Page 33 of Mila: The Godfather

“Why don’t you like Gabriele?” I frown while paying close attention to his neck. I’ve come to learn that people have a tell when they lie. Most of them swallow hard. This man doesn’t have that tell.

“Your piece of shit father was a terrible consigliere and a cunt human being.” He says truthfully.

That is true.

I value the truth. My father was horrible.

“And why don’t you like my sisters?” I am curious, even though I know my sisters most likely did something to warrant his dislike. Both Arianna and Kadra have no qualms when it comes to speaking up their minds and making waves. I, on the other hand, hate to be the center of attention, and I would rather run and hide before I engage in any confrontation. The empowered and ’bad bitch’ gene skipped me, sadly.

I force myself to look Riagan in the eye for as long as I can. Yes, I will call him Riagan since that is the name his parents chose for him. My big sister, Arianna, taught me that shortening someone’s name is rude, but my sister had her oddities, so maybe it is a ’her thing’ and other people don’t find it rude.

“Do I need a reason?” He shrugs as if he just doesn’t care even a little bit.

“How can you dislike them if you don’t know them?” I am curious.

“I might not know the core of who they are, but I do judge them based on our interactions. Your oldest sister has a mouth on her, and the middle one? Well, that one gave me headaches the last time we were in a room together.”

That does sound like my sisters. “I guess everyone is entitled to their own opinions.”

“Don’t take it personally, Mila. They don’t. If you ask them, I am positive they will tell you the same about me.” That’s true. My sisters could care less about what others think of them.

I’m deep in my head, thinking of this extremely weird exchange with a mostly stranger, when a slightly accented voice interrupts us coming from the plane. “Yo, Cap. If you’re done chatting with the lovely lass, we need to go.”

Leaning sideways, I sneak a glance behind the giant wall that is Riagan and spot a handsome man with tattoos standing on the plane’s door with a frown on his face. Where are these men from? They look nothing like the men that worked for my sister. The man on the plane looks like the man he called Cap, but with fewer muscles and a ton of tattoos from what I can see all the way here. “Cap?” My eyes find Riagan again.

“We need to leave, sweetheart.” He says, ignoring my question and the man that called him boss. “And to quickly answer your other questions because we’re running out of time. I am here because you’re in danger. What happened earlier is just the beginning, Mila. Your sister pissed off a very important family, and they’re coming for you all. They won’t stop until they spill Parisi blood.”

“Is my sister in danger?” That is all I can think of to ask now.

Kadra…

“Don’t you care about your safety?” The man snarls, making me jump. Noticing my reaction, he sighs before speaking again. “Yes, she is safe.” He answers. He did say he doesn’t lie, but I don’t know him, not really, not even a little. “It is your safety you should worry about, Mila.”

I didn’t register the last part.

What did my sister do? I look down at my shoes, already knowing an anxiety attack is on the way because my sisters mean the world to me, and knowing one of them might be in danger causes me severe distress. Lifting my index finger towards my head, I find that my ball cap is missing. No.

No.

“Your cap is gone. I’ll get you a new one.” Riagan says, noticing my state of distress over something as trivial as a clothing item. My cap hides me when everything feels like it’s too much to handle. When I don’t want to be seen or when I feel a panic attack rising. My cap has always been a source of comfort, and now it’s gone.

Lost somewhere.

“I need it… I–”

“Mila, listen to my voice.” Strange how he doesn’t force me or demand I look him in the face like most people would do. His voice is commanding yet soft. I try to breathe and focus on his voice. “I need your help.”

Then he says something that changes everything.

Call me naive.

Call me silly.

My help? No one has ever needed me before. I am always the one being cared for or looked after.

Finally finding my voice, I notice the need to cower and hide under my cap is gone, and all I can hear and see is the man in front of me with the rough-looking exterior and the soft and warm voice. “Help? How can I help you?” I whisper, feeling vulnerable. At times, I wish I were more like my sisters. Stronger and brave. Loud and overconfident.

I am not.

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