Mila: The Godfather (Unholy Trinity Book 7)
Mila: The Godfather: Part 1 – Chapter 16

MILA

“Open your eyes and see. See all that we could be.” – R

My heart picked up as the plane’s door lowered, and the breeze touched my face almost like a gentle first kiss. Closing my eyes, I save this moment in my memory for the dark days to come by taking a long and deep breath, then open my eyes once again. I try blinking three times, but I don’t wake up like other times, when I’ve been caught in a dream.

No, I am certainly not dreaming.

This is real.

With the eagerness of a child on Christmas morning, I step out and step down the stairs. The first thing I notice is how bright it is and how tropical the weather feels. Then I take in the huge airport, not far from where we are. With each step I take, I feel the invisible chains my father placed on me break free.

I feel them breaking, and suddenly I am able to breathe without feeling like I’m fighting for my next breath.

This is it.

I am actually here.

This is my first time outside of the country and the first time I am so far from home. Far from all I know and love, my sisters.

Everything is different from Detroit here.

Even the smell.

Like one of those tropical-scented candles mother loved so much. Ginevra Parisi might’ve paid zero attention to me and gave little to no affection to my sisters, but she sure did love her happy pills, father’s money, and scented candles. I guess being odd is a common trait on her side of the family.

Steering my thoughts away from my absent mother, I focus on the now.

In my excitement to leave the plane behind and explore this magical place, I don’t watch my last step, and I stumble forward ready to hit the ground, but before I do, a huge hand grabs me gently by the waist, and I am pulled back into a hard chest.

I prepare for the inevitable. The itching on my skin and labored breaths when I feel the unwanted touch, but it never comes. In its place, there’s that tingling sensation in my stomach from before.

From when he looks or talks softly at me.

The contact doesn’t last long because, before I know it, I am missing his touch as he releases me once he is sure I am holding on to the railings and steps back.

Missing his touch.

Me, the person who hates not only strangers’ eyes on me but their touch, misses the touch of a man whose hands are not clean but guilty of spilling blood, yet I don’t mind it. Not one bit. If Carlotta could see me now. She wouldn’t believe it.

I hate messes and messy people, and here I am.

One giant mess, and he is witnessing it. I don’t hide it like I have with others all my life.

I shared my condition with him, and he just shrugged as if it was nothing. As if me being different from him means nothing at all to him. I didn’t know what I expected, but his reaction took me by surprise. Normally, people recoil or get a sympathetic look on their faces as if I’ve suddenly declared myself brainless. But a shrug? I . . . well, I don’t recall ever getting that reaction before.

My brain is in shambles, and every second I spend with Riagan has proven that, maybe, just maybe a messy life, heart, and mind are not that bad after all. This is bad. Very bad. Something you need to know about me is that I have certain compulsions and obsessions. Ones who make sense to me but not to everyone else. When I find something fascinating…I keep it for myself.

I study it, I take care of it until I become attached to it.

Riagan O’Sullivan, with his big, expressive eyes, pretty smile, and weird ability to make me feel things I have never felt before is becoming a dangerous obsession. One I am not sure I can fight.

The wind blows softly, touching my face which in return makes me smile.

I remember that I am not alone when my newest obsession speaks up. “Can you smell the sea from all the way here?” Scrunching my nose, I look over my shoulder and notice Riagan towering over me. The sun is so bright that I have to raise my hand to cover my eyes a bit. I think I’ve never witnessed the sun shining this bright, or maybe it’s just my mind playing games with me. All I truly know is Detroit’s weather—it’s sunny days can’t compare to this.

Without meeting Riagan’s eyes, I mumble truthfully. “I wouldn’t know exactly what the sea smells like.” I assume salt and seaweed. “I’ve never been to a beach before. What I know is from the internet and what Carlotta and Gus tell me.” Frowning, I try not to beat myself up for admitting that aloud. In truth, I feel stupid. What must he think of me? That not only I’m a naive girl but an inexperienced one at mostly everything. Taking a deep breath, I cool my nerves and look straightforward, wondering how it is possible to see the sea from all the way up here.

Feeling braver than I felt moments ago, I give this man that I don’t really know another truth of mine. “I don’t know much about the world aside from what I read on the internet and watch on TV.”

“That’s changing from here on out, sweetheart.” He says in that rough yet soft tone of his that makes me want to listen to his voice for hours. It’s weird how someone’s voice can cause such an unfamiliar reaction in me.

Confused, I turned his way again. “How so?” My eyes trail from his neck to his eyes, and I’m proud that I manage to hold his gaze for far longer than I ever looked at anyone else. What is it about him? Why do I act differently with him, and why do I like feeling his eyes on me when before it displeased me tremendously to have any attention on me? Good or bad. But not him. Not this man. The question is why?

“You’ll see,” he says in a husky tone, different from before, that makes the hair on the back of my neck rise and goosebumps spread on my skin.

“You’re so confusing to me,” I whisper to myself. What an odd day. My life has always been ordinary until now.

Out of nowhere, a sports car—a bright blue Ferrari— pulls up in front of him with the doors pulled up.

I’ve seen plenty of expensive cars before, but none ever got my attention. Cars are material things, but this one is too pretty with its color that reminds me of the sea not so far from us.

After a long moment of us standing in silence watching the car, Riagan side-steps me, walks around the Ferrari, and stops next to the passenger side. I’m no longer admiring the car but looking at the tattooed giant. There’s a wide grin and an intense look in his eyes. He motions for me to come forward.

“You only get one life, Mila Parisi. Do you want to waste it away wondering what it feels like to truly live and not just exist, or do you want to come with me and see for yourself how beautiful and freeing it could be?”

His words wash over me, reminding me of my reality.

Living and not just existing… How does that feel? Because all I know is surviving. If I could just survive and endure one more day in solitude, then perhaps something good would come the next day, but it never did. It got better, yes, but it was always the same.

Lonely.

Colorless.

Even when I stayed positive and did my best to be grateful to be alive.

I was alive, but I was not living.

His words penetrate my mind, and I find myself stuck between my logical side and my curious side.

A part of me tells me this is dangerous, and the other part of me, the little girl who lived in only shadows, craves more.

More from life than lonely castles and cold shadows.

She wants to make her dreams a reality.

What this man is doing now.

Because it must be meant to be, no? Flying. Visiting other countries. This stunning place, Turks and Caicos are all dreams I never thought possible, and yet, I am here.

One day, Mila…My sister’s voice from when we were young girls dreaming of a better life plays through my mind, drowning all the doubts.

I made a choice.

I listened to her voice and ignored all logic.

Looking at his very expensive car once again, I notice it’s a two-seat vehicle. I voice the first thought that comes to mind. “What about your friend?” I point behind me to where his friend or employee, I still don’t know which, stands behind me without saying much. The man looks like someone out of a fashion campaign, but there’s an air of savagery and superiority around him. One much like Riagan’s. The ’dare look at me in the wrong way and I’ll slit your throat from ear to ear, chop you into pieces and make sure your remains never get found’ kind.

A shiver runs down my spine.

For a second there, I forgot I was in the presence of criminals, and this is not a fictional tale.

These men are in the same line of business as my sister, and they don’t call her the queen of darkness for nothing.

“Kelly can fetch himself a ride and meet us later. Can’t you, Kelly?” Riagan reaches his hand out to me again, beckoning me to him.

“Asshole.” The man, Kelly, says loud enough for his boss to hear.

“Hey.” I turn to him without any regard to my safety. I must be losing it. “That’s not nice.”

“I’m not nice, love.” He laughs, a charming laugh.

Oddly, it’s not a cruel laugh.

Jovial.

Friendly, almost.

Huh.

“You should be,” I utter.

“I should.” He side-steps me and climbs down the plane’s stairs heading in the direction of a black van.

I noticed how he tries his best not to touch me.

Which I appreciate, but it has me wondering how he knows?

Did Riagan order him not to touch him? But how would Riagan know? Then the scene at the alley where the mean man pulled my hair and my panic attack comes to mind.

Ah… that is how.

“Mila.” Riagan’s voice snaps me out of it and I look his way. The smile is gone but the intense look on his face remains.

My eyes travel from his mouth down to his heavily-tattooed hand.

And I moved.

Towards him.

I choose to go with him…again.

Riagan

“Wow.” Mila breathes out, enchanted with the sight before her. I understand what she must be feeling right now looking at all the beauty around us.

I’m not enthralled with the view of the private mansion nor the beach, but her.

The sight of her always manages to catch me off guard.

How can something as simple as witnessing her experience things for the first time fill me with fucking joy? Fuels me with purpose? But it does. All throughout the entire car ride, she kept looking out the window with her nose pressed to the windshield with this look of wonder in her pretty blue eyes that both saddened and made me want to show her more of this world. I felt something inside my chest start to twinge at the sight of her sweet innocence. “Is this place yours, too?” she asks, while pointing forward.

I follow her gaze to the mansion that was built by my grandfather in the middle of a private beach here on the island. The property was passed down from my grandmother to my Mum in hopes of one day being given to my future wife. My grandfather purchased it as a wedding gift for his wife, my grandmother because she loved the sea, and so did my Mum.

Truthfully, the clan has many properties. Not just here in Turks and Caicos but also around the Caribbean. Not only for privacy and vacation purposes, but also for businesses and to hide money.

“Yes,” I reply while typing the key code to the gates, and I wait for the buzz before it opens, allowing us access to the property.

“Do you own the beach, too?” she asks, still looking at all that surrounds her with childlike curiosity.

I step back, allowing her room to walk in front of me. “I do.”

“I can’t believe you have your own beach. I love the ocean so much!” she whispers in awe, moving further inside and walking up the cement path that leads to the house. “I am going to love everything about this place. I just know it. I feel it.” She takes a long pause and continues. “Victorian doctors used to prescribe their patients a visit to the seaside, rather than traditional medicine. The sea is so good to us.” She then turns and smiles at me. Fuck. I notice her expressions are limited, but she always has a smile on her face when she looks or talks about something she loves.

It’s a thing of beauty.

She is a thing of beauty.

I did an extended amount of research on Neurodiversity. The first time I ever saw this girl, I noticed quickly how she couldn’t hold my gaze and how quickly she changed topics. I figured there was more to her shyness and sheltered background. I dug a little and found she is on the spectrum, something that at first, I didn’t quite understand because of my poor knowledge of the matter. I didn’t think she was any different from me or her sisters until I gradually became fascinated with anything to do with Mila Parisi. Yes, her brain works differently than most, but she’s perfect to me just the way she is.

I fucking love how brilliant and honest she is.

It is refreshing nowadays when everyone hides who they are just to fit in or please society.

Not her, though.

That is not an Asperger’s thing but a Mila thing.

She’s rare, and I can’t seem to get enough of her.

“What is it?” I snap out of the witchcraft trance her smile puts me on and find her frowning at me. The sun is setting soon, and the sky is split into colors. An orange and pink hue that is now bouncing on her skin, making her appear even more unreal than normal. “Why do you have that look on your face? Did I say something out of line? Cause I need to warn you. Sometimes words escape me, and I don’t mean them to. If that ha–” I interrupt her adorable blabber. That’s new now, too. I find shit adorable.

Just her shit, though. Everyone else’s ignorance or annoying tendencies make me want to point my gun to their heads and shut them up permanently. “You did nothing wrong,” I say before clearing my throat. You are doing everything right. I want to say. Instead, I tell her. “I just like your smile.” How can a five-foot-one girl turn me into a sap without me even realizing it. Suddenly, the wind rushes and blows all those thick golden curls of hers in every direction, making her look ethereal. I take a second just to look at her. Her cheeks are rosy, and her mouth is slightly parted while her eyes are stuck looking at something in my chest. For a moment, I catch her looking at my face, but then her eyes fall back to my bearded cheek. I caught her off guard. For a girl who has many facts and so much interesting knowledge inside her head, one simple compliment makes her tongue-tied.

I like it. A whole lot.

The ones who know me. Really know me. Know that I am a man who finds pleasure in only three things. Fucking up the people who cross me, making money, and of course, a good old fashion fucking.

Now, I add her to the list of things I find pleasure in because I do find the little things she does fascinating. For example, catching her off guard gives me a thrill I only get when I’m fighting or when I spill the blood of my enemies. And that adorable deer in the headlight look she gets whenever I say something she doesn’t quite know what to do with? Fucking addictive.

Feeling triumphant, I nod towards the house and take the lead. “Come, I am sure you’re tired.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this.” She says to my retreating back, meaning the island. Good. Cause I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of you. I think to myself as we make our way towards the front doors. I knew long before now that something about this girl called out to my dark soul, but seeing her in my space and my world sets it all in stone.

Here, surrounded by enchanting turquoise waters, beautiful flora, and the whitest sand on earth, it all fails to compare. For days on end, I imagined her roaming through my place, her aura only adding allure to this land. I wasn’t a man capable of softness because my upbringing didn’t allow much of that, and I quite honestly never cared to be soft or gentle.

Until her.

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