Burn For Me

EpisodeThree-The wrong kind of fire

Lucía

The moment the kitchen doors swung shut behind her, Lucía gripped the edge of the nearest counter and tried to steady her breath.

She wasn’t sure what had just happened. One second, she was slipping out for air, praying no one noticed her. The next, she was standing in front of her—Valentina freaking Moretti—feeling like she’d just stood too close to a flame and dared it not to burn her.

Lucía pressed her palms flat to the cool metal countertop, her heart still pounding.

What the hell was that?

“You good?” a voice asked behind her.

Lucía jolted, turning to find Maya, one of the senior servers, giving her a curious once-over. She had a tray of champagne flutes balanced in one hand and an arched brow that said you look like you’ve seen a ghost.

Lucía nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just needed a second.”

Maya smirked. “Rich people overwhelming you already?”

Lucía gave a weak laugh. “Something like that.”

She waited for Maya to walk off before letting her shoulders slump again. The kitchen bustled around her—chefs shouting instructions, plates clattering, the head caterer barking at someone about garnish—but Lucía barely heard it. All she could hear was Valentina’s voice, low and rough around the edges, asking for her name like it meant something.

Now that I’ve seen you, I’m not sure if I can stop.

She hadn’t meant to overhear the engagement toast. That wasn’t her job. She was supposed to stay in the kitchen, plating desserts. But the room was so full, and she’d needed air. Just a breath. A second to remember who she was. What was she doing here?

Instead, she’d gotten Valentina.

Lucía closed her eyes and leaned against the prep table, trying to shake the image: Valentina in that sleek black suit, eyes lined with kohl, mouth curved into a half-smile that looked too practiced being kind. She was power in heels, all sharp edges and soft danger.

And she’d looked at Lucía like she’d never seen anyone like her before.

That was dangerous. That kind of attention was not something Lucía could afford.

She’d taken this job because she needed it. Because the catering company didn’t ask too many questions and paid in cash at the end of every weekend shift. Because her aunt was behind on rent again and her little sister had outgrown her school shoes.

She wasn’t here to flirt with mafia royalty.

The kitchen doors creaked open again, and Lucía instinctively turned her back, pretending to fuss with a tray of panna cotta.

“Where’s the extra silverware?” someone barked.

She pointed without turning. “Under the prep station.”

She didn’t know if Valentina was still out there, if she’d come looking. The thought sent a shiver through her spine. Not fear—not exactly—but something more complicated. Heat. Guilt. Curiosity.

She hadn’t wanted to react like that. She hadn’t meant to freeze under Valentina’s gaze, or answer her questions, or let her get that close.

But she had.

And worse—she’d liked it.

Lucía gritted her teeth, forcing herself back into motion. She wasn’t some little girl with a crush. She had responsibilities. Reality. A million reasons to stay out of the spotlight. Women like Valentina didn’t get involved with girls like her anyway—not for anything real. Maybe for fun. A distraction. But people like Valentina didn’t get hurt when things went bad.

Girls like Lucía did.

She spent the next hour working like her hands could outrun her thoughts. She refilled platters, cleaned spills, delivered trays to the front lines of the reception. She didn’t look at the guests. Didn’t let herself scan the room for those smoky eyes or that arrogant smile. It was better that way.

By the time dessert service began, her apron was stained, her back ached, and her mind was quieter—tired enough to let the ache settle without burning.

Until she heard the voice again.

“Careful,” someone warned behind her. “You’re going to bruise the strawberries.”

Lucía froze, the strawberry garnish in her gloved hand trembling.

She turned slowly.

Valentina stood at the edge of the kitchen, one hand casually resting on the doorframe. Like she had every right to be there. Like she belonged in every room she entered.

Lucía’s heart climbed back into her throat.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” she said, quieter than she meant to.

Valentina shrugged. “I don’t usually care about rules.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t tempt people to break them.”

Lucía exhaled sharply, nerves fizzing. “Is this some game to you?”

Valentina stepped inside, her heels clicking softly on the tile. “Do I seem like I’m playing?”

Yes, Lucía wanted to say. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was she wasn’t.

The kitchen staff was thinning now, most of them busy on the floor or clearing courses. A few glanced at Valentina with wide eyes, but none of them said anything. No one dared to.

Lucía lowered her voice. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

“Then go.”

Valentina took one more step. She was close now. Close enough that Lucía could smell her again—expensive perfume layered over something darker, warmer. Close enough that if she reached out, her fingers would brush Lucía’s wrist.

“I will,” Valentina said. “Just as soon as you tell me why you’re running.”

Lucía felt her spine straighten. “I’m not running.”

“Liar.”

The word hit like a slap.

Valentina leaned in slightly, not touching, but crowding the air between them.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t feel that,” she said softly. “Whatever it was. Whatever this is.”

Lucía’s breath caught.

“I don’t have time for this,” she whispered.

“Make time.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I want to.”

Lucía’s eyes flicked to the doors. Someone could walk in. Her boss. Her aunt. Anyone. She couldn’t afford this—couldn’t even want this. But Valentina wasn’t letting go. She was all heat and control and intent.

“I’m not part of your world,” Lucía said. “I’m not some girl you can… play with. You don’t know what it’s like for people like me if this goes wrong.”

“I don’t plan on hurting you.”

“That’s not up to you.”

A pause. For once, Valentina didn’t have a comeback.

Lucía turned back to her tray. Her fingers were shaking as she reached for another strawberry, slicing it with more force than necessary.

But then she felt it—fingertips brushing lightly against the back of her hand.

“I’ll go,” Valentina said, her voice lower now. “But I’m not going to forget you. So you might want to decide if you want to forget me too.”

Lucía didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

She didn’t look up until the click of heels faded away and the kitchen doors swung shut again.

And even then, she wasn’t sure what she felt.

Only that something inside her had already started to burn.