Chapter 9 - The House No One GuardedThe farmhouse did not have marble floors.
It did not have an elevator.
It did not have bulletproof windows.
The kitchen faucet leaked.
The upstairs floor creaked.
A faded ceramic rooster stood on the windowsill.
Dominic hated it.
Layla loved it immediately.
“This door could be opened with a screwdriver.”
“Then do not tell Moretti.”
“The windows are ancient.”
“They are charming.”
“They are structurally offensive.”
“You own skyscrapers. You will survive.”
Dominic looked at the floral curtains as though they had personally insulted his bloodline.
Elijah slept in Layla’s arms.
Lucia slept against Dominic’s chest.
The twins were thirty-six days old.
After nearly a month in neonatal care, both babies had finally gained enough weight to leave the hospital.
The transfer had worked.
Moretti surveillance followed the false convoy north.
Meanwhile, Layla left through a service entrance wearing a nurse’s coat.
The babies traveled separately with a trusted neonatal nurse.
Dominic drove a used pickup truck for the final thirty miles.
Layla had never seen him look more offended.
“You spent fifteen minutes adjusting the seat.”
“It was designed for a smaller species.”
“It was a Ford.”
“Exactly.”
Now they were hidden in rural Wisconsin.
Mrs. Alvarez had agreed to let them use the farmhouse without asking many questions.
She believed Layla’s wealthy fiancé wanted privacy after a difficult pregnancy.
That explanation was technically true.
Matteo positioned six men throughout the surrounding area.
None stayed inside.
Layla insisted.
For the first time, she and Dominic were living beneath a roof without armed guards in the hallway.
The experience changed them.
Dominic woke when Elijah cried.
Layla woke when Lucia cried.
Sometimes both babies cried.
Then everyone woke.
At three in the morning, mafia hierarchies became irrelevant.
Dominic learned to warm bottles.
He learned that babies could produce impossible quantities of laundry.
He learned that expensive suits attracted spit-up.
He stopped wearing them.
Layla found him one morning standing in the kitchen wearing gray sweatpants and holding Lucia against his bare chest.
The sight almost made her laugh.
“What?”
“You look normal.”
Dominic frowned.
“Insulting.”
“You are making coffee with a baby.”
“She refused to sleep.”
“She likes movement.”
“I walked four kilometers through this kitchen.”
“Inside the kitchen?”
“Approximately.”
Layla approached.
Lucia opened her eyes.
“She has you completely controlled.”
Dominic looked down.
“That appears to be a genetic Gallo weakness.”
He kissed their daughter’s forehead.
Layla’s heart tightened.
She had expected motherhood to make her vulnerable.
She had not expected happiness to feel equally dangerous.
Every ordinary moment created something she could lose.
Dominic seemed to understand.
He never spoke about it directly.
But sometimes Layla woke and found him standing beside the twins’ bassinets simply watching them breathe.
The war continued through telephone calls.
Matteo visited every few days.
Carlo Vescari remained missing.
Moretti attacks on Gallo businesses slowed.
That worried Dominic more than open violence.
“Silence means preparation.”
They sat around the farmhouse kitchen table.
Matteo had brought intelligence reports.
“Or fear,” Layla suggested.
“Salvatore Moretti does not frighten easily.”
“Neither do you.”
“I am frightened constantly now.”
She looked at him.
Dominic said it casually.
The admission still surprised her.
Matteo unfolded a map.
“Carlo accessed three storage facilities before disappearing.”
“What did he take?”
“Cash. Weapons. Passports.”
“Anything else?”
“One sealed family archive.”
Dominic became still.
“Which archive?”
“Your father’s.”
The room changed.
“What was inside?”
“Old agreements. Property records. Correspondence.”
“The succession contract?”
“Possibly the original.”
Dominic swore.
Layla rocked Elijah gently.
“Why does the original matter?”
“Because legal proof of the guardianship clause strengthens Moretti’s claim if anything happens to me.”
“Then nothing happens to you.”
Dominic looked at her.
Matteo continued.
“There may be another reason.”
He placed a photograph on the table.
It showed Salvatore Moretti leaving a church in Chicago.
Beside him walked Carlo.
“So he is alive,” Dominic said.
“Yes.”
“Location?”
“Unknown after this photograph.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
Dominic stood.
“I am going back.”
Layla’s stomach tightened.
“To Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
His eyes met hers.
This time she knew he would not surrender.
“Layla.”
“You promised decisions would consider us.”
“They do.”
“Then explain.”
Dominic came closer.
“If Carlo has my father’s archive, Moretti possesses information capable of threatening Elijah and Lucia for decades.”
“They are babies.”
“Exactly.”
His voice softened.
“I will not leave them a war as inheritance.”
Layla understood the reasoning.
She hated it anyway.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“How long?”
“As long as necessary.”
“No.”
“Layla—”
“We come with you.”
His face became almost comical.
“Absolutely not.”
“I am not staying in Wisconsin wondering whether you are alive.”
“You are safer here.”
“Until someone discovers us.”
“They will not.”
“You do not know that.”
“I know Moretti believes you are at the Lake Forest estate.”
“Carlo knew how you think.”
Dominic paused.
Layla continued.
“He worked beside you for fourteen years.”
“Yes.”
“He knows you would eventually realize your properties are compromised.”
“Yes.”
“He knows Matteo.”
“Yes.”
“He may not know me.”
Dominic looked at her.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Stop making every plan yourself.”
“I involve Matteo.”
“Matteo thinks like you.”
Matteo looked offended.
“I am significantly more charming.”
Layla ignored him.
“What would Moretti expect?”
Dominic considered.
“He expects me to return to Chicago.”
“Exactly.”
“With force.”
“Yes.”
“He will prepare.”
“Yes.”
Layla looked toward the map.
“So do not return as Dominic Gallo.”
Dominic frowned.
“I am unfortunately recognizable.”
“Then do not go where he is watching.”
She pointed toward Pilsen.
“My old neighborhood.”
“No.”
“You say no frequently.”
“It saves time.”
“Moretti watched me there before.”
“Yes.”
“But after you found me, why would he continue watching an empty apartment?”
Dominic became thoughtful.
Layla continued.
“People there remember everything.”
“Meaning?”
“The men who threatened me at the diner did not find me by accident.”
Dominic’s expression darkened.
“I know.”
“Someone told them where I worked.”
“Yes.”
“I assumed it was debt collection.”
“What debt?”
“My father’s hospital debt.”
Dominic stared.
“You never mentioned collectors.”
“You never asked.”
The words echoed from their first confrontation.
This time Dominic did not become defensive.
“Tell me now.”
Layla explained.
After her father died, part of the debt had been sold to aggressive collection agencies.
Most were legal.
Some were not.
Two men visited her apartment repeatedly.
They knew where she worked.
When she lost the penthouse job, they increased pressure.
Eventually the Moretti enforcers appeared at the diner.
Dominic listened.
“What company?”
“Lakefront Recovery Services.”
Matteo immediately searched.
His face changed.
“Dominic.”
“What?”
“It is owned through a Moretti shell.”
Layla became cold.
“They purchased my father’s debt.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Dominic understood.
“To control you.”
Moretti had not simply watched her pregnancy.
They had engineered her desperation.
Kept her poor.
Kept her accessible.
Perhaps even directed the enforcers into the diner expecting something to happen.
Dominic had arrived unexpectedly.
Or had he?
“Security footage,” Layla whispered.
“What?”
“The night you found me.”
Dominic looked at Matteo.
“The Moretti men entered minutes before me.”
Matteo’s face hardened.
“They could have known you were coming.”
Dominic stood motionless.
Someone had manipulated both sides.
The attack in the diner had triggered Dominic’s protective response.
It revealed publicly that Layla mattered.
Perhaps that had been the intention.
Moretti needed proof Dominic would acknowledge the children.
Without his acknowledgment, succession claims became more difficult.
“They wanted me to claim you,” Dominic said.
Layla felt sick.
“The diner was theater.”
“Yes.”
“They frightened me so you would reveal yourself.”
“Yes.”
Dominic’s anger became silent.
“They have been directing us for months.”
Layla looked down at Elijah.
His tiny mouth moved in sleep.
“No more.”
Dominic looked at her.
“What?”
“No more reacting.”
She handed Elijah to Matteo.
He looked terrified.
“I handle firearms.”
“You can handle a baby.”
“That assumption is unsupported.”
Layla stood.
“We go back to the beginning.”
“What beginning?”
“The diner.”
Within twenty-four hours, Matteo’s men quietly located everyone who had worked at the diner that winter.
One former cook remembered something strange.
The Moretti enforcers had visited twice before Dominic’s arrival.
They had never touched Layla.
They simply watched.
On the final night, a man called the diner shortly before the confrontation.
He asked whether Layla was working.
The caller used a false name.
But the number remained in an old telephone bill.
Matteo traced it.
Not Moretti.
Not Rossi.
Carlo Vescari.
The betrayal had begun long before the penthouse attack.
Carlo had orchestrated the diner confrontation.
Carlo had fed Moretti information.
Carlo had manipulated Dominic into publicly revealing Layla and the unborn heirs.
“Why?” Layla asked.
They were back around the farmhouse table.
Dominic stared at Carlo’s photograph.
“He wants something.”
“Money?”
“He had money.”
“Power?”
“He had power.”
Matteo spoke quietly.
“Revenge.”
Dominic looked at him.
Matteo continued.
“Carlo’s older brother.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
Layla waited.
“What happened?”
“Twenty years ago,” Matteo said, “Dominic’s father believed Marco Vescari betrayed the family.”
“He was executed,” Dominic finished.
“Was he guilty?”
Dominic remained silent.
Matteo answered.
“No one knew for certain.”
Layla understood.
“Carlo has spent fourteen years close to you because he blames your family.”
“Possibly.”
“No,” Dominic said slowly.
“He does.”
Memory shifted behind his eyes.
Small moments.
Carlo asking about old records.
Carlo volunteering for security duties.
Carlo becoming indispensable.
A man waiting patiently.
Fourteen years for revenge.
Dominic’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone froze.
He answered.
“Gallo.”
Carlo Vescari’s voice came through.
“Congratulations on the children.”
Dominic’s face emptied.
“Carlo.”
Layla felt cold.
“I wondered how long it would take you.”
“Where are you?”
Carlo laughed.
“You still ask questions as though the world must answer.”
Dominic activated speakerphone.
Carlo continued.
“Your father asked my brother questions too.”
“What do you want?”
“The truth.”
“About Marco?”
“About everything.”
Dominic’s hand tightened.
“I have the archive,” Carlo said.
“I know.”
“I also have proof your father lied.”
Dominic became still.
“What proof?”
“Marco never betrayed the Gallos.”
Silence.
“Your father knew.”
Dominic’s face changed.
“He killed my brother because Marco discovered something.”
“What?”
Carlo laughed softly.
“Come to Chicago.”
“Where?”
“The old Gallo packing house.”
Matteo shook his head immediately.
Trap.
Carlo continued.
“Midnight tomorrow.”
“Why would I come?”
“Because if you do not, Salvatore Moretti receives the archive.”
“That does not frighten me.”
“It should.”
Carlo paused.
“Because the documents do not only concern ports.”
Dominic waited.
“They concern your mother.”
Something inside him stopped.
Carlo’s voice lowered.
“Lucia Gallo did not die from cancer.”
Layla stared at Dominic.
His face had become white.
“She was murdered.”
The call ended.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Dominic looked toward his sleeping daughter.
The little girl carried his mother’s name.
A name he had believed belonged to a tragedy caused by illness.
May you like
Now a ghost from his father’s empire had returned.
And it was calling him home.
