Chapter 4 - The Pilsen Trap
The heavy iron door of the walk-up apartment building rattled as three black Cadillacs pulled up to the curb, their engines purring in the freezing night air.
Inside her apartment, Layla was wrapping a thick wool scarf around her neck, preparing to walk down to the corner pharmacy to buy cheap prenatal vitamins.
The door burst open before she could reach the handle.
The heavy wooden frame splintered, iron lock pins tearing free from the brickwork as four armed men in dark suits flooded the tiny room, securing the corners instantly.
Layla gasped, backing away until her hips struck the small kitchen counter. She reached instinctively for a heavy cast-iron skillet sitting on the stove.
“Touch that skillet and you’ll bruise your fingers, Layla.”
The deep, dark voice cut through the cold room like a heavy winter frost.
Dominic stepped through the shattered doorway.
He wore a tailored charcoal overcoat over his three-piece suit, snow melting on his broad shoulders. His dark hair was brushed back, his jaw set like granite, and his eyes—those icy, terrifying eyes that had commanded Chicago’s underworld for a decade—were fixed entirely on her.
Or more accurately, on her midsection.
Layla pulled her heavy coat tighter around herself, her breathing coming in fast, panicked gasps.
“Get out of my apartment,” she whispered, her hands shaking violently. “You fired me. You told me your men would toss me into the alley if I came near your property again.”
Dominic didn't answer immediately. He took three long, deliberate steps into the center of the small room, his presence completely consuming the tiny space.
He stopped two feet in front of her.
Without asking permission, he reached out, caught the edges of her faded coat, and pulled the fabric open.
His breath hitched in his throat.
There was no hiding it now. The swell of her stomach was prominent, round, and clear beneath her thin sweater.
Dominic dropped to one knee on the cold linoleum floor.
Layla flinched, trying to step backward, but the counter locked her in place. “Mr. Gallo—what are you doing? Please—”
Dominic reached out with both hands. His palms, broad, warm, and covered in subtle scars, rested gently against the sides of her heavy bump.
The second his hands touched her skin through the sweater, a powerful, simultaneous kick from both babies struck the right side of his palm!
Dominic’s breath left his lungs in a sharp, ragged gasp.
His dark eyes snapped up to meet hers, filled with a sudden, violent mixture of shock, wonder, and absolute, possessive rage.
“Two,” he rasped, his voice shaking with an emotion Layla had never heard from him before. “There are two of them.”
“It... it’s none of your business,” Layla lied desperately, tears spilling over her lashes. “They aren't yours.”
Dominic stood up slowly, towering over her. He pulled the silver bird locket from his pocket and held it inches from her face.
“L. B.,” he said softly. “You left this on my library sofa four months ago, Layla. The same night you wore a Venetian mask and let me make promises to you in the dark.”
Layla’s mouth dried up completely. She couldn't speak.
“You let me throw you out,” Dominic growled, taking a step closer, his hands coming up to frame her face, his thumbs wiping the tears from her cold cheeks with rough tenderness. “You let Celeste talk to you like you were garbage, you let me throw five hundred dollars at your feet, and you walked out into a blizzard carrying my children!”
“You would have taken them from me!” Layla cried out, her voice breaking. “You’re the head of a syndicate, Dominic! You live in a world of guns, blood, and women like Celeste Rossi! I’m just a maid! What was I supposed to do? Let you put my babies in a golden cage while your fiancée treated me like an addict from the street?!”
Dominic’s hands tightened gently against her jawline.
“Celeste Rossi is no longer part of my life as of five minutes ago,” Dominic stated, his tone flat, final, and absolute. “And you are not going back to cleaning floors, Layla.”
“I don't want your money, Dominic!”
“I don't care what you want right now,” Dominic replied, stepping back and gesturing toward Marco. “Pack her things. Everything she touches, everything she owns.”
“Dominic, no! I’m not going back to that penthouse!”
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Dominic scooped her up into his arms in one smooth, powerful motion, lifting her off her feet before she could resist. He pulled her flush against his chest, holding her securely as if she weighed nothing at all.
“You’re right,” Dominic whispered against her ear, his hot breath brushing her neck as he carried her out past the splintered door into the snowy night. “You’re not going to the penthouse. You’re going to my estate in Lake Forest. And you are never leaving my sight again.”
