Page 20 of Bloody Kingdom

“He—” She pauses, grimacing at the mess at her feet. “—he did…what? There’s no way he did such a thing.”

Feigning hurt, my hand clutches my chest. “I’m wounded, Della. You don’t think Mr. Laurent would go for me?” Calling him by his last name is so stupid. I hold one of the metal spoons up so I can look at my distorted appearance. “I mean, I know I’m not asupermodel, but I’m not a total goblin or something.”

“What?” Della stammers. “Don’t be ridiculous. It has nothing to do with what you look like, Quincey.” She waves me off. “Silas doesn’t—” She pauses again, realizing she’s said too much.

I’ll give Silas credit where credit is due. He has some very loyal employees. Which once again, makes me think I’m missing something about him. Surely all these people aren’t loyal to him because he threatens their lives on a daily basis. Not a single one of them talk about him with contempt in their eyes like I do. They seem more than happy to be here. Hell, Ira is going to die under Silas’s roof.

“He doesn’t?” I press as I take a sip of coffee.

“Silas doesn’t date,” Della finally explains before turning away from me to grab whatever is cooking in the oven.

Silas doesn’t date?“That doesn’t make any sense,” I argue. “How on earth doesn’t that man have women flocking to him everywhere he goes? He’s an asshole and an expert in blackmail, but he’s attractive.” No, he’s not just attractive.He’s hot, like turn your panties into a pile of ash,hot.

“I never said there weren’t women,” she corrects herself. “I just said he doesn’t date.”

“Oh.” Silas Laurent is a manwhore.Shocker. “He doesn’t seem like the type of guy who wants to settle down and pop out a couple kids.” The thought of Silas in a minivan makes me fight a smile.

Della frowns a little, her eyes going distant like she’s remembering something. It’s a quick change in attitude, but in a brief second, she’s back. “No, those things aren’t in the cards for Silas anymore.” She pushes the one loose strand of hair on her head behind her ear. “Silas is very content with the life he lives.”

“I’m sure he is,” I muse. “Who wouldn’t like to instill fear in everyone they encounter?”

“He prefers respect, but if he can’t get that he’ll settle for fear.”

I’m not dumb, I know that comment was directed toward me. When he does something that earns my respect, I may be more inclined to give him some. Until that happens, he’s going to be stuck with my rage and yes, fear.

“Noted,” I say dryly. “And I was joking, he didn’t ask me on a date. He’s just showing me where I can and can’t go in this prison—oops, sorry. I mean, house.”

Ahmph-like noise is her response, but I can tell she wants to say more on the matter.

Della is quiet as she finishes cooking everything. When she pulls the skillet from the oven, I realize she’s made a Dutch baby pancake. This is so gourmet to me, I usually just settle for the frozen waffles you pop into the toaster.

“Wow,” I whisper, leaning forward on my barstool to get a better look at it. I wouldn’t know the first steps in making something like this. “I ate the pasta you made last night, so I already knew you were talented, but this is so fancy. I could have just had a bowl of cereal.”

“It’s not just for you. Duke will be by shortly. I like to make him a nice breakfast when he’s in town.” Della’s tone is softer when she talks about Duke, almost like a mother talking about her favorite son. “And what pasta? The one in the fridge? I didn’t make that.”

“Really?” I frown. “Laurent said it was your recipe.”

“It is,” she confirms as she plates up some food. “But I didn’t make it.”

“Then who did?”

“Silas probably.”

I was not expecting that answer. “He cooks?”

Della smiles fondly at this. “He’s actually quite good at it. May be better than me, but I won’t ever tell him that.” She hands me a plate piled with food and I happily take it, mouthing thank you as I do. “Nothing about Silas’s life is peaceful and calm. He needed an outlet that wasn’t destructive to himself or others. Cooking became his.”

“I would have guessed his outlet was torturing people in the basement.” This house is old, there very well could be a dark, dingy cellar down there for all I know.

Della chuckles but makes no move to tell me I’m being ridiculous. Probably in an attempt to maintain plausible deniability.Smart.

The kettle on the stove starts whistling and Della quickly pours the water into a teacup before adding it to a wooden tray. “I’m going to bring Ira his tea. I’ll look after him for a little while so you can enjoy your breakfast in peace.”

Okay, maybe she’s not that bad.

“Thank you, Della.” I gesture at my plate of food with my fork. “And thank you for making me breakfast.”

“Just doing my job, Quincey.” Everyone but Silas calls me by my first name. Della pauses by the door. “May I offer you some unsolicited advice?”

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