Chapter 3 - Shadows at the DinerThe rain had turned into a thick, sludgy snow by two in the morning. O'Malley's Diner was nearly empty, save for an off-duty truck driver sleeping in a corner booth and the rhythmic ticking of the grease-stained clock above the register.
Layla wiped down the laminate counter with a damp rag, her breathing shallow. Her back felt as though it were being pinched by hot pliers. The twins were active tonight, kicking violently against her ribs as if sensing her exhaustion.
"Shh, little ones," she whispered softy, resting her hand over her apron. "Just a few more minutes, then we can go home and rest."
Suddenly, the bell above the front door chimed.
A blast of freezing air rushed into the warm, grease-scented diner, bringing with it the crunch of heavy leather boots on slush. Layla didn't look up immediately. "Take any seat, sir, kitchen closes in ten—"
She froze.
The scent hit her first—expensive tobacco, refined cedarwood, and the crisp, unmistakable chill of high-end cologne. It was a scent that didn't belong within ten miles of this diner.
Layla raised her head slowly.
Standing in the doorway, towering over the grimy vinyl booths, was Dominic Gallow.
He wore a tailored dark charcoal cashmere overcoat that dropped past his knees, tailored trousers, and leather boots that looked entirely pristine despite the slush outside. Behind him, visible through the diner's foggy glass windows, two massive black SUVs sat idling in the dark, their exhaust pipes belching thick white clouds into the freezing night. Four burly men in tactical coats stood guard on the sidewalk.
Dominic’s icy gray eyes swept over the dingy diner before locking onto Layla.
His eyes dropped immediately to her waist.
To the massive swell beneath her stained apron.
Layla felt the blood drain entirely from her face. Her grip on the damp rag tightened until her knuckles turned white. Fear, sharp and instinctual, spiked through her veins.
"You..." Layla gasped, taking a involuntary step backward until her spine hit the metal coffee machine. "What are you doing here?"
Dominic didn't answer right away. He walked forward, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet diner. He stopped right at the counter, only two feet separating them. Up close, Layla could see the dark shadows beneath his eyes, the hard line of his jawline, and the sheer power that radiated off him like heat from a furnace.
"Four months, Layla," Dominic said. His voice was low, gravelly, and terrifyingly calm. "I spent four months thinking you were just a careless servant."
Layla swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs so violently she was sure he could see it. "I don't work for you anymore, Mr. Gallow. You fired me, remember? You threw money at my feet and told me to get out."
"You didn't take the money," Dominic noted quietly, his eyes lingering on her face, noting the exhaustion, the dark circles under her eyes, and the thinness of her arms compared to the large curve of her belly. "Why didn't you take it?"
"Because I have pride!" Layla snapped, her fear suddenly turning into a spark of furious defiance. "I don't take charity from men who treat people like garbage. Now please leave. The diner is closing."
Dominic slowly reached into his inner coat pocket. Layla flinched, but he didn't draw a weapon. Instead, he placed a white paper printout onto the greasy counter between them.
It was an ultrasound scan. Her ultrasound scan from the free clinic.
Layla's breath caught in her throat. "Where did you get that?"
"I have resources," Dominic said, stepping even closer, forcing her to look up into his dark eyes. "The night of the gala. The Venetian mask. The gold silk ribbon." He reached out, his long fingers gently picking up a strand of her dark hair that had escaped her messy bun. "It was you."
Layla flinched away from his touch, her stomach churning. "It doesn't matter who it was. It was a mistake."
"A mistake?" Dominic's voice dropped an octave, dripping with a cold, possessive fury. "You are carrying my heirs, Layla. Two Gallow children. Growing inside you while you work sixteen-hour shifts in a dump that smells of old grease, getting paid under the table while shivering in a freezing rain."
"They are MY children!" Layla shouted, her voice shaking with emotion as tears finally overflowed, trailing down her red cheeks. "You threw me out! You didn't care if I starved! You didn't even ask if I was okay when I almost fainted on your floor!"
"I didn't KNOW!" Dominic growled, slamming his palm onto the counter with enough force to make the coffee cups rattle.
The truck driver in the corner stirred, looking up sleepily. "Hey, lady, this guy bothering you?"
Before the driver could even slide out of his booth, the diner's front door burst open. Two of Dominic’s armored bodyguards stepped inside, their hands resting ominously inside their heavy coats. The truck driver took one look at the broad shoulders, the tailored suits, and the subtle bulge of shoulder holsters, and immediately sat back down, shutting his mouth.
Dominic didn't even look back at the driver. His eyes remained locked on Layla.
"You're coming with me," Dominic said, his tone leaving zero room for negotiation. "Pack your things."
"No!" Layla cried out, pressing herself harder against the coffee machine. "I'm not going anywhere with you! I don't trust you, Dominic! You're a mobster, a criminal! I won't bring my babies into your world!"
Dominic took a slow breath, trying to regain his composure, but his jaw remained tightly clenched. "Layla, look at yourself. You're pale, you're exhausted, and you're living in a neighborhood controlled by street gangs. Do you think you're safe here?"
"I've been fine for four months!"
"You HAVEN'T been fine!" Dominic rasped, reaching over the counter and grabbing her hand. His grip was warm, firm, but surprisingly careful, avoiding squeezing her swollen wrist. "You think you hid this from me? Someone else found out before I did, Layla. Do you understand what that means?"
Layla froze. "What... what are you talking about?"
Dominic leaned in, his gray eyes burning with an icy, protective rage. "The Moretti family knows. Victoria Moretti knows. Pictures of you were sent to my house, but they didn't come from my security team. They came from a rival hitman who was paid to track you down."
May you like
Layla's blood turned to ice. "Victoria... your fiancée?"
"Yes," Dominic spat out the word with utter contempt. "If I hadn't found you tonight, Layla, Victoria's men would have made sure you and my babies never woke up tomorrow morning. Now get your coat. You're coming home."
