Chapter 7 - The Trap at the Gala
Three weeks later.
Ronan’s recovery was nothing short of miraculous. Strengthened by daily, nutrient-dense meals prepared by Tessa—rich venison stews, slow-simmered bone broths, and delicate roasted fish—his strength returned double.
The war with the Moretti syndicate, however, had reached its boiling point.
To celebrate his recovery and publicly squash rumors that he was disabled, Ronan announced he would host the annual Charity Masquerade Gala in the grand ballroom of The Bowmont—an event attended by every wealthy elite, politician, and crime boss in the Gulf Coast.
In the kitchen, Tessa was commanding a staff of twelve cooks, overseeing a six-course meal that would showcase her talents to the entire city elite.
At 7:00 PM, the grand kitchen doors swung open.
Ronan walked in, looking devastatingly handsome in a black velvet tuxedo with a dark silver silk mask covering the upper half of his face. His posture was imposing, his shoulder fully healed.
He walked over to Tessa’s station. She was wearing an elegant black chef’s coat with gold buttons, her hair styled up, looking radiant.
"The ballroom is full," Ronan said softly, standing close to her. "Dominic Moretti just walked in with four of his lieutenants."
Tessa’s hand paused on her plating spoon. "Is he armed?"
"My security swept them at the door," Ronan replied. "He thinks he’s safe because of the public press in the room. He thinks he can use this party to humiliate me."
Ronan pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and set it on her prep table.
Tessa opened it. Inside lay a breathtaking necklace—a thin platinum chain holding a tear-shaped emerald that shimmered like sea glass under the kitchen lights.
"Ronan..." she gasped. "I can't accept this. This costs more than my apartment building."
"It belonged to Genevieve," Ronan said, taking the necklace from the box and stepping behind her. His warm fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck as he fastened the clasp. "She always said that one day, the woman who ruled this kitchen would wear it. Tonight, you are not just my chef, Tessa. You are my equal."
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Tessa touched the cool emerald resting against her collarbone, turning around to face him. Her heart was beating fast. The unspoken feelings between them had grown so intense over the past three weeks that every touch felt like an electric charge.
"Now," Ronan smiled faintly, "go out there and show this city what real soul tastes like."
