You're going to be trouble

Tattooed goddess. Mafia girl. Whatever I wanted to call her, she was right there, wearing a crisp white chef's coat with her sleeves rolled up to reveal those intricate tattoos winding down her forearms.

Her hair was tied back, a few rebellious strands falling into her face as she worked with practiced precision, wielding a knife like it was an extension of her hand.

For a second, I thought I might be hallucinating. But no. She was very real. And she looked even hotter in a chef's uniform than she had barging into the sauna.

Without thinking, I walked toward the open kitchen, my heels clicking softly against the tiled floor.

As if drawn by some invisible force, I slid into the seat directly across from her station, resting my chin in my hand as I watched her work.

She glanced up briefly, her sharp eyes locking onto mine. Her expression didn't change—not a flicker of surprise or recognition. But then the corner of her mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, before she turned her attention back to the cutting board.

"Fancy seeing you here," I said, leaning forward.

She didn't respond, her knife slicing through vegetables with effortless ease.

"Silent treatment, huh? That's cool. I'll just sit here and marvel at your… chopping skills."

This earned me a sideways glance. "Marvel all you want, princess, but I'm busy."

Oh, the sass. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but I wasn't about to let her win this round.

"'Princess?'" I repeated, raising a brow. "Is that what you're going with? Bold choice, considering you still haven't told me your name."

She set the knife down, finally giving me her full attention. Her lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk. "And you still haven't earned it."

"Right. Because barging into someone's sauna reservation uninvited is totally an 'earning it' moment."

Her smirk widened. "I don't recall you complaining."

I opened my mouth to retort, then closed it again. She wasn't wrong. Not that I'd admit it.

"Well, since you're clearly determined to keep me guessing, I'll just stick with calling you Mafia Girl." I tilted my head, flashing my best innocent smile. "It suits you."

She arched a brow, but didn't deny it. Instead, she turned back to the stove, adding a splash of something aromatic to the pan in front of her. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the air, making my stomach growl despite my best efforts to play it cool.

"You're awfully chatty for someone who walked out of the sauna like her hair was on fire," she said without looking at me.

"I—" My cheeks flared again. "Okay, first of all, that wasn't because of you. Second of all… actually, let's skip second of all."

She chuckled softly, the sound low and almost dangerous. "You're not great at this, are you?"

"At what?"

"Keeping your cool."

"I'm perfectly cool," I shot back, crossing my arms. "I'm so cool, in fact, that I'm practically frosty."

She glanced at me then, her gaze sweeping over me like she was appraising something she might buy. "If you say so."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the counter. "And you're not exactly the picture of chill yourself, Chef Mafia Girl. What was with the dramatic entrance earlier? Did you just wander into the sauna looking for someone to interrogate?"

Her lips twitched, but she kept her focus on the food. "I go where I'm needed."

"Oh, really? And who exactly needed you in a towel-less sauna?"

She paused, her eyes meeting mine again. "Maybe I was looking for you."

For half a second, I forgot how to breathe.

She turned back to her pan, stirring the contents with a slow, deliberate motion. "Or maybe it was just a coincidence."

I let out a scoff, though it sounded more nervous than I intended. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, you're still here."

Touché.

I leaned back in my seat, watching her as she plated the dish with the same meticulous care she'd shown throughout the entire conversation.

Despite her gruff demeanor, there was something mesmerizing about the way she worked like every movement was part of a carefully choreographed routine.

"So, Mafia Girl," I said, breaking the silence. "What's on the menu tonight?"

She slid the plate across the counter toward me, her smirk returning. "Why don't you find out?"

I glanced down at the dish. It was a work of art pan-seared scallops resting on a bed of creamy risotto, garnished with microgreens and a drizzle of something golden and glossy. The smell alone was enough to make my mouth water.

I picked up my fork, hesitating for just a moment before taking a bite. The flavors exploded on my tongue, each element perfectly balanced. It was, without a doubt, the best thing I'd eaten in a long time.

I set the fork down, meeting her gaze. "Okay, I'll admit it. You're good."

Her smirk deepened. "I know."

"Cocky much?"

"Confident," she corrected.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress the small smile tugging at my lips.

As much as I wanted to keep the banter going, there was a nagging thought at the back of my mind a question I couldn't quite shake.

"What are you really doing here?" I asked, my tone more serious now.

Her expression didn't falter, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something I couldn't quite place.

"Cooking," she said simply.

"Right. Because every world-class chef moonlights as a sauna-crasher."

Her smile turned almost playful. "Let's just say I like to keep things interesting."

I wanted to press her further, but before I could, she stepped back from the counter, her hands resting on her hips.

"That's all you're getting from me tonight," she said, her tone final.

I opened my mouth to protest but stopped myself. Something told me pushing her wouldn't get me anywhere.

"Fine," I said, standing up. "But don't think this is over."

She chuckled, her eyes following me as I turned to leave. "Wouldn't dream of it, princess."

As I walked away, I couldn't help but glance back over my shoulder. She was already back at work, her focus entirely on the food.

But for a brief moment, our eyes met, and I swore I saw her smirk widen just a little.

Mafia Girl, I thought with a shake of my head. You're going to be trouble.