Chapter 5
MALCOLM
I’ve been in Chicago for a month now. I make a point of seeking Kairo out nearly every day. Weekends are more challenging. Without putting a tracker on him, it’s not as easy to find him.
I did ask Voss where he lives, and the condo address Voss has on file is empty. According to the concierge in the lobby, Kairo hasn’t been in the building for three years. She wasn’t even sure if there was furniture in the condo.
Voss was surprised when I relayed this information. Jalon was concerned when he called me an hour later, likely after Voss relayed this message. They asked if I wanted them to track Kairo down, but I decided that I did not. If Kairo wants his privacy that much, I’m going to respect that.
Mostly.
With my arms full of large canvas bags filled with takeout, I head down the street toward Kairo’s office building while I continue to wonder where he sleeps every night. Part of me wonders if he has an apartment in the building itself. Does he ever leave?
My goal of making friends with his employees has gone very well. Many, like Carlotta, have outright demanded that if my intent is to hurt Kairo, then I need to go the fuck away. The first time someone outright said so, I grinned like a fucking loon.
Then I thought about what I’ve gleaned regarding Kairo from his brothers and nephews, and I think they have Kairo all wrong. That kind of protective loyalty isn’t gained by someone who treats everyone around them like trash. That means his prickly exterior isn’t indiscriminate.
So why is it directed at his family? Why toward everyone on the Van Doren Estate, including all the staff, when his own employees clearly think very highly of him?
The elevator dings when I reach the twelfth floor. Stepping through the doors, I’m met with the same walled-off view I am every day. Carlotta looks up as I approach the plexiglass window with a smirk.
“Mr. Confringo,” she greets, no longer bothering to question why I’m here. Instead, she opens the door for me.
“Ma’am,” I say, inclining my head. “How are you this afternoon?”
She sighs, shaking her head, though her expression turns curious when I unload all the bags onto the table just inside the door. “I’m good, thank you. What did you bring?”
“I don’t know how many employees are here, so there’s either a morsel for everyone or a full-blown meal,” I admit. It wouldn’t have been too difficult to get this information, but it’s more important to maintain that I’m not snooping in Kairo’s business.
Because I’m not. Yes, I’m keeping an eye on the operations as per Jalon’s request, but that’s no longer why I’m here.
Out of the bags, I take a smaller canvas bag. Carlotta watches me with amusement as I flash her a brilliant smile and turn down the hall toward Kairo’s office. She no longer challenges me. Which makes me believe that Kairo hasn’t told her to keep me out.
I’m choosing to consider that a win.
Kairo is where he always is—sitting behind his desk and staring at the computer screen as he watches something in silence. His eyebrows are knit together, and while his expression is usually one of disapproval, today it’s disgust.
His eyes flicker to the door when he senses me standing there.
His hand hits the keyboard, and he sits back.
The disgust fades from his face, replaced with a frown as I enter the room.
I’m not going to go so far as to say he’s dropped the hostility with me.
Largely, Kairo is silent in my presence.
We rarely have a conversation beyond a couple of sentences exchanged.
Primarily, it’s me talking while he sits silently, watching me suspiciously.
As he does now. I set the bag on the chair and dig inside.
It’s not just about food. Since the first day I barged into his office with food and flowers, I saw just how much the flowers hit him.
One of the softest, most fragile things in the world, and they created an enormous crack in his prickly exterior.
The days I come for lunch instead of breakfast are the days I’m looking for something thoughtful to give this man. He’s obviously not used to being spoiled. That’s evident.
While it’s still hot out as we approach the end of August, I pull out one of the softest damn scarves I’ve ever touched and wrap it around Kairo’s neck. He watches me with narrowed eyes as I settle it and then brush my thumb on his cheek.
“Such a pretty baby girl,” I purr.
Kairo takes a breath and lets it out. I know he’s trying for frustration, but I don’t miss the unsteady inhale. I also don’t miss the way he subtly brushes his jaw against the material.
As I unpack our meal, I tell him about the scarf.
“There’s a sweet family just down the road from here, and they have a stand outside the apartment where they’re selling all handmade items. I’ve also ordered a couple sweaters that are softer than chenille, as she claimed.
I’m not sure what chenille feels like, honestly.
I’m not that bougie. But they were fucking soft.
None of them fit me, though, so I ordered a couple in my size. ”
He doesn’t respond as he observes. I dish the food onto plates between us and slide his in front of him before laying a napkin across his lap like I do every day.
“Eat,” I instruct as I take a seat.
Kairo’s eyes flicker up to mine, but he doesn’t disobey. He eats.
I watch him for several minutes. His eyes remain on the food. Each bite is small. He chews slowly. I wonder if it’s because he’s not hungry or something else.
“I have a sister,” I say after a while. His eyes flicker to mine once more. “She’s older than me. Have I told you about her?” I feel like I’ve spoken about my sister before. Have we had a sibling conversation?
Kairo’s eyes don’t meet mine as he raises one shoulder in answer.
“You ever want a sister?” I try.
He’s chewing, so I give him ample time to answer. I’m a little surprised when he does so by shaking his head. “My parents didn’t take care of the children they have, so no.”
Ah. Curious. I’m not entirely sure what that means, though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised by that answer. When the world thinks about the Van Dorens, they think perfection. Role models. Not raised by shitty parents.
“My sister and I never got along. We fought all the time. I’m pretty sure the last words I said to her before I was kidnapped were ‘Fuck off. Stay the fuck out of my life and don’t call me again.
’” Kairo stops chewing and looks up at me, although his face is still angled toward his food.
“It’s not the first time that’s how we’ve ended a phone call,” I assure him.
“She never agreed with my life choices. Not one of them. Nothing I did was what she wanted me to do. Quite frankly, I stopped caring what she wanted when I was twenty, and it became clear she had a plan for me I didn’t want any part of. ”
Kairo licks his lips and turns his attention back to his food.
“The thing is, I haven’t called them since escaping hell in the woods,” I continue, and once again, Kairo freezes.
“I just… at first, I was caught up with Azlan and the others as we dismantled that place, you know? Then… I don’t know.
It never felt right. Like, I imagine they believe me dead, you know? ”
Kairo’s watching me again, now with an inscrutable expression.
“Can you imagine the child you thought dead suddenly calls out of the blue, and they’re not really dead?
But you kind of wish they were for having to live through the shit they did.
Then there’s the mentality in this country where you don’t believe victims, so there’s the chance that they won’t believe the horrors I’ve been through.
But then… maybe they do, right? And I’ve waited six months to call to tell them I’m actually alive, and that’s going to upset them.
It’s going to hurt them. It’s going to piss my sister off because that’s the only mood between us.
So I don’t call. The days continue, and I never forget that maybe I should call.
Just so they have closure. So they know that I’m not actually dead.
Not for lack of others’ intent, but because I’m a strong, determined motherfucker, and fuck them if they thought I was going to die.
But now it’s been almost a year to the day that I simply vanished from my life and… do I call them?”
My voice trails off as I frown into my plate. It feels good to get the words out. I’ve been hanging onto them, keeping them close and private for months, unsure how I really feel.
“Would you call?” I ask.
He’s watching me now, so when I look up, I meet his eyes. Kairo swallows his bite. Minutes pass before he shakes his head. A single, slow rocking of his head. “No,” he answers out loud, so there’s no mistaking his opinion.
“Why wouldn’t you? I keep trying to justify why I don’t, and it all feels selfish. It feels like I’m being an asshole and…”
His voice is quiet when he speaks. It’s always quiet. I imagined Kairo to be loud and angry all the time. A big, furious ball of spikey energy. He’s actually very quiet and takes up little space in the world. In whatever room I find him, which is usually his office.
“Because I don’t have a relationship with my family,” he answers. “If they think I’m dead, I’m not going to disappoint them.”
I open my mouth to argue his logic—I know his family, and not for a second do I believe that’s how they’d feel. Something stays my tongue, though. His eyes hold mine for a minute, and I think he might have just shared something personal with me.
Am I finally gaining his trust?
“I don’t think that’s how my family feels,” I say carefully. Not to contradict him or to invalidate how he feels. Turning it back to my situation means I’m not challenging his feelings.
Kairo raises a single shoulder and returns to his food. “Sometimes, remaining dead is kinder than being the person no one approves of.”
While I still think his statement is more relevant to himself than my situation, I feel his words this time. They feel like a prod in my chest. My eyes drop to the numbers burned into my hand. I flex my hand on the desk, pressing my palm flat as I look at the 643 branded into my skin.
I feel his eyes on me again. Watching my hand.
“Maybe you’re right,” I muse. “I think it would be easier to hope me peacefully dead than fighting for my life for more than four months and living with the trauma that comes with survival.”
A beat passes.
“Survivors are the only voices that should be heard,” he says quietly.
I meet his eyes for a moment before his attention returns to his food.
We finish eating in silence as I think about his words and my family.
When we’re finished, I get to my feet and pack up our mess.
As always, Kairo watches me in silence. I spy his fingers fidgeting with the tassels at the ends of the scarf still wrapped around his neck while his eyes remain trained on my every movement.
When everything is packed away, I stand at the edge of his desk and grip his chin gently, turning his face to mine. His walls are high. He may have let them down while we ate, but they’re towering over him right now.
I lean down and press my lips to his. Kairo inhales sharply, his entire body stiffening. Yet he doesn’t push me away.
“Thanks for sharing a meal with me, baby girl,” I murmur.
My thumb brushes along his bottom lip, his wide eyes staring into mine so close.
“Thanks for the conversation. I’ve struggled with this for a long time, and I’m still unsure what I want to do, but I appreciate having someone listen without judgment. ”
Kairo doesn’t answer as I release him, take the bag, and leave.