Chapter 49
**Torin POV**
I sneak into the all-black kitchen with floor-to-ceiling glazing, a dark palette of steel accents and polished concrete, contrasted by the glossy crystalline countertops. Hadassah pops open the gas stove, unleashing a hunger-provoking aroma to saturate the air.
"If you're going to stare, you might as well get the plates or something."
I stroll inside with my hands shoved in my pockets. "Anything for Mrs Moon."
"I'm not—"
"Not yet," I interject.
It takes me a solid ten minutes to find where everything is. I layout the grated stand for the lasagne, plates, kitchen gloves and a set of utensils. And fifteen minutes after that, the lasagne is done. Hadassah takes out the glass dish and puts it on top the of the stand, removing the gloves, then uses a serving a spatula to cut out and scoop out a portion, dishing her plate and mine.
She stares at me expectedly from opposite the island counter. "Well. I didn't make it for display. Try it."
I fold my arms obstinately. "Only if you feed it to me."
Her eyes bore into mine reproachfully.
I grab a fork to sample a taste. A myriad of sensations fill my mouth, the merge of cheeses gives it a pleasantly robust zest, tantalized by the by the merg of sausage and beef suffused with a not too thick, not watery savoury sauce.
I point at it with the fork. "I've had plenty of lasagnes in my day. But this. Yours—" I roll out a long moan. "It's screaming wife material."
Satisfied, she rounds the counter and settles beside me, sliding her plate over.
"Where'd you learn this from?"
"My mama. I honestly thought it would flop. I've watched her make it like a billion times growing up. I know the exact measurements of the ingredients she uses."
"Mama raised a wifey."
She nearly pushes me off my seat.
As the hours pass and the darkness of night swallows the last of dusk, the cityscape transforms into a mesmerizing tapestry of lights. From the prime balcony, the view unfolds like a glittering jewel. Skyscrapers, with their glass facades, reflect the myriad hues of neon signs and streetlights, casting a vibrant glow that dances on the windows. Below, the streets pulse with life. Streams of headlights weave through the labyrinth of avenues, creating rivers of white and red. The hum of the city rises like a symphony, a blend of distant car horn. We're outside on the terrace, sequestered in silence and yet in each other's company, forced to listen to the far-flung bellow of the city. I steal glances of Hadassah standing beneath a starless sky, leaning against the railing, staring absently into the unknown. I'm glad to see that she's not actively torturing herself, but still and silent does not mean being at peace.
More time passes, going from infinity to infinity.
"Obaasan didn't deserve to die like that," she says breathlessly, like she had been holding in the words for the longest of time. "To be beheaded in her own home..."
I inch closer, turning my back on the view and resting my elbows on the railing so I can look at her fully. "I didn't get to spend a night with her like you did, but on meeting her, she seemed to be a good woman."
She nods sadly, matched with a colourless smile. "Her last words to me were: Kenjie is a broken boy but still a good boy." She washes her face with her hands. "I can't blame her. No parent wants to believe the worst of their kid."
The sentiment summons unwanted memories. Images strobing my mind, everything Orian and I have been through. The good. The bad. The ugly. The unforgiveable.
"I wish I could say that he was different, or I knew him in another life when he was still Kenjie. But I don't. By the time he found me, life had already given him a severe beating. And it only strengthened him. One thing I can't take from him is his loyalty. He went to hell and back for me."
"A few good deeds don't overshadow a lifetime of bad."
"You think I don't know that?" I subdue my budding aggravation. "The blood on his hands could fill oceans. But... as he reminded me, I'm no angel either."
She turns to face me. "Body count aside. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about basic human empathy, something he lacks. You can't do what he has done and still have even a shred of a soul in you."
"I'm not defending him but you don't know what he's been through, how it changed it him, or what's inside of him."
"Evil," she answers with clear-cut certainty.
"That's a childlike illusion. There is no such thing as good or evil. It all depends where you stand. How far one is willing to go to achieve their objective? Perhaps stealing from an infamous drug lord, hoping to obtain incriminating evidence against him. Consequences be damned."
She glowers at me with the same cold intensity of two frozen suns. "Aww, it sounds like someone's missing their brother."
"I'm not the one who's out here thinking about him."
She lunges at me like she's going to start something. But she stops herself, deciding against it before storming off.
My phone interrupts. I fish it out. "What?"
"He's here."
I end the call. "Get dressed," I say to her back. "It's time to hit the club."
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