Page 41 of Kadra: The Unfeeling

Fuck.

So beautiful. So perfect.

She’s always beautiful but there’s something heartbreaking and captivating about her liquid brown eyes looking at me as if she can see through the tattered remaining pieces of my soul while the building went up in flames around us. Her long dark brown hair was slick back and bound in a high ponytail. So, controlled. Proper, even. It drives me insane with the need to pull those gorgeous strands from its confine and watch it fall around that perfect face of hers. That fucking face that could start wars. Unlike her sisters, Kadra has exotic features. High cheekbones and a straight nose while her eyes are almost cat-like not doe-like her sisters and bow-shaped lips that are full, pink, and too dangerous for a man like me.

Perfect and stunning. Light and dark. So lovely.

Her facial traits make her look regal and one of a kind. Like no one else I know. But most of all her beauty separates her from her bitch of a father. Which I’m sure she’s more than okay with.

I know the story of Gabriele Parisi and how he treated all three of his daughters like enemies under his own roof. Hurting the oldest two and hiding the youngest girl. I saw the evidence in Kadra’s arms when she was young. Too damn young and innocent to have gone through what she did but she survived and fuck me if that doesn’t fill me with pride every time I think about it. That fuck Parisi might’ve put her through hell but look at her now. She’s the queen of said hell.

At this moment, looking the way she does while surrounded by the chaos she created, she looks breathtakingly beautiful. Like a queen. Dressed in all black from her turtleneck skin-tight bodysuit, black leather pants that hugged every curve perfectly, and five-inch boots to match.

Perfection.

What made her more stunning to me was the fire in her eyes that burned furiously hand in hand with sadness. A sadness I wish I could erase but it’s too embedded in her soul but I’m a patient man and one day that sadness will only be a memory. One that will be replaced with good ones. Beautiful ones like she deserves.

Speaking of memories…While she stared at me and only me, I saved the look in her eyes in my memory for when nights are cold and dark. Those whiskey eyes drive me wild.

That was an hour ago.

After watching the building burn until it was barely unrecognizable we left the grounds and came back to the mansion. All the while I wondered why the firefighters never arrived at the scene. Surely a civilian must’ve called it in but then I remember this is her city just like New York is ours. If we want something to stay quiet all we need to do is bribe a couple of crooked cops. No doubt Kadra thought of everything first before torching the place.

I know for a fact that the hotel here in the city was not the only one she burned to the ground. The news spread faster than the fires. How every Parisi Hotel in the States was either set on fire or blown to pieces. How she managed to pull that off in less than a day blows my fucking mind but that’s the thing about her— everything she does and says blows my fucking mind.

Everything.

The affection was innocent at first but then with time and with every encounter, she kept a piece of my soul for herself with every soft smile, soft-spoken word, and her sad whiskey eyes. Then she grew up to be the complete opposite of the girl I first met in a lonely and depressing cemetery.

That girl awoke the protective instinct inside of me that was dead way before I met her but then as time passed I grew fond of the small girl with a silent war in her eyes. Then that girl grew up and something innocent slowly transformed into a maddening obsession that took hold of my sanity until all I saw was her. I did it to myself, really. I was supposed to stay away and just keep tabs on her but then I fell into a dark hole where she was the only light.

A whole where the obsession grew and each year it has only gotten stronger. More maddening too.

The silent war and the rage in her eyes intensified as she got older and then she raised hell and I couldn’t get enough. I knew it would never be enough and then fate brought me to this city in search of the purest part of me. Once in Detroit, I found out that all the pieces had fallen into place without me having to make a single move.

New York never really felt like home. Not like Russia did.

Detroit, that’s a different story.

Once it represented all that I hated. Until I stepped foot in the city years ago with rage in my heart and vengeance in my soul without realizing that home was there waiting for me all along.

She was there and somehow my soul knew her.

Fucking pride spreads through my bloodstream whenever I think of how brave she is despite all she’s gone through. Despite the pain in her beautiful eyes. I think of how easily she opened her home to Azariel. Her heart. She opened that too even if she can’t see it now. I see it. I see the heartbreak in her gaze whenever no one is looking. I also see the longing and the light whenever Azariel does something that makes her proud.

The organ in my chest aches every time I see them together.

It kills me knowing that they both have scars I won’t ever be able to erase from their souls but fuck if I’m not going to give everything I have to lessen their pain and watch them smile and fall in love with life again.

I have not only one bruised heart to conquer but two. The stubborn woman who lit my heart on fire —just like she did to part of her father’s legacy— and Azariel. The boy I never asked for but was blessed with anyway. The boy I will protect with my life from now on until my very last breath and even when there is no air in my lungs, I’ll find a way then too. I won’t fail him like I did Mikhail.

I won’t fail her either.

Taking the stairs two steps at a time I go in search of them. Azariel retreated to his room soon after he arrived at the mansion and Kadra disappeared as well. Knowing he’s safe under Kadra’s roof, I don’t worry as much yet I still head for his room needing to see for myself that he’s fine. That he’s breathing and here with… me.

With every step I take through the cold and dim-lit hallways, I wonder what kind of horrors he saw. The horrors he’s lived through at such a young age. The pressure in my chest as I think of everything he’s had to face on his own intensifies, making it hard to catch my breath. The fury I feel whenever I think of him hurting and alone blinds me with rage.

When I reach the end of the hall I see his door is slightly open. I gently open it wide and take a step inside trying to be as quiet as I possibly can to not wake him.

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