Chapter 3 - A CHANCE ENCOUNTER IN THE FREEZING RAIN
Dominic stepped further into the diner, his heavy leather shoes squeaking faintly against the wet linoleum. The sheer magnetism of his presence seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the room. The elderly cook in the back kitchen stopped scraping the grill. The only sound was the rhythmic thumping of the freezing rain against the glass and the roaring of Layla’s own pulse in her ears.
She took a step back, her spine hitting the edge of the Formica table. Her instinct was to run, to hide in the walk-in freezer, to disappear into the Chicago night. But her pregnant body was heavy, cumbersome, and exhausted. There was nowhere to go.
"Layla," Dominic said. Her name sounded foreign on his tongue. When she worked for him, she had been 'the maid,' 'the girl,' 'you.' Hearing him speak her given name, laced with a dangerous mixture of shock and dawning realization, sent a fresh wave of terror through her veins.
He closed the distance between them with slow, deliberate, predatory steps. His enforcers remained by the door, blocking the only exit.
Dominic stopped three feet away from her. The scent of expensive cologne, rain, and the faint, familiar trace of whiskey hit her senses, dragging her violently back to the memory of the library. He didn't look at her face. His dark, intense eyes were entirely fixated on her stomach.
"You..." His voice was barely a whisper, a rare fracture in his usually impenetrable composure. He did the math. The calculations flashed across his sharp features. The masquerade gala in August. The fainting spell in November. It was late February. Six months.
"Mr. Gallow," Layla managed to choke out, her hands instinctively coming up to cross over her belly in a desperate, futile gesture of protection. "What are you doing here?"
"My car broke down three blocks away," Dominic murmured, his eyes still locked on her apron. "An engine fault in a brand-new armored Maybach. I stepped in here to wait for the extraction team." He finally raised his gaze to meet her terrified eyes. The cold indifference that had defined their last interaction was gone, replaced by a storm of dark, possessive fury. "It seems fate has a twisted sense of humor."
"There's nothing for you here," Layla said, her voice shaking. She tried to step around him, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. "I have tables to clean. If you want coffee, I can get you a cup, but please... leave me alone."
Dominic's hand shot out, his long, powerful fingers wrapping around her wrist. His grip was not painful, but it was absolutely immovable. The heat of his touch burned through her cheap uniform.
"Don't lie to me," he commanded, his voice dropping to a lethal octave. "Don't you dare lie to me, Layla. Are you carrying my child?"
"No!" she blurted out, the panic overriding her common sense. "No, it's not yours. I have a... a boyfriend. It's his."
Dominic’s jaw clenched, a muscle feathering wildly beneath his cheekbone. He took a step closer, crowding her against the table, his sheer size overwhelming her. "I have eyes all over this city, Layla. I know you had no one before you worked for me, and I know damn well you haven't had the time or the money to find someone since I threw you out. You were a virgin that night in the library. I tasted it on your skin. I felt it."
He leaned down, his face mere inches from hers, his breath ghosting over her trembling lips. "Tell me the truth, or I will have my men drag every medical record in this city out of the archives by morning. Are. They. Mine?"
The babies chose that exact moment to turn, a synchronized, heavy roll against the walls of her womb. Layla gasped, a tear slipping down her cheek. The lie collapsed in her throat. She couldn't deny it anymore.
"Twins," she whispered, her voice breaking. "It's twins. And yes. They're yours."
Dominic closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. A harsh, shuddering breath escaped his chest. When he opened his eyes again, the storm had settled into a terrifying, icy resolve.
"Get your coat," he ordered, releasing her wrist.
"What? No. I'm working. I can't just leave—"
"You don't work here anymore," Dominic snapped, pulling out his phone. "You belong to me now. Those are my heirs you are carrying in a filthy diner surrounded by junkies. You are coming with me right now."
"I am not a piece of property!" Layla shouted, her maternal instinct flaring, giving her a sudden, desperate courage. "You fired me! You threw money at me while I was bleeding on your floor! You are engaged to Camilla Rossi! You can't just walk back into my life and claim us!"
Before Dominic could respond, the front window of the diner exploded.
A shower of shattered safety glass rained down over the booths as the deafening roar of automatic gunfire ripped through the freezing night. Dominic reacted with terrifying, preternatural speed. He lunged forward, wrapping his massive arms around Layla and tackling her to the floor, shielding her pregnant body entirely beneath his own heavily muscled frame.
The two enforcers at the door drew their weapons instantly, returning fire into the dark, rainy street, but they were outgunned. One of them took a bullet to the shoulder and fell backward over a stool.
"Stay down!" Dominic roared over the deafening cacophony of shattering plates and screaming metal. He drew a matte-black pistol from the holster beneath his arm, his eyes blazing with the cold, lethal fury of a mafia boss under siege.
They weren't aiming for him. The realization hit Dominic like a physical blow as he watched the trajectory of the bullets chewing through the diner counter. The shooters outside weren't concentrating their fire on his guards or his position. They were sweeping the area where Layla had just been standing.
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Someone had found out. Someone knew about the twins. And they had come to erase the threat.
"We have to move, now!" Dominic grabbed Layla's arm, hauling her up into a crouch. He dragged her toward the kitchen, firing three precise, devastating shots over the counter to lay down suppressing fire. Layla sobbed in sheer terror, clutching her stomach, entirely dependent on the man she had sworn to stay away from as he dragged her into the deadly, violent underworld she had desperately tried to escape.
