Page 65 of Mila: The Godfather

Now it’s too late.

I’m obsessed.

Poor girl.

Finding my way to the kitchen, I stop when I take in the scene in front of me.

Red.

No, fuck that. Green.

So much green.

Jealousy.

My little butterfly is behind the kitchen counter, dressed in nothing but an oversized cream shirt and no fucking bra on. I would appreciate the perfect sight of her round tits straining under the shirt if it weren’t for the fact that my clan chief, my soon-to-be fish food clan chief, is sitting opposite of her with a grin on his fucking face and a plate of waffles — her fucking waffles.

I don’t know what pisses me off more. That he probably got a good look at the impressive rack and sweet little poking nipples or that he gets to eat something she made.

Both.

I’ve never been good at sharing, and I never will be.

Kelly, the pig, doesn’t finish a bite before he shoves more in his mouth as if he was raised on a fucking barn.

But what really makes my blood pressure rise is the way Mila beams while she watches him eat. As if the way the asshole chews the waffle and licks his fingers after each bite gives her joy.

Fuck, her smile.

That perfect smile makes a shitty day better.

She’s mine, and so are her smiles.

“Kelly.” I bark, startling Mila. Shit. I do my best to control the jealous beast that wants to climb outside my body and throttle one of my most loyal men and friend. A friend, who is grinning from ear to ear as if he could read my mind and is taking pleasure in pissing me off. “The plants need watering.” I say through gritted teeth.

“And you, my friend, need to be medicated and perhaps committed.” He laughs, rising from his seat and looking at Mila while she looks away from him, concentrating intently on the waffle maker. “Thank you for the delicious waffles, sweetness. Never have I tasted anything sweeter, and I don’t think I ever will.” He says, working his charm on her, damn well knowing it will get him killed if he takes it any further than that. Clenching my jaw, I fight the urge to choke him with the damn waffles.

Then I notice how Mila’s smile widens at the same time as her cheeks flush pink. “You’re welcome.” She responds shily and so sweetly, it’s hard to not get caught up in all that sweetness.

Pure fucking sunshine.

Turning away from where Mila is whispering something about white walls and no colors, I turn to Kelly. I wait for him to reach me, and when he’s close enough, I take the damn plate from him. He doesn’t get to eat them. “You keep that corny ass charm to yourself, fucker.” I warn, but he just laughs. Never taking anything seriously. I don’t joke about Mila.

I also don’t play when it comes to her.

I’m so fucked.

“How the fuck you ended up with a sweet little thing like that, I don’t know…” He taunts me as he leaves the room. I swear I hear him say: ’Good fucking luck’ under his breath.

Yeah, fucker, fate works in mysterious ways.

“Do you want some? They’re my favorites, but I didn’t take into account that others might not like them. Do you like waffles? If so, what flavor? Also do you have any allergies?” She rambles adorably, while cutting strawberries into tiny pieces and placing them on the white ceramic plate with a small amount of whipped cream. She’s excited, I can tell. She is all bouncy, blonde hair pulled into two high pigtails. Never has a woman damn near knocked the wind out of me until her. That is what happens every time right she looks up at me with those big fucking eyes the color of the sky. I am left trying to find my next breath.

“These are perfect, sweetheart.” I look down at the plate in front of me. Chocolate chip waffles with bits of bacon as a topping. My favorite. Her favorite, as well.

I shouldn’t know these things about her. I feel guilty that I do, and that’s a fucking first. Never in my life have I felt guilty about anything apart from my mother.

Nothing else.

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