His Virgin Stripper

39- Borrowed Peace

Sienna

Roxy let out one last, muffled curse into the fabric of the pillow before she finally dragged herself out of bed, her feet scuffing loudly against the floorboards as she trailed behind us like a sullen teenager who had just been grounded.

We headed down the grand staircase and pushed into the large kitchen. The space was already warm, the large industrial ovens preheating and huge stockpots sitting on the ranges, steam rising toward the vents.

The room smelled of garlic, onions, and heavy broth, a comforting, domestic scent that didn't belong in a place surrounded by security cameras and razor wire.

"Alright, laundry brigade, grab a knife," Ma Rosa ordered, tossing a heavy wooden cutting board onto the central island.

She dumped a massive mesh sack of red potatoes between us. "Sienna, you're on dicing. Roxy, start washing the greens. And don't give me that face, Rox, or I'll make you clean the grease traps."

"I am a guest, not a sous chef," Roxy muttered under her breath, though she dragged the massive metal colander into the industrial sink anyway, cranking the faucet until the water blasted against the steel.

I picked up a heavy chef's knife, testing the weight in my hand. The cold metal felt grounding. I grabbed the first potato, slicing it down the middle with a clean thwack against the wood.

"So, Ma," I began, trying to keep my stroke steady as I cut the pieces into small, even cubes. "Did Marcello really hate his vegetables that much? He doesn't exactly strike me as a guy who loses arguments over broccoli."

"Oh, he was a nightmare," Ma Rosa laughed, her hands moving with blinding speed as she trimmed the fat off a massive slab of beef.

She threw the meat into a searing hot pan, the loud, violent sizzle instantly filling the kitchen with a rich, savory aroma. "When he was fourteen, his father told him he had to finish his plate before he could touch a weapon. Marcello sat at that dining table for six hours staring at a pile of cold asparagus. He didn't eat a single bite. Just glared at it until the sun came up."

Roxy snorted from the sink, spraying water all over the front of her shirt as she turned around. "Are you serious? He engaged in a silent standoff with a vegetable?"

"Dead serious," Ma Rosa said, winking at me. "He lost, of course. I hid the keys to the training room the next morning. He ate his green beans after that."

"I can't even picture him fourteen," I admitted, dropping the diced potatoes into a giant metal bowl. The rhythmic sound of the knife against the board was therapeutic, making the heavy knot in my stomach loosen for the first time all day.

"He just seems... born like this. Like he came out of the womb in a tailored suit with a glare that could freeze water."

"No one is born like that, sweetie," Ma Rosa said gently, her tone shifting into that quiet, maternal register as she stirred a massive pot of bubbling marinara sauce. "He was a sweet boy once. But this life... it strips the softness out of you real quick if you let it."

Before the mood could get too heavy, a loud *clatter* echoed through the kitchen.

I looked up just in time to see Roxy staring in horror at a small ceramic bowl she had just knocked over.

A dark, powdery cloud of black pepper was currently settling over the white surface of a heavy cream sauce Ma Rosa had been simmering on the back burner.

"Oh, no," Roxy whispered, freezing with her hands in the air. "Ma... I think I just assassinated the gravy."

Ma Rosa walked over, peering into the pot at the thick, muddy grey swirl that was quickly bubbling to the top. She looked at the pot, looked at Roxy's panicked face, and then let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed off the appliances.

"Well, the guards always complain that my food needs more kick. I think you just gave them enough to clear their sinuses for a month."

I burst out laughing, the sound tearing through my throat before I could stop it. I leaned against the counter, holding my stomach as Roxy's face turned a bright, matching shade of red. "Nice job, chef. You're definitely getting promoted to grease traps now."

"Shut up, Sienna! It was an accident!" Roxy yelled, though she couldn't keep a straight face either, a wide, infectious grin breaking through her embarrassment as she grabbed a wooden spoon to try and skim the pepper out.

"Leave it, leave it," Ma Rosa chuckled, shooing Roxy away from the stove with a wave of her dish towel. "We'll just call it a specialty rustic pepper sauce. Now, Sienna, check on that garlic bread before you burn the house down."

"Right!" I gasped, completely forgetting about the oven. I grabbed a pair of thick quilted mitts and yanked the heavy door open.

A thick cloud of dark, pungent smoke immediately billowed out into my face, making me cough violently as I dragged the baking sheet out. The edges of the local baguettes were completely blackened, charred into crisp, useless lumps of carbon.

"Spoke too soon," Roxy cackled, pointing a finger at my smoking tray. "Who's the assassin now?"

"It's just extra crispy!" I defended, laughing so hard my eyes watered as I fanned the smoke away with a towel. "It adds texture!"

"It adds a fire hazard," Ma Rosa corrected, though she was laughing along with us, her blue eyes crinkling deeply at the corners as she took the blackened tray from my hands.

She dumped the burnt bread into the trash with a theatrical sigh. "Alright, you two are officially banned from the elements. Go back to prepping the salads before we have to call the fire department."

We spent the rest of the night working in that warm, noisy rhythm, our voices overlapping as we joked about our complete lack of culinary talent.

We laughed until our muscles ached, the heavy, suffocating reality of the safe house completely fading into the background for a few hours.

By the time the sun had set, we had successfully prepared dinner for every single guard stationed in the house, as well as a plate for ourselves, the echo of our laughter still lingering in the warm air long after the work was done.