man from that night so long ago is Lucan’s brother.

Does Kadra know him?

Did she send him to come get me?

Is this the man Gus was referring to?

So many questions.

“My name is Mila.” I supplied. “Mila Areya Parisi.”

“I know.” He says with a small smile on his face. I focus on his smile instead of his eyes. He has a pretty smile. Most men and women I know have cruel smiles. Ones that make me nervous because punishment or a hurtful comment always comes next.

“You know my family? Is that how you know me? Did my sister contact you to take me back home? Where is Gus?” I blabber away, asking question after question. Now noticing the aircraft is visibly heading our way. “Why are we here?”

Bending down, I reach inside my socks for my phone – where I always put it– but replace it empty. I left it in the car, but knowing my sister, she had a tracker planted on it. Do not panic… all will be well. If you panic, then you’re already dead. My big sister’s, Kadra, words replay through my mind reminding me of all she has taught me if ever I replace myself in a situation where my life is in danger, and she’s not there to help.

As the plane stops a few feet away from us, the man comes closer to me. From this close, our height difference can’t be missed. The man towers over me, all strength and over-the-top presence. My heartbeat quickens, and my breaths become labored. I’ve never been this close to a man that hasn’t in some way hurt me, but somehow this stranger doesn’t make me feel scared or uncomfortable. Very fascinating…again.

“I do know your family. Not very fond of them, if I am being truthful, and something you should know about me, sweetheart, is that I am not afraid of the truth, and I won’t lie to you.” I am offended on my family’s behalf. My sisters to be precise, but I don’t argue, knowing that my family is not well-liked.

“Why don’t you like Gabriele?” I frown while paying close attention to his neck. I’ve come to learn that people have a tell when they lie. Most of them swallow hard. This man doesn’t have that tell.

“Your piece of shit father was a terrible consigliere and a cunt human being.” He says truthfully.

That is true.

I value the truth. My father was horrible.

“And why don’t you like my sisters?” I am curious, even though I know my sisters most likely did something to warrant his dislike. Both Arianna and Kadra have no qualms when it comes to speaking up their minds and making waves. I, on the other hand, hate to be the center of attention, and I would rather run and hide before I engage in any confrontation. The empowered and ’bad bitch’ gene skipped me, sadly.

I force myself to look Riagan in the eye for as long as I can. Yes, I will call him Riagan since that is the name his parents chose for him. My big sister, Arianna, taught me that shortening someone’s name is rude, but my sister had her oddities, so maybe it is a ’her thing’ and other people don’t replace it rude.

“Do I need a reason?” He shrugs as if he just doesn’t care even a little bit.

“How can you dislike them if you don’t know them?” I am curious.

“I might not know the core of who they are, but I do judge them based on our interactions. Your oldest sister has a mouth on her, and the middle one? Well, that one gave me headaches the last time we were in a room together.”

That does sound like my sisters. “I guess everyone is entitled to their own opinions.”

“Don’t take it personally, Mila. They don’t. If you ask them, I am positive they will tell you the same about me.” That’s true. My sisters could care less about what others think of them.

I’m deep in my head, thinking of this extremely weird exchange with a mostly stranger, when a slightly accented voice interrupts us coming from the plane. “Yo, Cap. If you’re done chatting with the lovely lass, we need to go.”

Leaning sideways, I sneak a glance behind the giant wall that is Riagan and spot a handsome man with tattoos standing on the plane’s door with a frown on his face. Where are these men from? They look nothing like the men that worked for my sister. The man on the plane looks like the man he called Cap, but with fewer muscles and a ton of tattoos from what I can see all the way here. “Cap?” My eyes replace Riagan again.

“We need to leave, sweetheart.” He says, ignoring my question and the man that called him boss. “And to quickly answer your other questions because we’re running out of time. I am here because you’re in danger. What happened earlier is just the beginning, Mila. Your sister pissed off a very important family, and they’re coming for you all. They won’t stop until they spill Parisi blood.”

“Is my sister in danger?” That is all I can think of to ask now.

Kadra…

“Don’t you care about your safety?” The man snarls, making me jump. Noticing my reaction, he sighs before speaking again. “Yes, she is safe.” He answers. He did say he doesn’t lie, but I don’t know him, not really, not even a little. “It is your safety you should worry about, Mila.”

I didn’t register the last part.

What did my sister do? I look down at my shoes, already knowing an anxiety attack is on the way because my sisters mean the world to me, and knowing one of them might be in danger causes me severe distress. Lifting my index finger towards my head, I replace that my ball cap is missing. No.

No.

“Your cap is gone. I’ll get you a new one.” Riagan says, noticing my state of distress over something as trivial as a clothing item. My cap hides me when everything feels like it’s too much to handle. When I don’t want to be seen or when I feel a panic attack rising. My cap has always been a source of comfort, and now it’s gone.

Lost somewhere.

“I need it… I–”

“Mila, listen to my voice.” Strange how he doesn’t force me or demand I look him in the face like most people would do. His voice is commanding yet soft. I try to breathe and focus on his voice. “I need your help.”

Then he says something that changes everything.

Call me naive.

Call me silly.

My help? No one has ever needed me before. I am always the one being cared for or looked after.

Finally replaceing my voice, I notice the need to cower and hide under my cap is gone, and all I can hear and see is the man in front of me with the rough-looking exterior and the soft and warm voice. “Help? How can I help you?” I whisper, feeling vulnerable. At times, I wish I were more like my sisters. Stronger and brave. Loud and overconfident.

I am not.

I made my peace with that.

I am confident in who I am, but I am not loud. I am not them.

“I promised someone I would protect you if one day a war broke out in Detroit because of your sister.”

Suddenly, everything fades into the background. The aircraft. The man waiting not so patiently a few feet away.

The noise.

All I can see.

All I can feel is… the man in front of me.

I swallow hard and look up, my eyes clashing with hypnotizing blues for the rarest of seconds. “Who? Who asked you to keep that promise?”

“Arianna.”

Arianna…

“Have you seen her?” I feel a bit jealous because this stranger has more contact than I do with my sister.

“Briefly,” he confirms.

Then I remember he said he needed me.

Focusing on his chest tattoo, I ask. “Just a promise? Is that all? Do you need me to come with you to help you fulfill a promise?” When I look up at him, I manage to catch a look that crosses over his face, but it’s gone as soon as it happens. I’m unable to decipher it. Even when my mind tries its hardest to make sense of it. I failed.

“I’ll explain everything in more detail as soon as I get you to safety.” His tone becomes softer, gentler, a total contrast to his harsh exterior. “You can come with me, and I’ll keep you safe until we replace this fu—” My brows furrow when he stops mid-sentence.

“You can use profanities. Most people use them when they have nothing useful or nice to say. I figured you don’t know who the man behind this is, so yes, you can call him a fuck.”

He laughs, and what a lovely sound that is.

“So, will you help me get you to safety, sweetheart?”

“Will I get to call my sisters?”

“Yes.” He nods.

I narrow my eyes on his chest. “Promise?”

“I promise, and I don’t break promises.”

“Cross your heart?”

“Cross my heart, Mila.” I noticed his tone changed from humorous to serious.

“I have a knife,” I lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. “If you try anything, I’ll stab you in the jugular.” I try to not sound anxious but instead more confident.

He laughs as if I am joking, and I watch as he lights up a cigarette. “Noted.” He takes a long drag. “And you shouldn’t tell people you have a weapon. If my purpose was to harm you, now I’m anticipating you fighting back with a knife, and my first move is going to be to get it away from you. You want to surprise me with it, not fucking announce it.”

Sighing, I stare at the small heart tattoo below his left ear. “Thank you for the tip,” I say, still eyeing him. “I want proof that Gus is well and alive.”

He grunts, “Is taking you to him proof enough?”

I think about it for a second, “Yes.”

“Then come with me.” He offers me his tattooed hand, and I look down at it in wonder.

“I’m not going anywhere until I have concrete proof that Gus is okay and that you’re not fooling me.” I lean closer and speak loud enough that he can hear me over the plane’s noise. I focus on the silver chain on his neck this time instead of his tattoos. It’s weird. I’ve seen that specific piece of jewelry on another person. This giant’s younger brother. Suddenly he reaches inside his jeans pocket and pulls out a phone, hits a button, and waits for the person on the other side of the line to answer. A few seconds later, a voice I know well sounds from the phone’s speakers.

“Boss.” Gus. I narrow my eyes at the use of the term boss. My sister is his boss.

What is happening? What a mess, and I greatly despise messes.

I feel Riagan’s eyes on me, but I ignore him staring intently at the phone in his hands. “G-Gus?” Anxiety creeps in when I realize nothing is as it seemed. My sister didn’t tell me much about the gruesome side of our family’s business, but she did warn me that rats come in all sizes and most traitors hide behind a friendly face. I didn’t dwell on that fact because my sister understandably only sees the bad in every situation and in people. Did Gus fool my sister? Did he fool me too?

Was every moment we shared a lie?

The line goes silent for a long moment before he finally speaks. “Princess…” The way he says doesn’t feel any different from all the times before. “I know this all is confusing, but I need you to know that nothing has changed, yeah? I am still your mate, and I would still walk through fire for you. All will be explained to you, but it’s not up to me.”

Gus has never failed me…

Foolish girl… you shouldn’t trust so easily. Haven’t you learned the hard lessons by now?

“Are you okay?” I ask, instead of lashing out. I dislike confrontation. I am not good at it. What I’m good at is being kind and understanding. Maybe that’s a fault of mine.

I notice Riagan’s knuckles turn white as his grip on the phone tightens. I’ve read that reaction is caused by anger. Is he mad? Did I say something out of line? I don’t have much time to dwell on it because, a moment later, he hangs up on Gus.

“What is really going on? Does Gus work for you too?” I look over his broad shoulder and focus on the plane behind him. It’s huge. I’ve never flown before. Never thought I would either.

“He works for you.” He answers roughly.

Taken back, my eyes meet his, and then fall to his bearded cheek. “That is untrue.” I frown. Is he trying to take me for a fool? He confuses me tremendously, yet he doesn’t laugh.

“I will tell you everything.” He says fiercely. “But you need to come with me.”

“You could be the bad guy,” I whisper.

A moment of silence passes between us before he speaks again. “I would rather cut my own heart out with pliers, sweetheart, than cause you any harm.”

There’s a weird sensation in my stomach. As if a million bugs are dancing in my stomach, and at the same time, I can’t seem to replace my breath. What an odd reaction to words.

To this strange man.

Do it, Mila.

Your ’one day’ might not be so far out of reach.

I don’t think, I feel. “Okay.” I nod and take his offered hand. When I grasp it, he effortlessly pulls me closer, and I stumble into his chest. “Okay.” His voice. The sudden closeness. I’m a little breathless. I’ve never been this close to a man before. A boy, yes. But not a muscular, inked-up, wearing sandalwood-scented-aftershave, grown man with hands the size of my head. I should’ve let go of his hand as soon as I was on my feet, but I didn’t. I hold on to it for a few seconds, liking the warmth and the feel of his calloused palm against mine. After a few seconds, he gently squeezes my hand, then pulls it from mine. It’s a tiny, affectionate gesture, that squeeze. But even I know what it is.

A hand hug.

Bad idea.

This is a bad idea.

Something deep down in my soul tells me bad ideas and all… this is where my heart belongs.

I pride myself on being the ultimate bookworm.

I should’ve known the biggest plot twist in my story was yet to happen.

Because Riagan O’Sullivan was not the soft hero in this story but the over-the-top alpha with villainous ways. And a kind heart that no one but me got to know.