Chapter 2 - FOUR MONTHS LATER
Winter transformed Chicago into a city of gray streets and cutting wind.
Layla worked nights at a diner near the river because the manager paid in cash and never asked why she avoided official paperwork.
Her stomach had grown too large to hide.
The twins moved constantly beneath her apron.
She lived in a rented room above a laundromat and slept with a chair wedged beneath the door.
For weeks, she believed she had escaped the attention of the Gallow family.
Then a black sedan began appearing across the street.
Sometimes it remained for ten minutes.
Sometimes for an hour.
No one ever stepped out.
Layla told herself she was imagining the danger.
On a freezing Thursday night, the diner door opened at eleven forty-three.
Dominic entered wearing a dark overcoat dusted with snow.
Two men remained outside.
Layla nearly dropped the coffee pot.
Dominic stopped when he saw her.
His eyes moved from her face to the curve beneath her apron.
The entire diner seemed to fall silent.
“Layla?”
She turned away.
Her manager called from the kitchen.
“Table six needs coffee.”
Dominic crossed the room.
“How far along are you?”
“That is none of your business.”
His jaw tightened.
“You disappeared.”
“You fired me.”
“I gave you money.”
“You threw money at me while I was on my knees.”
The words struck him harder than she expected.
Dominic glanced at her stomach again.
“When are you due?”
Layla backed away.
“Please leave.”
Then one of the twins kicked.
The movement was visible beneath the thin fabric.
Dominic stared.
A strange calculation entered his face.
“The gala was seven months ago.”
Layla said nothing.
He stepped closer.
“Who is the father?”
Before she could answer, headlights flooded the windows.
The black sedan across the street pulled away.
Dominic noticed it.
His expression changed.
“Is someone following you?”
“No.”
“You looked directly at that car.”
Layla gripped the coffee pot.
“I said no.”
Dominic reached inside his coat and removed a business card.
“Call me.”
“I will not.”
“Then call this number if you are in danger.”
She looked at the card.
The name printed beneath his was not a company number.
It belonged to Vincent Moretti, Dominic’s oldest enforcer.
Layla pushed the card back.
“I do not need your protection.”
Dominic lowered his voice.
“You are carrying my children.”
She froze.
He had not asked.
He had recognized the truth.
Across the street, inside the departing sedan, a photographer lowered his camera.
He sent the images to Vivienne.
Her reply arrived immediately.
May you like
Move the wedding forward.
And make sure the maid does not survive until spring.
