Page 127 of Mila: The Godfather

“Oh,” My cheeks redden. “That’s not necessarily. Mila is fine.”

“If I want to live long enough to see my grand babies, I better not, ma’am.”

Okay…

“Smart thinking, Pauly.” Bain says to the man before sliding the glass door that leads to the patio open and stepping aside so I can go first.

“I do not understand. Why won’t he call me by my name, and why is he worried he won’t live long enough to see his grandchildren?” I frown. It makes no sense to me.

“The boss is a psycho.”

“That is not nice, Bain.” I whip around, glaring at him. “Especially when he is not here to defend himself.” I say, as a matter of fact.

Calling people names behind their backs is rude and… unkind.

I look up at Bain and find him smiling. “I call him that out of love, sunshine, just like he calls me cunt face. Motherfucker. A pain in the ass and a waste of—” Holding my hand up, I stop him.

“I get it now. You’re all insane.”

Bain chuckles. “Well, look at that… you made a joke.” I did? I wasn’t trying to be funny. I just said the first thing that came to mind after he went on a long rant of obscenities. “The men won’t address you by anything other than Mrs. O’Sullivan because that’s who you are to them now. This city’s godfather’s wife.” Bain says as he closes the sliding door behind him. “Also, the boss ordered them to treat you with respect or he’ll drown them in the back pool.” He adds.

“Oh…” I murmur softly.

“You’ll get used to our brand of crazy, but know this, sunshine.” He steps forward, looking down at me. “There’s nowhere safer than here with us. Me? Those men guarding every corner of this place? The boss? We would all put our lives in the line of fire for you.”

“Why?” I ask in awe of such devotion. I knew Bain would always be there for me. He proved it time and time again in the past, back in Detroit, but there’s something about him here that feels more intense. Perhaps, it’s because, here, he can be himself. He’s in his territory with his people.

Bain gently turns me around, away from him, until I’m looking forward. His touch doesn’t bring me discomfort. “Because you’re his heart.” When I’m fully turned, I come face to face with a view that robs me of air. I’ve witnessed a Caribbean sunset, the birth of a dozen baby turtles, dolphins dancing in the sea, and so much more, yet this one right here makes my heart stop with its sheer beauty.

A few feet away from us—ten feet, at most— a huge willow tree stands in the middle of the garden with a swing on it. Fairy lights adorn the leaves and the rope on the swing, and I wonder how it would look at night. All lit up, bringing the tree to life.

Beaming, I clap my hands under my chin, almost jumping in place eager, to see it up close.

Willow trees and magical gardens.

“How does he do it every time?” I slowly make my way towards the tree with Bain following behind.

“Do what?”

“Surprise me.” I reach the swing and quickly take a seat.

The air feels warm, and the sun is shining bright.

The perfect weather.

The perfect morning.

The perfect view.

That’s one word I’ve not tossed around lightly and look at me now. Lately, everything seems perfect to me.

“A man in love does that, or that’s what I’ve been told.”

Looking over my shoulder at my friend, I ask. “Do you think he loves me?”

“I don’t think so…” My heart stops, and not in a good way. But in a way that feels painful, but then Bain speaks again. “I know so.”

“How?” I whisper, feeling vulnerable. “How do you know?”

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