Page 28 of Kadra: The Unfeeling

“Sure thing, boss.” My right-hand man says right before he gulps down a glass with a single egg yolk. I cringe inwardly at the disgusting sight. Crow’s diet is a mystery to me. One second, he’s stuffing his face with French toast and the next he’s drinking egg yolk.

Truly disgusting.

From the corner of my eyes, I watch the tiny human sitting quietly staring at his plate as if it offends him for some reason. I thought to ignore it but I can’t stand to hear his stomach growl in hunger. That’s how hungry he must be. “You don’t like it?” After twenty minutes of watching Azariel pick at his food with an uncertain look on his face, I speak up. It’s morning the next day and we’re sitting down at the breakfast table enjoying what Vernon prepared for us.

It’s my usual.

Omelet and turkey bacon strips on the sides.

Vernon is not only a great cook but he’s an even better mercenary. He just rather use his hands to prepare food and take care of the house than to cause someone else pain unless it’s necessary.

Out of all my men, Vernon is the most handsome one with his long, jet-black hair, tied back in a top bun, fair skin, and slightly hooded eyes. Vernon was born here in the States to a Korean father and white mother. He’s a mixture of both cultures and that’s evident when you look at him. Although he has very prominent Asian features, his eyes are bigger than most. Something he inherited from his mother. He’s also well over six-two feet tall. He’s the total opposite of Crow. My slightly psychotic jokester has short, dark-blond hair cut close to his scalp, sun-tanned skin, and clear blue eyes.

“I can make you something else if you like.” Vernon towers behind the kitchen counter mixing a few ingredients. He not only makes my breakfast but he also feeds my men. “Would you like some waffles?” He asks Azariel.

“This is fine,” Azariel whispers without looking up from his plate. The way he’s picking at his food makes me think he’s searching for something but what? Then it dawns on me.

He doesn’t trust his food has not been messed with.

Picking my fork, I reach forward and take a bite of his omelet. “It’s good. You’ll like it.” He slightly narrows his eyes as if he’s waiting for me to drop dead right here but when he realizes nothing is going to happen he digs in and eats his food until he’s almost licking his plate. Good boy. A part of me that’s been dead for quite some time starts to ache, reminding me that I’m not completely dead inside and it’s all because of this quiet boy with demons to match my own.

Someone choked on laughter next to me, Crow as he too watched Azariel eating his food as if he were a two hundred pound fully grown man. I guess going without food for as long as he did will make anyone want to stuff their faces to fully satisfy that never-ending hunger they experience in the streets. “Atta’ boy. Eat up and you’ll be huge like us in no time.” Crow jokes throwing more bacon Azariel’s way.

While Vernon looks at Azariel with sadness in his eyes, no doubt the memories of when he too went without food, warmth and so much more are plaguing his thoughts.

The moment I took over the family I dismantled every alliance my father made over the years and I also got rid of every man who served my father. Every single one of them stood back and watched while my father did as he pleased with us and no one said anything. They didn’t even help on the days Gabriele was away and we were on our own so to me they were just as to blame as the ones who put their filthy hands on us. Then I built my own team of non-Italian men. Of soldiers from every walk of life and different ethnicities. They’re all different in many ways except for one thing they all have in common just the same as me. Every single one of them survived hell and now they stand by me out of loyalty and not fear.

I trust them with my life and they trust me.

I ruined his perfect Italian crime family image and it brings me great pleasure that little by little everything he loved so much is crumbling at my feet until one day the Parisi legacy will crumble into ashes.

“Vernon,” I say while pushing the chair back and rising to my feet. Vernon’s dark eyes focus on mine, no longer looking pitiful or trapped inside the nightmare in his head.

“Yes, boss?” So polite my Vernon.

“Make sure you feed the intruder while we’re out,” I ordered.

“Where are we going?” This time it is Azariel who speaks.

Looking at Crow and then at the boy, I speak. “Your new life starts today, Azariel. Let’s go.”

* * *

“Kid’s got style,” Crow muses next to me as we both stand by watching Azariel choose his own clothes. I was told by Vernon that kids his age don’t typically wear Italian suits as everyday attire so I decided to bring him here so he could pick whatever made him comfortable. It will all be his choice from now on.

Still, I got him a few suits just in case he ever needs one along with every style of clothing. From underwear, pajamas, exercise clothes, everything. He will dress and look the part from this day on.

I noticed the boy gravitated towards everything black so that’s what he got.

Black jeans.

Black shirts.

Black shoes and sneakers.

Black hoodies and baseball caps.

Not one single piece of clothing in any other color.

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