Page 47 of Kadra: The Unfeeling

There is another man, their bodyguard, who hurries along in front of them, trying to clear the way, but even as they rush past, that doesn’t stop the reporters from lobbing questions at them—trying to get their next story and gossip.

“Mr. President, is it true?” A reporter follows them holding his microphone right in their faces. “Is it true that you gave the order to burn down the first lady’s family’s hotels?”

“Mrs. Kenton, do you have anything to say? Would you give us a statement?”

“Was it a direct attack on you or your family?”

The screen cuts to a shot of one of my hotels in complete ruins. The picture fills me with joy.

With the help of my men and Vitali, I burned down all of those kid’s hell and made it my father’s. I did promise I would burn his legacy until there wasn’t anything left but ashes.

“Anything to say, Mrs. Kenton?”

That made my sister stop and face the crowd as the lights shined on her gorgeous face. She waits calmly until the reporters’ clamoring eases before she speaks. “Neither the president nor I had anything to do with the events that transpired in Detroit. We know nothing and those accusations against us are baseless and hold no truth.” She then turns her face towards the camera and her perfect smile drops and her face looks detached just like when we were younger. The ice queen just entered the room. “My father has made a lot of enemies throughout his life and perhaps one finally caught up to him.” Then she grins as if the thought brings her great pleasure. “We have no further comments at this time.”

“Well look at that, Greta,” I mumbled, reaching down to pick up my cat from the floor and kiss the top of her head. “She’s smiling. How pretty…” I breathe out as my sister’s smiling face is frozen on the screen. Greta hisses before licking my hands. “She’s happy and she’s safe.” I turn my face towards my night table and look at a picture of Mila gardening in her new home. A photo her Irishman sent me not long ago. “They both are…”

Are you happy? the voice inside asks solemnly.

Ignoring the voice, I sigh before placing Greta back down on the carpeted floor and climb out of bed. Grabbing my robe, I put it on and walked towards the window. I noticed one of my cars is missing. Crow did say the Russian asked for a car to go God knows where. He’s still not back since he left hours ago.

Perhaps he decided to forget all of this and carry on with his life. I wouldn’t blame him if he did.

Greta’s hisses make me turn away from the window and look at her. I roll my eyes when she gives me attitude. Walking towards her, I give in and pick her up and then place her back on the bed. “You have a bed, Greta. Use it.” The little terror scratches me playfully before settling next to my pillow. “I’ll make sure you are okay, too.” I give her one last look before I grab my cello and head out the door.

Nights like this one hurt the most because it reminds me just how cold this home is.

Once outside in the hall I make a walk towards the stairs but stop when the light coming from under Azariel’s door catches my attention. Is he awake? He should be dead to the world right now.

Moving closer to his door, I gently turn the knob and open it.

I see him as soon as I enter the room lying in bed under the covers on his side. He looks so innocent and much younger than he actually is. And for a moment I wonder what he dreams about. Is he happy? Will he ever smile? Where are his parents? What happened to them? And how did he end up in the hands of evil?

All of these questions pop up as I look at his face.

I noticed the difference instantly. When he’s awake he looks just as empty as he must’ve felt all those years living in hell but now while he’s asleep he looks so… sweet. Almost angelic.

And my mind goes to places it shouldn’t.

To places that hurt.

To the what ifs.

What if life would’ve allowed me the small piece of heaven instead of ripping it from me so mercilessly?

I will never know why. I will never get my answers and will knowing the answer really change anything? No.

After making sure the kid is alright, I turn but something in his hand makes me stop. He’s holding onto the knife I gave him and next to it, there’s my favorite book. The book I thought I misplaced. The Iliad.

“One day you’ll win all your wars, I promise, little one,” I whisper while looking at him one more time before turning and walking out the door.

A heavy feeling in my chest takes over me as I close the door behind me and make my way down the stairs in the direction of the garden.

I can’t breathe and I feel like the walls are closing in on me.

Once outside, I walk barefoot towards the fountain in the middle of the garden and take a seat.

Watching the colorful water dance, I open my cello case and look up at the sky.

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