Page 14 of Mila: The Godfather

She scoffs. “When have I not?”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Byeeee.” She exclaims happily before I end the call.

Leaning back on the leather chair, I breathe out as the image of a sweet little thing flashes through my mind. Golden curls and a soft voice come to mind after years of the memory being locked tight in the back of my mind.

Mila Areya Parisi.

The kid with one soft-spoken word made the rage inside of me calm.

She’s no longer a kid, but she is still a princess hidden away as if she’s a dirty little secret.

Fury overtakes my senses as I think about the kind of life she has lived. If you can even call it that.

Even with her scum of a father gone, her sister has kept her trapped inside that prison she calls home.

Maeve’s words come to mind.

I don’t think you would know what to do with a sweet little thing.

She is right.

I’ve never been soft.

Never cared to be soft, either.

But for that girl, I am willing to try.

An hour and two glasses of whiskey later, after contemplating how I’m going to handle this shit with the loose cannon who’s gunning for the women in the three families of Detroit. I get up, grab my empty glass of whiskey, and deposit it on the rack under the office’s bar before making my rounds.

The crowd is gone.

There’s no noise.

Nothing.

Just me.

This place is my pride and joy.

It’s one of the places that belongs solely to me and not the clan.

My name and my father have given me so much, but this and my many businesses, legit and dirty are mine.

Mayhem had taken a lot of work, it, after all, being the basement to an old, abandoned government facility with cinderblock walls, cement floors, and a perpetually musty smell. Black walls went up, hardwood floors went down, a long dark-lit bar was brought in toward one end with a fully stocked back bar, and taps, tables, and seating areas were set up as well.

I flick off the lights, opening the heavy metal doors that lead to a staircase that goes up into the abandoned government offices or out into the parking lot.

The building is nothing to be desired but having a thriving, illegal business in the basement that gets rowdy at all hours seemed to limit my options for the space. I would figure it out eventually. The lot is empty save for my lone, sleek blue Bugatti Centodieci. I beeped the locks, climbed in, and turned on the engine which comes to life with a powerful roar.

Unfocused bright blue eyes come to mind as I find myself speeding through the busy streets of my city, with a feeling of dread in my gut alerting me that something is wrong.

Something was indeed wrong, and it took me two days to find out exactly what it was.

My father always says that obsessions are dangerous addictions.

And I’m afraid I just found mine.

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