Mila: The Godfather (Unholy Trinity #7)

by Adriana Brinne

From a very young age, I knew I was different from everyone else, and for a long time, I was made to believe that being different was something to be ashamed of.

The forgotten Parisi, some called her. To me, she is the star that shines even when hidden in the dark. The one I never saw coming. The one I did not ask for. My future wife.

The small girl is dressed as a blue butterfly, from what I can tell. Silver and blue wings decorate her back, and tiny butterflies form a crown at the top of her head. Butterflies. How lovely. The strange girl almost looks unreal. Like some of those stunning and ethereal creatures you see in movies or read about in fantasy books, but not in real life.

should turn and leave this kid the fuck alone, but I don’t. I can’t turn away. It’s those damn butterflies.

Or so I thought. Life is never that simple. At least not mine.

The time is now to claim what’s mine, and no one fucks with what’s mine and gets to walk away with their lives. No one.

I just wish it didn’t take my father being sick for me to go after what I always wanted. What I crave most in this life. Her.

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

Mila Parisi is a secret well kept. Only a few people know of her existence, and that is the three families of Detroit.

She was made to believe that as long as she remained in the shadows of her sisters, she’d be alright, and for a while, that worked, but now she needs more than just the shadows.

Mila Areya Parisi. The kid with one soft-spoken word made the rage inside of me calm. She’s no longer a kid, but she is still a princess hidden away as if she’s a dirty little secret.

She is right. I’ve never been soft. Never cared to be soft, either. But for that girl, I am willing to try.

Something was indeed wrong, and it took me two days to find out exactly what it was. My father always says that obsessions are dangerous addictions. And I’m afraid I just found mine.

I have been a disappointment to him way before he was made aware of my developmental disorder. Asperger’s syndrome.

I am lonely, and I’m cold. I don’t like the cold. Father is cold and cruel. He enjoys making me cry, and so do the men that work for him. He won’t like it if he finds out, but there’s a funny feeling in my stomach, and I always follow my gut. It usually never fails me.

I don’t want them to hurt, but because of my existence and their love for me, they do.

To be truthful, he doesn’t like me. I never thought or noticed that there was something wrong with me. I am just me, but he didn’t like it.

So many things differentiate me from my sister. My parents know this, and instead of helping me find ways to lead a normal life without shame, they decided to treat me as if I didn’t exist. As if I am not their daughter.

Little star. Both of my sisters call me that, but they’re wrong. They’re the ones who shine. My light in the dark. “Forever?” I hug her tighter as if it’s the last time I’ll get to do it. “Beyond that.” She whispers harshly, pulling me closer to her.

Imperfect things seem perfect to me.

One is cold, and the other is like fire. One is calm, and the other is volatile. The moon and the sun. They have both always been on the extreme, but once, they would meet in the middle. The middle was always me. Like an eclipse. It was a beautiful thing to witness.

However, lately…I feel like I’m drowning. This loneliness is suffocating me.

It stung. It hurt my heart because I couldn’t understand why I was so unlovable. Until I realized I wasn’t the problem. They were. The ones who had no compassion or empathy. They are the problem. Not me.

I just wanted to see my sister smile. I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen. I didn’t mean to cost my friend his life.

All I see is black. I escaped to my safe place, back to the pages of my storybooks, away from everything scary. Away from cruel men with black hearts.

For the girl with a kind heart and the most beautiful smile that managed to pierce my dead heart.

The mafia princess with butterflies in her hair and stars in her soulful eyes.

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

Because Riagan O’Sullivan was not the soft hero in this story but the over-the-top alpha with villainous ways. And a kind heart that no one but me got to know.

“Don’t ever say sorry. Not to me. Not to anyone. Not for speaking or asking questions. You only say sorry when you hurt someone. Someone who does not deserve it, and sweetheart, you haven’t hurt me, so there is no need to say sorry. You want to spit facts all the way to the islands? You fucking do that, I am all ears. You want to stay in silence? We’ll do that. But what you won’t do is say sorry for being you.”

For a person who has trouble keeping eye contact, I sure find myself wanting to look at him more.

I don’t mind his voice. I quite enjoy the sound of it and of his laugh.

“Did you know the clover was associated with the Irish people after the druids were driven out of Ireland?”

But this girl could easily talk about literal shit all day, and I would listen patiently and ask for more.

The three-leaf clover was used to explain the holy trinity. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It also represents faith, hope, and love.

“I know your name. I called you butterfly because you remind me of them. Pretty, delicate, and rare.”

Those beautiful eyes of hers will surely be the death of me because one look from her years ago burned itself in my memory. Just one look, and she made herself my business.

Yeah… women like Mila don’t end up with men like me, but fuck it, if I’m not going to give it all I got.

Mila Areya Parisi feels like home. She is home.

Me, the person who hates not only strangers’ eyes on me but their touch, misses the touch of a man whose hands are not clean but guilty of spilling blood, yet I don’t mind it. Not one bit.

Riagan O’Sullivan, with his big, expressive eyes, pretty smile, and weird ability to make me feel things I have never felt before is becoming a dangerous obsession. One I am not sure I can fight.

“You only get one life, Mila Parisi. Do you want to waste it away wondering what it feels like to truly live and not just exist, or do you want to come with me and see for yourself how beautiful and freeing it could be?”

I like his words. I like his smile. I like his home.

This is why, at times, I prefer my books over people. Books are easy. Simple. People are not. But I can already tell he’s not like most people. That is why I don’t feel forced to carry on a conversation with him. I want to. And I think… I think he doesn’t mind me speaking too.

My mother is no longer with us, but somehow, every time I visited this place, I felt her spirit here. It’s fucking bullshit I know, but I did feel her everywhere, and it hurt. The reminder that was no longer here was painful.

I can’t find it in me to feel guilty. Never when it comes to her. I always get what I want, and what I want is her. Every beautiful inch of her. I am so close to having it all.

I never felt that before. Now, I do. In many ways, the girl, Mila, reminds me of the ocean. When she is near, my mind grows quiet, and so do the demons in my soul.

At this moment, with her sleeping soundly inside my home, I know, like I know my name is Riagan O’Sullivan, that Mila Parisi is mine, and there is no way in hell she is leaving my side. Ever. If someone tries to take her from me, they will only be able to do it by walking over my cold, dead corpse.

“Your honesty is refreshing,” I speak. “Nothing you say to me will ever be wrong. That I promise you. Speak freely around me and always speak your mind.”

“For a year, you will stand by my side as my wife, and during that year, you’ll stay with me, of course, back in Philadelphia. You will also get to see your sisters as long as they don’t pose a threat to your safety.”