Page 13 of Mila: The Godfather

“Not a word about this to anyone.” The threat is there. He knows that anything concerning the youngest Parisi stays between us.

He nods once, and with that, he disappears, turning in for the night.

Reaching for my phone again, I unlock it and call one of the few people I trust with the secret of the youngest Parisi, Maeve. The organization’s secretary by day and genius hacker by night.

Mila Parisi is a secret well kept. Only a few people know of her existence, and that is the three families of Detroit.

And now, me and my team.

This will keep her safe for now.

She was made to believe that as long as she remained in the shadows of her sisters, she’d be alright, and for a while, that worked, but now she needs more than just the shadows.

After a few seconds, the person I need answers the phone. “Morning, Riagan.” A too-chirpy voice sounds from the other end of the line.

Only three people know my birth name.

My father, the clever little sneak, Maeve, and her brother, Conor.

“Maeve.”

“What’s wrong?” She picks up my bad mood instantly.

“I need you to do something for me.” I clear my throat.

“Name it, and it’s done.” I hear movement on her end, and I know she’s moving around at her desk, ready for a challenge.

“I need you to track someone for me. I want to know where they go. Whom they talk to, and all the information on her money transactions. I want to know all their moves and put a man on her, too.”

“The name?”

“Kadra Parisi.”

“Huh.” There’s a moment of silence on her end before she speaks up again. “Detroit’s Consigliere.”

Looking down at my bloody and busted-up knuckles, I ask. “What is it?”

“Didn’t think femme fatale was your type. Although, thinking about it, perhaps someone like you needs a tough woman.”

Maeve… God-help-her-soul has no filter.

“Why is that?” I dare ask.

“You’re one scary dude, boss. I don’t think you would know what to do with a sweet little thing.” She says with a serious tone. Maeve speaks the truth. I wouldn’t know what to do with a soft heart. “But… some say ruthless men love the hardest,” Maeve adds.

Rubbing my temple, I already feel a headache rising. “Maeve…”

“Yes?”

“Go to bed. The lack of sleep is making you lose brain cells.” I tell her truthfully.

“Sleep is overrated, my friend. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” She says seriously.

“With that mouth of yours, that day is not that far away.”

Maeve laughs. “I love you, too, Riagan.”

“Get the job done, Maeve.” I snap.

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