66 "The Midnight Recipe That Awakened a Sleeping Monster: How a Broke Waitress Served the Only Dish That Could Break a Mafia Boss—And Unleashed a War Worth Dying For"

The cold New Orleans rain began to fall in heavy, stinging sheets, instantly soaking my hair and plastering my waitress uniform against my skin.

“Get back inside!” Ronan roared, shoving me behind his armored frame as the first volley of gunfire erupted from the SUVs blocking the alleyway.

Pop-pop-pop!

Bullets ricocheted off the brick walls of the historic buildings, sending showers of red masonry dust into the air. One round punched a clean hole through the side mirror of Ronan’s Lincoln, shattering the glass into a thousand tiny fragments.

Ronan returned fire with lethal efficiency, his weapon barking twice in rapid succession. One of Moretti’s men stumbled and crashed hard against the hood of an SUV, clutching his shoulder, but the rest kept advancing, pinning us against the heavy steel door of Beaumont House.

“We're trapped!” I yelled over the deafening roar of gunfire and rain, pressing myself flat against the brick wall.

“Not yet,” Ronan gritted out, reloading his pistol with practiced, mechanical speed. He glanced sideways at a narrow, rusted iron staircase bolted to the side of the building—a fire escape that wound its way up toward the old administrative offices on the second floor. “Can you climb?”

“I don't have a choice!” I shouted back.

“Go! Now!”

With a fierce shove, Ronan propelled me toward the base of the iron staircase. I grabbed the rusted handrail, my fingers slick with rain and grease, and began scrambling upward as fast as my legs could carry me. Below me, Ronan laid down a suppressing wall of gunfire, forcing Moretti's men to take cover behind their vehicles.

Footsteps clattered on the metal stairs behind me. One of Moretti’s thugs had broken away from the main group and was charging up the fire escape after me.

“Tessa, duck!” Ronan yelled from below.

I threw myself flat onto the metal grating of the landing just as a bullet whined past my ear, shearing off a piece of the iron railing inches from my face. I scrambled to my feet, my lungs burning, and lunged for the heavy glass window of the second-floor office.

Without thinking, I raised the heavy iron soup bowl I had somehow managed to keep clutched in my left hand the entire time, and smashed it directly into the center of the windowpane.

Crash!

Glass shattered everywhere. I scrambled through the jagged opening, cutting my forearm slightly on a stray shard, and tumbled headfirst onto a carpeted floor inside a dark, unfamiliar office.

A heavy thump on the metal fire escape signaled that my pursuer had reached the window. But before the man could climb inside, a powerful hand grabbed him by the tactical vest and hauled him backward off the ledge. A muffled cry of surprise was cut short by the dull thud of a body hitting the concrete alleyway far below.

A second later, Ronan vaulted gracefully through the broken window, landing in a crouch beside me. He swept the room with his pistol, checking the shadows, before lowering the safety and turning his attention to me.

He knelt down beside me in the dark, his strong hands gently catching my face, his stormy gray eyes searching mine through the sheets of rain dripping from our hair.

“Are you hit?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically urgent.

“No,” I panted, shaking my head as tears of adrenaline and terror finally spilled over my cheeks. “I'm okay. Just... just terrified.”

Ronan looked down at my bleeding forearm, then up at my face. For a long moment, the chaos outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the quiet sound of our heavy breathing in the empty office.

“You shouldn't have been in that kitchen tonight, Tessa,” he whispered softly, his thumb gently wiping away a streak of rain and mud from my cheek. “You should have stayed out front, pouring champagne for people who don't matter.”

“Well,” I whispered back, a faint, shaky defiance rising up from somewhere deep inside my chest, “I guess I got tired of pouring drinks for ghosts.”