Chapter 1
A single mistake ended Layla Bennett’s livelihood.
Dominic Gallo discarded her as though she were worthless, unaware that the maid he had just dismissed was carrying the one thing he desperately needed: the continuation of his bloodline.
She was carrying 2 of his children.
The sprawling penthouse overlooking the Chicago skyline was silent apart from the rhythmic movement of a vintage grandfather clock and the scratching of a fountain pen against paper.
Dominic sat behind a massive mahogany desk.
To the public, he was a ruthless real estate developer, a self-made billionaire with an unforgiving grip on Chicago’s commercial property market.
To the men who worked for him in the shadows, he was the architect of the city’s underground port operations and the head of the Gallo crime syndicate.
Layla kept her eyes fixed on the imported marble floor.
Her hands, roughened by bleach and hot water, held the handle of a cleaning cart.
She was 23 years old and overwhelmed by the medical debt left behind after her father’s death. Employment inside Dominic Gallo’s home paid exceptionally well, provided the employee understood how to remain invisible.
For Layla, invisibility had become increasingly difficult.
A sharp wave of nausea passed through her.
She closed her eyes and waited for the dizziness to recede.
The illness came from the secret she had concealed for 3 months, a secret growing heavier inside her each day.
Three months earlier, the Gallo Syndicate had held its annual masquerade charity gala.
The catering staff had been severely understaffed, and Layla had been ordered to exchange her maid’s apron for a server’s uniform and a gilded Venetian mask.
Late that evening, she left the crowded ballroom in search of several quiet minutes and entered Dominic’s private library.
She did not expect to find him there.
Dominic had been drinking heavily. The possibility of a territorial war with the rival Moretti family had placed increasing pressure on him.
In the dim library, with Layla’s face concealed behind the detailed mask, he did not recognize his quiet maid.
He saw only a woman.
The encounter was immediate, reckless, and intensely physical, a collision between 2 people attempting to escape separate nightmares.
Dominic made dark and desperate promises against her skin.
For that single night, Layla was not an indebted servant cleaning the home of a powerful man.
She was someone he desired.
Before dawn, she slipped from the library while he slept and returned alone to the servants’ quarters with the secret of what had happened between them.
“Are you going to polish that silver, or do you intend to stand there breathing my air all morning?”
Dominic’s cold voice pulled her back into the office.
Layla flinched.
Her trembling fingers closed around the antique silver tray she had been assigned to clean.
“I am sorry, Mr. Gallo. I will finish it immediately.”
She moved forward.
The room tilted.
Another wave of morning sickness rose violently, and dark spots spread across her vision.
Her heel caught the edge of the Persian rug.
The heavy tray fell from her hands and struck the floor with a deafening crash. Its sharp edge hit a crystal decanter on a nearby table.
The glass shattered.
Scotch spread over the carpet and splashed across the hem of a designer dress.
“Watch what you are doing, you clumsy idiot.”
Celeste Rossi had just entered the office.
She was the daughter of a prominent New York crime boss and Dominic’s strategic fiancée. She stared at her damaged Prada shoes with open disgust.
Layla dropped to her knees.
“I am sorry, Ms. Rossi. I will clean it immediately. I became dizzy for a moment.”
“Dizzy?”
Celeste moved closer and looked down at her.
“Dominic, why do you employ addicts from the street? Look at her. She is pale, shaking, and smells of inexpensive soap.”
Her mouth twisted.
“She probably arrived intoxicated.”
Dominic rose slowly.
He did not examine the broken crystal or Celeste’s shoes.
His dark, calculating eyes remained on Layla as she attempted to absorb the spilled liquor with a cloth. Tears of panic gathered in her eyes.
Dominic despised incompetence.
He despised distractions inside his private space even more.
“Leave it.”
He did not raise his voice, but the edge beneath it made the hair rise along Layla’s arms.
She stopped and looked up.
“Mr. Gallo, please. I can repair this. I have only been feeling unwell.”
“I do not pay you to feel well. I pay you to perform flawlessly.”
Dominic came around the desk and stopped inches from her.
At that distance, his size and authority were suffocating.
“This is the second time this week that you have been unable to function.”
His expression hardened.
“You are a liability. Liabilities are removed from my home.”
“Please.”
A sob caught in Layla’s throat.
One hand moved instinctively over her lower abdomen.
“I need this position. My father’s hospital bills and the debt—”
Celeste laughed.
“Do you believe Dominic operates a charity?”
She looked toward him.
“Throw her out, Dom.”
Dominic reached into his jacket and removed a thick money clip.
He separated several $100 bills and allowed them to fall beside the shattered glass.
“Take the severance and collect your belongings.”
He turned away from Layla.
“If you remain on the property in 30 minutes, my men will remove you by force.”
Layla stared at the cash.
It was an insult, a cold dismissal delivered by the father of the 2 children developing inside her.
She wanted to tell him.
She wanted to reveal the pregnancy and watch the detached expression collapse when he understood that he was forcing his own children into the street.
Then Layla looked at Celeste’s triumphant smile.
If Dominic learned about the babies, he might take them.
He was the head of a criminal organization. He could remove the children from her and raise them inside his violent world while discarding her anyway.
Layla swallowed her pride.
She collected the money with a shaking hand, stood, and left without another word.
She walked out of the office, the penthouse, and Dominic Gallo’s life.
Four months passed.
Winter settled over Chicago with brutal force, covering the city beneath dirty gray snow.
Dominic’s businesses continued to prosper, but his personal life became an empty echo.
Celeste moved her possessions into the penthouse and brought with them a combination of constant demands and shallow political alliances.
Dominic remained restless.
He was haunted not by the memory of an enemy he had ordered buried, but by the woman in the Venetian mask.
For months, he tried to identify her.
He questioned the catering company, examined the guest lists, and reviewed the limited security recordings from the gala.
The woman appeared to have vanished.
The only evidence that the night had occurred was a small and inexpensive silver locket Dominic discovered tangled in the library sofa sheets the following morning.
It was tarnished and shaped like a bird.
Late one Thursday, Dominic sat alone in the dark office with a glass of whiskey.
Matteo, his scarred and fiercely loyal underboss, knocked once and entered.
“The Moretti shipments were intercepted at the docks,” Matteo said, placing a file on the desk. “We also acquired the security footage from the South Side warehouse.”
His expression remained hard.
“The traitors will not create another problem.”
“Good.”
Dominic did not look up.
The bird-shaped locket rested in his palm.
Matteo remained near the desk.
“You are still staring at that object?”
He shook his head.
“Let it go. She was a single night with a stranger, probably a criminal who realized she could not extort you.”
“She did not attempt to extort me.”
Dominic’s voice was quiet.
“She simply left.”
Frustrated, he opened another drawer and removed an old tablet containing archived security recordings from the gala.
He had watched the grainy hallway footage countless times.
Dominic advanced the recording to the early morning.
The masked woman emerged from the library, holding her dress against her body.
He paused the video and enlarged the image.
Then he rewound it and selected the camera positioned inside the servants’ corridor.
The woman hurried along the hallway and disappeared through the doors of the staff locker room.
Dominic’s heart struck violently.
He advanced the recording by 20 minutes.
The masked woman never emerged.
Layla Bennett did.
She wore her ordinary gray maid’s uniform. Her hair had been tied back hastily.
As she adjusted the collar, the camera captured a silver chain at her neck.
A bird-shaped locket hung from it.
Dominic stopped breathing.
The whiskey glass fell from his hand and shattered against the floor, repeating the sound from the day he dismissed her.
“Matteo.”
His voice became a dangerous whisper.
“The maid. Layla Bennett. The one I fired 4 months ago.”
Matteo looked confused.
“The clumsy employee Celeste disliked?”
“Find her.”
Dominic stood so quickly that the chair scraped violently against the floor.
“Find her now. Tear the city apart if necessary.”
He looked directly at Matteo.
“Bring me her address.”
Matteo’s network located Layla in less than 3 hours.
She was not living in a comfortable apartment.
She had moved into a deteriorating tenement in Pilsen, an area known for gang affiliates and people with nowhere else to go.
It was after midnight when Dominic’s black SUV stopped outside a dimly lit 24-hour diner.
Rain covered the street.
Matteo remained behind the wheel.
“Are you certain about this? We are inside Moretti territory without a full security detail.”
“I do not care.”
Dominic left the vehicle and entered the freezing rain.
Through the greasy, fogged window, he could see only a cook near the rear and a waitress cleaning a booth.
It was Layla.
She looked exhausted, pale, and thin.
None of that was what stopped Dominic.
Her abdomen pressed heavily against her apron.
She was deep into the third trimester.
Approximately 7 months pregnant.
The calculation struck him like a blow.
Seven months earlier had been the masquerade gala.
Before he could approach the entrance, 2 men entered the diner.
Dominic recognized them as low-level Moretti enforcers, unstable men who collected debts by breaking fingers.
They cornered Layla beside a booth.
The heavier man, who had a tattoo across his neck, seized her arm and pointed a finger near her face.
Layla recoiled and covered her abdomen with her free hand while pleading with them.
Rage moved through Dominic.
It was territorial, primitive, and unlike anything he had experienced.
The woman was his.
The children were his.
Dominic did not signal Matteo.
He kicked the diner entrance open hard enough to fracture the glass.
The small bell above it produced a weak sound.
Both Moretti men turned.
“We are closed,” the tattooed man said.
His hand moved toward the weapon beneath his jacket.
“Leave.”
Dominic moved before the man could draw.
He seized him by the throat and drove his head into the edge of the Formica table.
Bone broke audibly.
The man collapsed.
The second enforcer drew a handgun.
Dominic caught his wrist and twisted until the weapon struck the linoleum. A single punch to the jaw sent him backward into a rack of dirty dishes.
Silence returned.
The men groaned on the floor.
Dominic stood in the center of the diner, breathing heavily.
Layla remained against the wall with terror in her eyes.
She looked from the fallen men to Dominic.
He turned toward her.
His gaze moved from her face to the curve beneath her apron.
“Layla.”
His voice was raw and stripped of its usual control.
He took a slow step forward.
“Tell me.”
Layla shook her head as tears passed over her lashes.
She pressed herself farther against the wall.
“Stay away from me.”
“Tell me.”
The command contained desperation.
Dominic indicated her stomach.
“Are they mine?”
Layla raised her chin.
Maternal instinct momentarily overcame her fear.
“I do not understand what you mean, Mr. Gallo.”
Her voice became bitter.
“You dismissed me. You threw money onto the floor and called me a liability.”
“Do not lie.”
Dominic moved closer.
His bruised, blood-covered knuckles hovered several inches from her abdomen.
He did not yet dare to touch her.
“The masquerade. The library.”
His eyes held hers.
“It was you.”
A sob escaped Layla.
The secret she had carried for 7 months began to break.
“Yes.”
She covered her stomach.
“It was me.”
Her expression hardened.
“But they are not yours anymore. You made that clear when you discarded me.”
“They?”
Dominic caught the word.
His eyes widened slightly.
Layla wiped a tear away.
“Twins.”
She looked directly at him.
“I am carrying twins, Dominic.”
Her voice remained firm.
“You will never take them from me.”
The word remained between them.
Dominic Gallo, a man who could determine the future of entire neighborhoods with a telephone call, stood motionless.
“Twins.”
He repeated it quietly.
For the first time since dismissing Layla, he looked at her completely.
Her ankles were swollen. Her skin was pale. One hand shook as she held the edge of the booth to remain upright.
Guilt struck him with physical force.
He had dismissed her while she carried his children.
He had forced her into a city where men like those on the floor hunted vulnerable people.
“Layla.”
His voice softened in a way almost never heard from the man known as the Chicago Butcher.
May you like
“I did not know.”
“You did not ask.”
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