Page 63 of Mila: The Godfather

Enjoying the look of dread in his face, I decide what to do next. I slowly move towards the metal table at the far side of my office, where I keep my favorite knives. Oh, how I love to play with them. I always have. They made me strong when my own hands failed me.

Touching each blade, I stop when I land on my favorite one. The butcher’s knife. Picking it up, I turn to face my soldier.

He looks pitiful.

Weak.

He’s on his knees, blood covering half of his face and sweat falling down his messy blond hair.

A memory hits me as I look down at him.

The head of this family needs to cultivate fear. If you are not feared by your soldiers, then you’re powerless. Yes, you must cultivate respect and gratitude, but your men must fear you. Gabriele’s words flash in my mind reminding me how I got here.

Not because of birthrights.

Not because of my name.

All odds were against me. I am a woman in a man’s world.

I got to where I am because of fear.

Their fear of what I might do to them is what keeps them loyal and compliant, but someone turned rat, and it got us to this moment.

“Do you wish to live another day, Nicolas?” Knife in hand, I step forward, my heels clicking as I move closer to the man.

Nicolas’ frightened brown eyes meet mine. He reeks of desperation. Pathetic.

Running my knife along his flushed cheek, I enjoy the way he shudders, not in pleasure but out of fear.

“Let me prove myself to you. Boss, I swear to fucking Christ, I didn’t know shit of what they were planning, and I have nothing to hide. I was not behind the ambush or your sister’s kidnapping.”

The eyes.

The eyes always reveal truths, and Nicola’s beady, little eyes tell me he is telling the truth, yet I refuse to reveal that to him.

Let him flirt with the possibility of execution by my hands or my knife, to be precise.

“Find me the name of the one who dared take my sister. Bring me Gus’ head, too. I want a name before the day ends, or it’s your head I’ll have instead.” I point my knife towards the door, silently ordering him to get the hell out. He slowly rises from the floor with wobbly knees and quickly heads towards the door, but before he leaves, I speak up. “And stop swearing to God, Nicolas. Only fools believe there’s such a thing as one.”

Nicolas bows his head and closes the door quickly behind him. Clearly itching to get out of here before I change my mind.

What I said is true.

Only fools believe there’s an all-seeing presence watching over us.

A being of light and love.

That’s bullshit.

There is no such thing because if there was, then how come so many innocent and vulnerable people suffer, and this so-called God of love and forgiveness never steps in?

He lets filth rule this earth, causing havoc as they please, while he sits back and does nothing.

I don’t believe in God.

Nor do I believe in any legends or myths.

I believe solely in myself.

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