The third floor of The Bowmont was built to ensure that no sound from the city below ever reached its interior.

The grand ballroom was a sea of glittering chandeliers, silk gowns, classical violin music, and golden masks.

Over three hundred guests sat at round tables, eating the fifth course—a pan-seared duck breast served over a spiced orange and dark roux reduction that had left the entire room in awed silence.

At the head table sat Dominic Moretti—a fat, arrogant man in his fifties with greasy slicked-back hair and a suit that struggled to contain his belly. He was chewing aggressively on his duck, trying desperately to find a flaw in the dish.

"Unbelievable," a city councilman sitting next to Moretti gasped, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Callahan, where did you find this chef? This is the best meal served in this state in twenty years!"

Ronan sat at the center table, sipping red wine, his face cool and unreadable. "She is irreplaceable, Councilman."

Dominic Moretti slammed his fork onto the porcelain plate, his face red with frustration. He stood up, knocking his chair back slightly, drawing the attention of the surrounding tables.

"A waitress!" Moretti sneered loudly, his raspy voice cutting through the violin music. "You bring us to this grand hall and serve us food cooked by a street rat from the swamps! Callahan, you’ve gone soft! You used to rule this city with iron, and now you’re taking orders from a girl who carries spices in a tin can!"

The ballroom went dead silent. The violinists stopped playing. Security guards positioned along the walls shifted their hands toward their jackets.

Ronan didn't stand up. He slowly set his wine glass down, his pale grey eyes locking onto Moretti like laser sights.

"Dominic," Ronan said softly, his low voice carrying across the silent hall. "You insult my chef. You insult the memory of the woman who trained her. And three weeks ago, you hired a sniper to shoot me in the back at Dock 14."

Gasping erupted across the ballroom among the politicians and socialites.

Moretti laughed nervously, trying to save face. "You have no proof of that, Callahan! You’re making wild accusations—"

"I don't need proof for a trial, Dominic," Ronan interrupted smoothly, standing up to his full height. His tall frame dominated the head of the room. "I am not a prosecutor. I am the Iron Gavel."

Ronan raised his hand and snapped his fingers once.

The heavy double doors of the ballroom slammed shut. Diego and twelve heavily armed Callahan enforcers stepped out from the shadows, surrounding Moretti’s table, their weapons raised silently beneath their coats.

"Your lieutenants at the docks were picked up twenty minutes ago," Ronan announced calmly, stepping toward Moretti. "They sang like songbirds. They gave up your bank accounts, your weapons caches, and the name of the man who put poison in Chef Voss's coffee."

Moretti’s face drained of all color. He reached desperately toward his inner coat pocket, but before his fingers could touch his weapon, Diego stepped forward and slammed Moretti’s head onto the dining table, pinning his arm behind his back with a agonizing snap.

Moretti screamed in pain, his gold mask falling off and shattering against the marble floor.

"Take him out the back," Ronan ordered, his voice cold as ice. "Deliver him to the federal prosecutor's office along with the signed confessions. Let the law put him in a cage for the rest of his life."

As Moretti was dragged out of the screaming, panicking ballroom, Ronan turned toward the kitchen doors.

Tessa was standing in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with clear, calm eyes. She didn't look afraid. She knew that what Ronan had just done wasn't an act of senseless violence—it was the surgical removal of a cancer that had threatened everything they were building.

Ronan walked across the marble floor toward her. He reached out, took her hand, and led her out into the center of the grand ballroom, right under the central chandelier.

The guests, recovering from the shock, began to applaud—first a few brave politicians, then the entire room, until thunderous applause echoed off the high ceilings.

Ronan looked down at Tessa, a genuine, beautiful smile breaking across his face.