Page 178 of Mila: The Godfather

You just have to look at her empty and, at times, soulless eyes to know the light was snuffed out of her.

“Kadra.”

She arches a thin brown. “Yes?”

Come out of this war that you started alive. For my wife’s sake. I want to say, but I don’t. Instead, I tell her, “Be careful.”

But she says nothing. I don’t even think what I heard was right. Kadra lowers the visor, kicks the bike stand, and speeds out of the mansion, only leaving smoke behind.

Message from Riagan

Dear wife,

You are all of my good days.

Yours always, - Riagan

Epilogue I

MILA

“He’s my lover and my best friend. How lucky am I?”

“What is it?” I asked Riagan for the fifth time since we left home.

“A few more steps, and you’ll find out.” He laughs as he guides me with both of his rough hands covering my eyes. At one point, I dreaded surprises, never knowing if they were going to be good or just painful lessons, but now, living with Riagan, every day is a big surprise.

“Can you give me a hint?” I try to get him to tell me, but he won’t budge, just like everyone back at the mansion. Not even Cathan – yes, Cathan, who the doctors didn’t think would survive the sickness, but he did, like me and his son believed he would. Now, he’s back to himself, still recuperating but strong and healthy, and the dark cloud that was looming over both Cathan and Riagan’s heads is no longer there. We’re all so lucky. So blessed.

“Nope.” My husband laughs.

Okay, I was expecting that after he denied my every attempt before.

He really knows how to keep a secret.

I let him guide me a few more steps, and while at it, I tried to think of what the surprise could be.

We’re not home because we got in his car and drove for at least twenty minutes, and once we got out of the car about three or four minutes ago, I noticed we’re in a public space. Although I can’t see anything, I can hear the sound of pedestrians walking nearby and traffic. We’re close to a busy street.

Where is he taking me?

Suddenly, he takes his hands away from my face, and I’m able to see what’s in front of me when a sudden rush of happiness mixed with a bit of confusion hits me. What?

“Happy anniversary, butterfly.”

Looking at the magical-looking building in front of me, I can’t help but gasp as I take it all in.

A bakery.

A small bakery with mint-green tones, glass doors, and an empty sign in the middle. It doesn’t have a name.

“Is this–”

“It’s yours.” My husband turns me around, taking my cheeks in his big hands, and makes me look up at him. “I was thinking you could paint a mural for it to go with the aesthetic and theme you want, baby. Something that’s all you.”

“I don’t know what to say…” I honestly don’t. How does he always manage to leave me speechless? I can’t find the right words to express just how I feel. I feel so much now that I can’t concentrate on just one emotion.

“How about you tell me what you’re going to name your bakery slash bookstore?”

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