15. Sophie
15
Sophie
M averick guided me into the kitchen, his grip firm but unhurried. At the sink, he rolled up his sleeves, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he turned on the water. He washed his hands methodically, moving with the kind of quiet control that made something low in my stomach tighten.
I stepped beside him, mimicking his movements, but as I reached for the soap, his hand brushed against mine—warm, solid, deliberate. Not a mistake. A pause, a flicker of something humming between us. The scent of crisp soap and something undeniably him curled in the air. He didn’t pull away immediately, didn’t rush the moment. Instead, his fingers slid just slightly along mine before he continued, rinsing his hands as if nothing had happened at all.
“What are you making for dinner? It smells delicious.”
“My grandmother ’ s famous spaghetti Bolognese,” he told me proudly, his eyes lighting up with nostalgia. “I haven’t made it in a few years, but it’s like riding a bike.”
The visual of Maverick riding a bike almost made me laugh, but instead I focused on what he was telling me. Using his grandmother’s recipe? My heart melted. Adorable. I sidled up next to him as he stirred a pot of red pasta sauce, the kitchen filling with the comforting aroma of simmering tomatoes, garlic, and herbs. The divine smell made me groan.
“You’re a man after my heart, Mav.” His gaze softened, the earlier coldness melting away as the corner of his mouth tugged up—just slightly, as though he was trying not to let it show. A breath of amusement escaped him, quiet but warm, and for the first time tonight, the tension between us had cracked, just a little. “Shit. Sorry. I know this is a first date and all—”
“Stop apologizing.” He leaned in to kiss the top of my head, and the intimate gesture had me feeling all out of sorts.
I blushed and cleared my throat, nodding toward the pot. “Show me.”
His eyebrows raised. “You want to learn?”
I nodded shyly. “It’s a little piece of you, and I want to see more.”
Maverick’s cheeks tinged pink, and the sight of it—the knowledge that I could do that to him—made my heart soar. “Come here, then.” I wedged myself in front of him, my back to his front as we stood in front of the cutting board. I couldn’t help but notice the veins in his tattooed forearm—something spider-webby, sprawling, thin lines that disappeared up his sleeves—or the way his strong hands expertly handled all the ingredients he set down.
At first, I watched intently as he chopped an onion with precision, his movements fluid and confident, the feel of his solid chest pressing against my back as I tried to focus on anything but the lingering desire. He was making it damn hard, with his husky voice explaining the importance of finely dicing the vegetables to release their flavors.
I had plenty of experience with cooking, but my recipes were muscle memory. This was all new to me.
“See, it’s important to wait for the sauce to simmer, then you put the vegetables in, so they soften but don’t get mushy. The process takes longer, but it turns out more flavorful and satisfying in texture.”
Every word out of his mouth had my knees weakening a little more. I loved listening to him talk, loved seeing this tender side of him.
I picked up the knife as he put garlic in front of us. “How do you want it cut?”
He pressed in closer to me, holding my hips in his strong hands as he whispered, “Minced.” I smiled to myself and got to chopping, enjoying the feel of him touching me. His lips kissed my neck softly, a sigh falling from my own as I focused on the task before me. After a few tortuous minutes, I finished mincing the garlic.
“Good girl, Sophie.” Maverick’s voice was smooth as butter, and fuck, I melted. His hands trailed across my stomach, pulling me back into him. Task now forgotten, I turned my face and found his lips. I kissed him hard, invading his mouth with my tongue. Entirely prepared to forget dinner altogether, I moaned loudly.
But then my stomach growled. Embarrassed, I broke our kiss and turned back to the cutting board to grab the celery he’d set out. “Sorry. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten much today.”
Maverick half turned me. “When was the last meal you ate?”
I shrugged, then paused to think about it. I’d had a few snacks, but… “Last night, before my stakeout.”
He narrowed his eyes. “ Last night ?”
“I’ve been busy.” I went about my chopping as I half lied to him. I mean, I had been busy, but if I was honest, there were other reasons, too.
“Bullshit. You were back in the precinct today.”
I whirled on him, the knife in my hand catching the overhead lights. He glanced at the blade and smirked, giving me déja vu as I recalled our moment at his club. That little smirk, though? He liked the idea of me wielding a weapon against him. It was probably amusing to him. “You put your bodyguards on me again?”
“Of course I did.” As if it were obvious.
I pursed my lips, trying to decide whether or not I wanted him to know I was pleased, but he beat me to it.
“It’s not like you mind. You showed up to crash my date. That was proof enough that you want my attention on you at all times.” Maverick’s hands slid beneath my dress, his touch warm and deliberate as he turned me back toward the cutting board, saving me from my face giving it all away. The knife trembled slightly in my grip as I forced myself to focus, dicing the celery into neat, even pieces.
Ingredients chopped, I set the knife down. I wasn’t sure I could make it through dinner, with his fingers drawing lazy circles on my skin.
“You know how to cook,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Hmmm,” I hummed happily as I scooped the ingredients into my hands and put them into a pre-warmed pan to sauté. “I’ve always loved cooking. Meals were a sacred time with my family while I was growing up, and my role in the kitchen was as important as my mom’s.”
“That’s wonderful to hear. I’ve always been fascinated by other cultures and real family dynamics.”
His words gave me pause. “Because yours isn’t ‘warm and fuzzy’?”
He splayed his fingers across the taught skin of my belly. “Exactly.”
Sighing, I said, “Everything changed after my dad died. There was always silence or screaming arguments at the dinner table after that. My sisters and I, my mom… we all grieved in very angry ways, and my mom has never been the same. The day he died, she did, too. I don’t think she will ever fully recover.”
Maverick disappeared into his head after that. His movements turned precise, almost mechanical, as he scraped the chopped vegetables into the simmering sauce without a word. The sizzle of oil filled the silence between us as he reached for the ground beef, breaking it apart with practiced ease. His jaw was tight, his focus sharp—like he was somewhere else entirely, locked away in thoughts I couldn’t reach.
He did, however, invite me to help him stir the sauce. Our fingers brushed occasionally, sending electric shocks through my body. He’d catch my eye and grin mischievously as we finished prepping dinner, but he didn’t return to the touchy-feely as he’d been earlier.
Maverick made me sit at the table and wait while he dished up dinner. There was a baguette already in the middle of the table, sliced into perfect portions, alongside a bottle of freshly opened deep red Chianti, its bold aroma mingling with the rich scent of the simmering sauce.
The quiet that settled around us now was almost unnerving.
The prospect of confessing our truths was… daunting.
He seemed to sense my eagerness to get it over with, but waited for me to take my first bite. My eyes closed and I groaned loudly, earning a chuckle from him. “Ask away. You know you want to.”
I swallowed and licked my lips. “What do you do for a living?” I glanced around at his penthouse as if to emphasize that he was able to afford something so grand in one of the most expensive cities in America.
“Straight for the jugular, I see.” He arched a brow and popped a piece of bread into his mouth, chewing slowly, as if he was considering how much to give away. I watched, fascinated, as his jaw muscles flexed with each deliberate bite. He reached for his wine, taking an unhurried sip, the rich red coating his lips before he finally spoke again. “I launder a portion of my family’s cartel money through my club here, and some in my casino in Vegas.”
My jaw dropped. I mean, part of me suspected what he did was drug-related, but Jesus. “Okay, so like… drugs. What kind of drugs?”
“Does it matter?”
I picked apart the bread in my hands. “I guess not, but humor me—in the spirit of being honest.”
Maverick sighed. “Cocaine, mostly. At least, that’s my involvement. My brothers tend to dabble in heroine and meth. At least I think they do. I don’t really talk to them much.”
“Did you ever want to do something outside of the drug business?”
He took a long sip of his wine. Calculating his next response, I presumed. “I didn’t have much of a choice. It was either that or turn my back on my family, get disowned, and lose my trust fund. I wasn’t interested in being broke without any support.”
I gnawed on my lower lip. “You seemed surprised when you realized I didn’t know who you were. Why?”
He shifted in his seat, focusing on his wine, his fingers tapping idly against the stem of his glass, a slow, thoughtful rhythm, but he didn’t look at me. Not yet. Another sigh. “Sophie…”
“I don’t like when you say my name like that. I feel like I’m not going to like the answer.”
“You won’t. I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but it seems no one has given you the courtesy of telling you the truth.”
My stomach knotted. I forced myself to eat a few bites before I spoke. “Just tell me, Mav. Isn’t that why we’re here? I can handle it. I need to know everything. It’s been eating me alive.”
“Yeah, me, too,” he admitted, leaning forward to put his forearms on the table. “Look, I had no intention of getting involved with you, I swear, but once I did, I couldn’t let you go. And I don’t want you to hate me when I just got you to agree to dinner with me.”
I guess he didn’t know that there was little I could find out that would make me not want him.
“ Maverick. ”
He held up his hands and sat back in his chair, resigned. “Fine, fine. This business… this cartel… technically speaking, if you wanted it, it’s yours.”
The words hit like a gunshot. A slow, suffocating weight settled in my chest, the room seeming to shrink around me. I blinked, my grip tightening around the stem of my own wine glass. “What?” The word barely scraped past my lips, thin and disbelieving, foreign to my ears.
“Your father? Yeah, he built this cartel from the ground. And once he died, once he—” Maverick paused and shook his head. “Well, let’s just say, the loyalty of all our dealers and distributors lies with the Reyes family. They’re only following us because my father stepped into your father’s shoes after he passed.”
Rubbing my throat, I blinked away tears. “My father was… a cartel leader?”
The irony that I pursued a career in criminal justice to catch my father’s murderers only to find out that he was a crime lord himself was hysterical. It hurt to breathe. This couldn’t be… but maybe—just maybe—it made sense? The parties, the close family friends, the late night visits from men packing heat, the hushed conversations…
My head spun as pieces of my childhood clicked into place.
My mother, poised and standing at the head of the table with my father.
The both of them hushing me and my sisters into obedience when company was around.
Objects in hands during shady exchanges. Whispers. Our home always guarded, except the night he was murdered…
Maverick dipped his chin, bringing me back to the present. “He was. He and my father had been working closely together. Naturally, the Mercer family swooped in to hold it all together before it could fall apart. Something your mother was eternally grateful for at the time, because she knew it took her husband’s life.”
I didn’t want to believe it, almost couldn’t . But the more I thought about it… “ Fuck , how did I not see it sooner?” I muttered, more to myself than to him as I put my head in my hands. “It makes perfect sense. I even knew that Chavez was part of a cartel, I just didn’t have more details because, well, this isn’t my jurisdiction and my resources are limited over here.”
“Yet you have your friends on the force here.”
Shaking my head vehemently, I scooped a bite of the pasta in my mouth and refrained from moaning. It was still delicious even if my world was falling apart. “Callie and Liam are as by-the-books as it gets. Callie more so than Liam, even though Callie has apparently been turning the other cheek on my indiscretions for years.” I huffed out a sardonic laugh. “I’m not interested in involving them in my messy family drama. They have enough going on.”
A low chuckle rumbled from Maverick's chest as he leaned back, running a slow hand along the rim of his glass. He swirled the deep red liquid absently, amusement curling at the edges of his mouth. It was distracting.
“What?”
He took his time, tilting the glass slightly before taking a slow sip. “I wouldn’t be so sure about those two,” he murmured, his voice edged with something unreadable. He set the glass down with a soft clink. “They’ve got your back.”
To an extent. “Yeah, well, whatever.” I traced my fingers over the smooth surface of the table, trying to ground myself. “So, my mother was aware of my father’s business?”
Maverick nodded. “I do remember her rather hands-off involvement. She occasionally made appearances but didn’t say much. It was evident that your father’s never-ending loyalty to his wife and children was more important than the cartel. That’s why she was always so supportive.”
My throat burned. “So how did Chavez get caught up in all of this? What did my father do to deserve death?”
Man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gathered our dishes and rinsed them in the sink before placing them in the dishwasher. I waited, content to stay silent until he gave me the answers I knew he was avoiding.
When he returned to the table with another bottle of wine in one hand and the other extended to help me up, he said, “Come. Let’s finish this on the terrace. It’s a beautiful night.”