Page 146 of Mila: The Godfather

She’s fucking defective. Look at her. She can’t even speak.

You’re lucky you’re pretty, princess. It makes up for your lack of brains.

The girl has the personality of a rock. Fucking idiot.

It all comes back to me like a flood of ugly memories that I had, suppressed as I look at the man who alongside many others, made my life very difficult.

I never told my sisters. I knew if I had, they wouldn’t even be breathing the same air as me, but I kept quiet and kept my head down, not wanting to add to my sisters’ misery. They both have their own demons to deal with. I just learned to ignore mine until now.

Because what goes around comes around, and this moment is proof of it.

“W-what is g-going o-on?” I stumble through my words.

“He’s making an example of that cunt, and while he’s at it, cap is showing not just you but everyone around you what happens when you fuck with the Godfather’s heart.”

“He asks for names, and I give them to him.” Bain chimes in with an evil smile on his face. “You should’ve seen the fucker’s face when Cap told him who you were.”

I’m almost afraid to ask. “Who am I besides Riagan’s wife?”

“You’re this city— his city’s queen.” This comes from Callam. “Now, they’ll know what will happen to anyone who has ever hurt you or tries to. The captain won’t have mercy, and neither will we.”

Without really knowing what to say to that, I look at all the men surrounding me, protecting me from harm. They’re all so different. From the color of their hair and eyes, the way they speak, to their personalities. From broody to reckless, yet they all have one thing in common.

They are loyal to a fault to their boss and, by association now, me.

“Holy fuck!” Someone not far from us shouts. “This is it. Here we go.”

The oddly-sweet moment is interrupted by the crowd going insane, jumping in their spots as Riagan stumbles back from a punch, almost falling to the ground. He gets up. Doing so with a giddy smile on his handsome and bloody face, like a child at a candy store, while swinging and landing an uppercut that has blood spurting out of Lock’s mouth. Truthfully, a part of me didn’t want to watch because I didn’t want to see Riagan getting hurt. It pains me to even think about it. But it was proving impossible to look away. I was seeing a different side of him right then, a rougher side, a side he only showed the people that troubled him or hurt me. A clear part of him. His movements were methodical, practiced and controlled, while Lock got more and more sporadic, clumsy, and frantic.

I watched with a pit in my stomach as Riagan took several shots, making his lip break open, his head snap hard to one side, hard enough that it reminded me of the memories when my brain slammed against my skull, making me pass out when I was younger all those times my father pushed or threw me against a wall. I worry, for a second, that might be his fate as well. But he comes back harder, stronger, taking Lock’s ground from underneath him, then pounding into his face and midsection. My heart was slamming so hard that it was somehow nauseating, making my skin feel clammy and goosebumpy. Something about how vicious this was getting is causing me to genuinely wonder if I might get sick. There was just so much blood. Lock’s sure, but Riagans’ as well. How much longer could this go on? How many fists could your body endure before it started to give up on you? I didn’t want to find out the answer to that last question.

As the fighting got worse, the noise of the crowd got louder and louder, clearly enjoying the bloodshed while it made me completely lightheaded. Then, there was a slam that had my stomach jumping up into my throat before my eyes adjusted enough to see Locke’s body sprawled on the ground, his breathing uneven. Not Riagan. That was really all I could focus on. But then there was Riagan again as well, dropping down over Locke and continuing to beat the shit out of him. Blood splattered out onto Riagan’s skin, mingling with his own blood and sweat. I saw it then. Locke’s hand slamming into the ground. Tapping out. But Riagan didn’t stop.

No.

He only stopped when he claimed a life.

The life of a man who was unkind to me when I was only a child. An innocent one who had no fault and didn’t deserve all the cruelty that was thrown her way.

Tonight, Riagan showed me, once again, a part of himself that should scare and worry me.

His dark side.

The reason why he was baptized as the godfather of Philadelphia.

The two sides of the card. The joker.

And I have a choice.

I could either run away scared, or I can hug the demons of the man I love.

Yes, love.

So very much.

I choose what I’ve always done.

I choose love over hate.

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