He Threw His Maid Out Without Hearing Her Explanation—Then the Mafia Boss Learned She Carried His Twins

The Gallo estate in Lake Forest was not a penthouse; it was a fortress.

Situated on forty acres of dense forest along the shore of Lake Michigan, the property was surrounded by a twelve-foot stone wall, iron security gates, and round-the-clock guards equipped with high-grade tactical gear.

The main house was a grand, stone manor built in the 1920s, filled with roaring fireplaces, heavy oak beams, and thick wool rugs.

The Maybach pulled through the front gates at 10:00 PM.

Dominic didn't let Layla walk through the front entrance. He carried her out of the car, through the grand marble foyer, and up the winding staircase to the master suite on the second floor—a massive wing featuring a king-sized bed, a stone hearth with a crackling fire, a private balcony, and an adjoining nursery that had been completely stripped and was currently being measured by two carpenters.

He set her down gently on the edge of the plush bed.

Layla pulled her legs up instantly, wrapping a heavy cashmere throw blanket around her shoulders, staring at him like a trapped animal.

“You can’t keep me here against my will, Dominic,” she said, her voice raspy from crying during the drive. “It’s kidnapping.”

Dominic stood near the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his overcoat and tossing it onto a chair.

“Call the police then,” Dominic said calmly, pulling his encrypted satellite phone from his pocket and setting it on the nightstand beside her. “Tell them Dominic Gallo has taken his pregnant wife to his estate.”

Layla’s head snapped up. “Wife?”

Dominic walked over to the hearth, poking the fire until bright orange embers danced up the chimney.

“The Rossi family learned thirty minutes ago that our engagement is canceled,” Dominic said without looking at her. “Old man Rossi threatened to launch a war over the insult. By tomorrow morning, every crew from New York to Detroit will know that the Gallo Syndicate has a direct heir.”

He turned around, his dark eyes burning with intensity.

“Two heirs,” he corrected himself. “If the Moretti family or the Rossi family realize you’re carrying those boys, they won't try to hire you, Layla. They will try to cut them out of you to end my line.”

Layla’s skin went completely pale. She clutched her lower stomach, her heart freezing in her chest.

Dominic walked back to the bed, sitting down on the edge beside her. The mattress dipped beneath his weight. He didn't touch her, but his closeness was absolute.

“This estate has fifty guards, bulletproof glass, and a private medical team arriving at six tomorrow morning,” Dominic said softly. “You are safe here. My sons are safe here. But you have to stop running from me.”

Layla looked into his eyes, searching for the cold, cruel billionaire who had dismissed her four months ago over a broken crystal decanter.

It was still there—the edge, the danger, the capacity for absolute violence. But wrapped around it now was something else: an intense, terrifyingly protective fire that seemed entirely focused on her and the two lives growing inside her.

“Why didn't you look at me that night?” Layla asked softly, her voice barely a whisper above the crackle of the fireplace. “At the gala... in the library. You didn't even ask my name.”

Dominic looked down at his broad, scarred hands.

“I was drunk, angry, and exhausted,” Dominic confessed quietly. “The Morettis had just put a bomb under one of my supply trucks in Newark. I walked into that library intending to drink myself blind.”

He looked up, meeting her gaze directly.

“And then you walked in wearing that mask. You looked like an angel who had fallen into a war zone. I didn't ask your name because I thought if I knew who you were, I’d ruin you.” He let out a harsh, self-deprecating laugh. “And then I threw you out of my house four months later anyway.”

Layla swallowed hard. “Celeste’s shoes... the decanter... I didn't drop that tray because I was clumsy, Dominic.”

Dominic’s eyes narrowed instantly. “What do you mean?”

“Celeste tripped me,” Layla revealed, her eyes hardening with remembered indignation. “She dropped a flash drive under your desk while you were in New York. When I reached down to sweep the rug, she kicked my heel with her umbrella tip so I’d drop the tray and get fired before I could see what was on that drive.”

Dominic stood up slowly, the temperature in the room dropping twenty degrees in a single second.

“A flash drive,” Dominic repeated, his voice dangerously low.

“A small red drive with a silver casing,” Layla nodded. “And two days ago, someone cleared my father’s $42,000 hospital bill from an offshore account in the Caymans. They wanted me to stay quiet.”

Dominic closed his eyes for three seconds, taking a deep, calculated breath.

When he opened them, the darkness inside them was complete.

“Matteo!” he barked toward the doorway.

The heavy oak door opened instantly. Matteo stood in the hallway, his expression tense.

“Boss?”

“Bring Celeste Rossi back to Chicago,” Dominic ordered, his voice cold enough to freeze blood. “And tell my brother to open the vault in the basement study.”