Page 27 of Mila: The Godfather

“Fuck me, Cap, can’t believe you’re making me do this shit. Those scums…” He breathes harshly, and silence follows his protest before he speaks again. “For how long?”

“For as long as I need you to.”

“What is it about the girl?” he asks suspiciously.

How the fuck do I answer that without sounding like a fucking psycho?

Not that I give two shits about what others think of me.

But I don’t even know what exactly it is about the Parisi princess.

I tried to go on with my life as if I had never met her, but her eyes kept flashing through my mind. The sadness and loneliness made my chest ache when I haven’t felt anything remotely close to sadness since I was a young lad. Nothing but anger.

“Just do as I say and keep me updated. I want to know everything there is to know about the girl.”

Bain sighs. “Sure thing, Cap.”

Typical Bain.

He bitches just for theatrics when he knows he’ll end up following orders.

I told him the truth.

I trust the man, that is why I chose him with her.

Bain might be a hothead, but he has a gentle heart.

He also has a soft spot for kids.

“One more thing.” I flicked the cigar out the window. “Don’t use your name.” Right after, I drive off, knowing there’ll be a long while before I’m back in this god-awful city.

“Why the fuck not?” Bain barks.

“Too Irish.” I rub my temple at the same time as I take a long drag of my cig.

“What the fuck should I call myself?”

“I could give two fucks if you call yourself Augustus or captain dickhead. Just don’t use your name.” With that last comment, I hang up and speed the hell out of this city with a new purpose. One I don’t understand right there. Not until a few years later when I see the little butterfly again.

* * *

Present

If there was one thing I’d learned growing up with a ruthless gangster for a father, it was that you were always surrounded by animals. Savages.

Snakes even.

Those are the worst.

I might be a heartless motherfucker, that is true but I don’t fuck with people that can’t defend themselves.

What I also am is selfish. I never quite liked to share my toys when I was a lad. To be fair, Da never raised me to be generous or kind. He taught me that what was mine was that…mine. To this day, that is the only rule I live by.

And when someone tries to fuck with what is mine? I get angry. Real fucking angry.

Murderous and trigger-friendly.

Like in this instant.

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