Chapter 24
Come home tonight. I have a surprise for you .
I had no intention of going home today.
I’m behind on work and have two meetings scheduled.
But after Genesis’s text?
Fuck work and fuck those meetings.
I scrub a hand over my face.
Her text should make me not want to go home.
It should make me want to sit behind my desk all night long.
Surprises aren’t good.
I’d rather have someone shoot me in the damn foot than have a surprise.
But here I am, driving home, for Genesis’s surprise .
Driving over the damn speed limit at that.
I texted Emilio when I left the casino and told him he could leave. Genesis should be able to stay out of trouble for at least a few hours before I get there. I also don’t want him to know what this surprise is before me.
I park in the garage, and before I step out of the Escalade, my phone rings.
Franko’s name flashes across my screen.
“Yeah,” I say, answering the call.
“We caught another one of Yaroslav’s men in the casino,” he tells me. “I have him tied up in the back room. What do you want me to do with him?”
Shit .
Terrible timing.
I can either leave and deal with the fucking Russian, disappointing Genesis, or handle it later. I take a second, weighing my options.
I don’t even make it to second two before my decision is made.
I’ll go in and see what Genesis’s surprise is. If it’s something ridiculous—like bringing the entire shelter to my home—I’ll leave and deal with the Russian.
This is unlike me.
I’ve always been a business first man.
“Keep him there. I’ll call you in an hour and tell you what to do,” I say into the phone before ending the call.
As I walk inside, I have a strange urge to say, Honey, I’m home.
It’s what my father would announce every evening when he came home to my mother. It was a ritual with them. Whether he’d had a good day or walked in, beaten and bruised, he always said it.
Always kissed her on the cheek and said he loved her.
Always said dinner smelled good.
But I’m not my father.
I’m not a husband.
I’m not a family man, and I don’t want Genesis to view me as one.
She doesn’t need that attachment to me.
My father loved my mother, and her, him, but he put her in dangerous situations.
She handled them well, but ultimately, they killed her.
I shut my mouth, holding myself back from saying those three words. As soon as I step inside, the aroma of garlic and olive oil drifts up my nostrils. My mouth waters, and I sniff the air.
Genesis is in the kitchen, parked in front of the stove, stirring something inside a pot. She’s dressed in black pants that look like they belong to a businessman about to make a deal and a tight, almost-spandex-looking tank.
I sniff again, picking up the smell of fresh tomatoes. An open bottle of red wine is on the counter with two glasses beside it. One of them is half full and the other is empty.
She looks over at me with a friendly smile, holding up the spoon half covered with tomato sauce.
“Oh, hey.” A hint of shyness is in her voice.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come home or not …
” She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip, and her shoulders droop.
“Seriously, is it so hard to text back? Or, hell, you don’t even have to physically text.
Just tell Siri to confirm you’ll be home for dinner. ”
I unbuckle my suit jacket, strolling deeper into the kitchen. “What if I say my surprise to you was showing up to see yours?”
“Nope.” She waves the spoon in the air, and I’m surprised sauce doesn’t fall from it. “I’m able to smell bullshit from a mile away.”
I step closer. “And I’m able to smell my mother’s spaghetti sauce from a mile away.” I sniff again, walking straight to the stove to look in the pot.
She sets the spoon down and backs away from the stove.
Not only does the sauce smell like my mother’s recipe, but it also looks like it.
A thickness forms in my throat as I stare down at it, remembering all the time my mother spent in the kitchen, making this very sauce.
Plenty of people asked for the recipe for this sauce, but she was particular about who she shared it with. It’s nearly identical with chunks of tomato, mushrooms, carrots, pancetta, and sausage.
Genesis stands a few inches away, awkwardly moving from one foot to the other when my gaze snaps to her.
The sauce was a family favorite, but since it took four hours to make, my mother would only make it on Sundays.
Millions of memories rush through my mind.
Good ones.
Bad ones.
Sad ones.
I’m reminded that I’ll never share a meal with my family again.
There was a point when I accepted I’d never have my mother’s sauce again since I didn’t know anyone alive who knew how to make it. I thought her recipes had gone to the grave with her.
Damien and I aren’t the cooking type.
“How did you …” I ask, staring at her, stunned. My words trail off, like I’m unable to finish the question.
Her cheeks redden. “Your mother taught Melissa and me. It’s my first time making it by myself, so I can’t promise it’ll taste as good as hers since she was a sauce genius, but I tried my best.” Her tone is a fusion of hope and worry.
Hope that I’ll love it.
Worry that I’ll hate it.
What do I feel?
How do I react to this?
Other than my mother and sister, I’ve never had someone do something like this for me. It’s fucking weird.
But there’s also this warmth that spreads through my chest.
A feeling I’ve never experienced.
What is Genesis doing to me?
First, she has me saving her ass, then coming home because she misses me, and now this ?
She didn’t do this for me out of calculation.
Unlike me, Genesis doesn’t do favors because she wants something back for them.
She did this for me because she cares.
“Julian,” she breathes out, breaking me from my thoughts.
I clear my throat. “It smells delicious, and I’m sure it tastes just as amazing.”
She inches closer, picks up the spoon, drags it through the sauce, and scoops some into it.
“Taste test it for me.” She holds it out for me to taste.
I debate doing what she asked.
But with the way she’s looking at me, there’s no damn way I can deny her. Leaning in, I taste the sauce and can’t stop myself from groaning. She leaves the spoon in my mouth for a moment, standing on her tiptoes so the spoon doesn’t fall from her hand.
It tastes goddamn amazing.
So similar to my mother’s, like she was making it alongside her.
When my mother did teach someone to cook—and she was picky with who she did it with—she always took her time. She’d show them step by step with patience.
“What do you think?” she asks, falling back on her heels as the spoon leaves my mouth.
“Delicious.” I lick my lips. “My mother would have been fucking proud.”
Genesis beams at the compliment.
Like I told her she was beautiful in a million different ways.
“Oh shit,” she says, rushing over to the opposite side of me.
Spaghetti is in another pot, about to boil over. I hurriedly grab the handle and take the pot, moving it to a cool burner, as she turns off the flame.
She’s the first to ever cook in this kitchen since I bought the place.
I only have pots and pans because the interior designer insisted on it.
I’ve never sat down and enjoyed a home-cooked meal here.
Most of my meals are either eaten out or in my office.
“Thank you,” she says shyly as I pull away from the stove.
I curl my lips.
It’s not a full smile but halfway there.
“I’m going to run upstairs and change,” I tell her.
Her lips curl up, matching mine for a moment before turning into a full-on smile.
I jog upstairs to change into gray sweats and a sweatshirt.
As I wash my face, I stare at myself in the mirror. Little by little, I finally release the smile that started building in the kitchen.
But then I suddenly drop it.
This dark heart of mine isn’t supposed to warm like this.
I can’t fall in love with Genesis.
I’m not capable of being a good partner.
I’m selfish.
Business is always my main priority.
I disappear for days sometimes.
I’d also be putting Genesis more in harm’s way.
Enemies don’t give a shit about wives when their husbands hate them.
But when husbands love their wives?
They become the biggest target.
There’s no way to ruin a man like taking the woman he loves.
Right now, she’s on Dima’s radar, but I’m hoping that’ll change once I pay off Yaroslav. Then, I need to make it a point to Antonio that she deserves the same protection as the other women.
Genesis is sacrificing a life of love for me.
The least I can do is make sure she’s always protected.
I feel my stomach growl, already thinking about the pasta.
I never imagined I’d get a surprise like this.
Morning peonies aren’t enough in return for something this sweet.
She deserves more.
Genesis is fucking with my head, and I’m nervous she’ll find a way to do the same with this cold heart of mine.