Page 66 of Sin & Secrets

Hell, it was the only reason I ever sought out my own father.

And I’d come in here accusing her of something unthinkable.

I groan into my hands. What a fucking mess.

In the days that follow,Cas does not come out of her room.

Donatella tries to coax her out with food, but she refuses to even crack open the door to receive it.

“She hasn’t eaten anything in almost three days,” my housekeeper announces as she enters my office.

I rarely work from home, but with my men tying up loose ends in South Africa without me, it was easy to make my excuses instead of working at the compound.

“What do you expect me to do?”

Donatella levels me with an exasperated look. “You asked me to keep an eye on her and alert you to any concerning behavior. This isveryconcerning behavior.”

“If she’s going to act like a child, she’s welcome to. She’s not going to die of hunger over this.”

“I think you severely underestimate how stubborn she is.”

I put my pen down. “I still don’t hear you offering a solution.”

“You could apologize.”

“For what?”

She throws her hands up. “I don’t know, for not telling her you’d be stationing Teo here while you were gone? For immediately thinking the worst of her before considering all your options?”

“You overstep, Donatella.”

“You asked,” she snaps back. “If she doesn’t eat anything by this time tomorrow, I’ll hand in my resignation.”

Great. As if I didn’t already have enough on my plate.

Donatella leaves me to wallow in her ultimatum as I slump back into my chair.

The Guild is breathing down my throat to identify the potential rat. My father has remained eerily quiet. Lazzaro is being less than helpful, and I have no other leads right now.

As much as I hate to admit it, Cas’ plan was a good idea. If she could get him to slip up, even once…but we need to resolve this little tantrum of hers first.

Three days is too long to go without food; she must be ravenous right now. I still remember the way she attacked her food that first evening we ate together.

Struck by sudden inspiration, I leave my desk and make my way to the kitchen.

It’s been a long time since I’ve used the kitchen to make anything more than a coffee. Unless you counted when I slid Cas behind the counter to take her from behind.

My eyes linger on that particular spot a little too long.

But cooking is like riding a bike. Soon, pots are simmering on the stove as I chop and fry my way through the familiar recipe. I’m just grating the truffle to adorn the carbonara, when I sense someone behind me.

“I thought you were on a hunger strike,” I say without turning around.

“Is this some kind of cruel joke? Frying bacon with the doors open?”

I glance over my shoulder.

It’s almost startling to see her looking so small and thin again. It’s so similar to how she’d looked when she’d first arrived.

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