Page 37 of Mila: The Godfather

His eyes didn’t make me uncomfortable for the short amount of time I held his gaze.

On the contrary, he made me feel things I’d never felt before. Things I’ve only read in my books.

Then, his words.

I would rather cut my own heart out with pliers, sweetheart, than cause you any harm.

I admit that’s a bit much for someone who doesn’t really know me. He could be lying.

But something tells me he’s not a liar.

He looks like a man that says what he means and means what he says.

For my sake, I hope my instincts are correct.

I’m shaken when there’s turbulence, making me hold on tightly to my seatbelt.

Just a few more hours… Mila, you can do this.

Three hours and forty-five minutes, that’s how long Riagan said the flight is.

Three hours and forty-five minutes in this bird box that could fail and lead me to my death at any minute.

But I could also die in a car crash.

Walking down the street.

I can even die at the hands of the man sitting two feet from me.

Sighing, I think, what are the odds he would lend me his phone so I can research or read a good book online to pass the time? Moments like this, when I’m anxious and out of my element, my phone and reading tablet are my saving grace. Think about something else, Mila.

Look at the bright side.

I gaze out the airplane’s window, taking in the thick mass of clouds stretching off in the distance. Now that I’m in the sky and on my way, my excitement is sinking in.

I’m flying. I am actually going somewhere other than looking out the window and feeling envious of everything with wings that gets to fly to other places and not be bound to the same city.

We’re headed to Turks and Caicos. Forget for a moment the killers on the loose aiming for my head or stranger danger—the enchanted and magical archipelago has been on my top five places to see before I die.

Now, I’m on my way there.

This morning I was trying to figure out how to stay afloat, and now I’m flying.

Plot twists… I tell you.

When the view of clouds, and more clouds, and oh, look, more clouds, gets boring, I let my mind drift back to when I first met Riagan O’Sullivan. Over seven years ago, on one Halloween night, I came across a giant man with a butterfly tattoo on his throat. The dark night didn’t allow me to see much of him, but I do remember the tattoos on his neck and his voice. Rough and manly, letting me know he was much older than my fourteen years back then. I remember how lonely it felt to be outside our mansion in my pretty butterfly costume that I made with old clothes that didn’t fit my sisters anymore with no one to share it with. Yes, my sisters were there, but they had appearances to uphold. I, on the other hand, was hiding in the backyard, looking up at the stars, counting them, and daydreaming of a day like today, and there he was. Looking a bit less rugged than he does right now, but with the same intense energy, smoking a cigarette as if the nasty habit didn’t take years off his life. A fact I shared with him to break the ice.

He doesn’t know it, but he was the first person to speak to me outside of my family and the employees. The first man to treat me like a human and not an inconvenience or a mistake.

Miraculously, life was less bland after that night.

I didn’t see him again until this morning, but things started to look up after meeting him.

I started to paint more, and Carlotta got me all I needed to do it when my parents denied me that much.

She also got me my first computer, which she later convinced my sisters that I needed for academic purposes and that it was our secret. I did use it to learn, but I also used it to write pen pal letters. A program to help anonymous people feel less alone. It worked.

From that night on, I didn’t feel so lonely, so I guess this man was my good luck charm back then. I don’t know about it now. The jury is still out on that one.

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