Page 72 of Reckoning

She searches my face as if trying to read my thoughts.

“We need to establish a few rules.” I say.

“I thought we already did that.”

My lips curl. Sheisa brat, at least some part of her is. God, how I’d love to put her on my knee and spank her. All in good time.

“House rules.” I reply forcing myself not to react. “You can go anywhere in the main house, but the basement is off-limits unless I’m with you.”

She folds her arms, her lips pouting. “Is that where you keep your skeletons?”

“No,” I answer. “It’s where the house connects to the tunnels.”

She blinks, registering exactly what I’m saying. “It all connects?” She half-whispers.

I nod. “I’ve built a fortress, an entire underworld beneath Verona.”

“And you don’t want me to see this?”

I don’t have any exact reason why she can’t go down there alone. I know my men won’t cross any lines, but still, I want to keep her here, upstairs, where I can watch her.

“Fine,” She says quietly sinking onto a bar stool.

I place a glass of water in front of her and she eyes it suspiciously before she takes a sip.

She doesn’t speak when I get all the veggies out, when I get the meat out, when I start prepping. But she watches me like a hawk. Perhaps she’s trying to ensure that this food isn’t contaminated the way she’s convinced herself every other meal is.

As the meat starts frying, I turn down the heat, leaving it to cook slowly.

She arches a brow, her lips quirking. “The great Koen Diaz can cook?” She teases.

“I’ll let you be the judge of it when it’s in front of you.” I reply.

She frowns, dropping her gaze, like I’ve made some indecent comment. “I don’t,” She chews her lip like she doesn’t want to get the last of the sentence out. “I don’t like eating in front of other people.” She murmurs.

Does she have an eating disorder? Is that it? As my eyes drop, I disregard that notion. It doesn’t feel like she’s intentionally starving herself, it feels like there’s something else going on, some trigger when it comes to her food.

“What did he do?” I ask.

She gulps, crossing her arms, and refuses to look at me.

“Sofia?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You can tell me anything…” I begin but that seems to turn her from some broken thing into a rageful beast.

She’s off her chair, all but snarling. “Sure I can,” She snaps. “I’ll just cut open more bits of myself, lay them out for you to pick over. You can feast on it all, feast on the worst moments of my life.”

I hold my hand out, silently ordering my men who’re on the peripheries, to get the fuck out. They exchange looks, glances, no one would dare speak to me like this. No one raises their voice to me if they know what’s good for them. The only reason I’ve let Roman get away with as much as he has is because he’sherbrother.

But this girl in front of me, she’s not angry at me, she’s angry at the world, she’s fucking raging and I get that, I understand that. I want to nurture that the right way.

“Sometimes it helps to get it off your chest, to get it out of your head.” I state.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and she clenches her fists. “That’s what he said too. What he kept saying and you know what, it never helped.” She screams the last before deflating like a balloon that’s lost all its air. “It never helps.”

I walk up to her, putting my hands on her shoulders. Maybe I shouldn’t touch her, maybe that’s a step too far but she doesn’t flinch, if anything she seems to lean into my body like she needs the support.

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