Page 7 of Mila: The Godfather

“Did you know that the word for butterfly in formal Greek is psyche? No? Well, now you do…” – M

Mob Boss & Original Gangster

RIAGAN - PAST

“Fun fact: Did you know that you could walk from Russia to Alaska?” – M

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“You think to lead this family while getting in bed with Detroit?” Scotty Flynn cries from far down the table. He is so far removed from the main branch of the O’Sullivan family tree that he barely warrants a place here, yet Da allows it. When I return his tantrum with silence, he scoffs. “Of course, you would. Your father fell for a…” The fucker has the good sense to stop before he goes there, but it’s too late now.

“Don’t stop now,” I tell the whiny old bitch. There’s no need to raise my voice. Da taught me from a very young age that any emotion indicates weakness in this business. I am not a weak man. “What were you going to say, Scotty?” I stand then and begin to walk around the table toward his side. “Go on. Say it…” I dare the motherfucker.

Men like Scotty are weak.

They whisper shit instead of saying what they fucking mean.

Scotty bites his tongue and narrows his eyes when I approach him.

I point to Cianne Kelly, a loyal member of the clan, one of my family’s oldest allies for at least two generations. His Da served once as the clan chief before he was gunned down on a job gone wrong. Now his son, Kelly, has the honor of being this family’s second-in-command.

“What was he going to say, Kelly?”

“Old cunt was about to trash talk your Mum, cap. Cut out his tongue.” Kelly looks giddy while leaning back in his seat, playing with his zippo. You wouldn’t know the asshole was as cruel as criminals come with his pretty-boy appearance and charming persona.

Grown men fear him, and bitches go crazy for Kelly.

I don’t ask much of my men, but one thing I do demand is fucking respect.

Their loyalty.

Two things Scotty has been lacking lately.

Perhaps, the fuck is getting too old and reckless.

The room grows silent when I turn back to Scotty, placing my gun on the table facing him. “Does anyone have a problem with me doing business with Detroit?” I ask while looking all of them in the eye. “Speak up now.”

They won’t. I look left and wait for the men sitting on this side of the table to say shit but as expected, they do not. Then I turn right and do the same. No one utters a word to defy me.

I might be young.

Much younger than them, but I am something most of them will never be.

My father’s son.

My grandfather’s greatest pride.

Cathan and Tommy O’Sullivan are the toughest motherfuckers this organization has ever seen. My father was made at the tender age of fourteen, and my grandfather stole the crown from the original gangster of the Irish clan when he was just shy of seventeen.

Two thugs with charming smiles and a thirst for chaos.

Trigger-friendly fuckers.

I am the very best and worst of them, and these men know it.

However, it seems as if Scotty doesn’t agree.

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