"The Billionaire Mafia Boss Fired His Maid Over One Shattered Glass, but the Twins Beneath Her Heart Exposed the Fiancée Who Had Already Chosen His Grave

The penthouse had changed since Layla had worked there as a maid. The broad glass windows were now retrofitted with heavy ballistic glass. The elevators required biometric scans, and four armed guards in dark suits stood stationed in the grand foyer twenty-four hours a day.

Layla stood in the center of the vast living room, clutching her small brown paper bag containing her few meager belongings—a change of clothes, her father's silver bird-shaped locket, and her worn pregnancy journal.

A high-end private doctor, a stern woman named Dr. Evelyn Vance, had already spent two hours examining Layla in the master bedroom, setting up IV fluids for severe dehydration, prescribing bed rest, and running advanced 4D ultrasound scans.

"The twins are remarkably resilient, Mr. Gallow," Dr. Vance had informed Dominic in the hallway while Layla listened through the cracked door. "A boy and a girl. But Miss Bennett is severely malnourished and exhausted. High stress or further physical exertion could trigger premature labor. She needs absolute peace, high-protein nutrition, and zero stress."

"She will have whatever she needs," Dominic had replied curtly. "Set up a full medical suite on this floor. You stay on call 24/7."

Now, Dominic walked into the living room, stripping off his suit jacket and rolling up his white shirt sleeves. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes deeper than before, but the raw, dark energy radiating from him was palpable.

"Your old maid quarters have been cleared out," Dominic said, pointing toward the sweeping marble staircase leading to the upper floor master suites. "You'll be staying in the primary guest suite. It has a balcony, a private bath, and its own heating controls."

Layla didn't move toward the stairs. She stood her ground, her small frame looking fragile against the grand Italian furniture.

"I don't want your master suite, Dominic," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "I don't want your luxury. I want to know what is going on."

Dominic paused, turning to face her. He walked over to the bar, poured himself two fingers of whiskey, but hesitated before raising it to his lips. Looking at her, he set the glass back down onto the counter without taking a sip.

"Victoria Moretti played a long game," Dominic said slowly. "Our engagement was a political truce. The Gallow family controls the shipping yards and commercial real estate; the Moretti family controls the unions and the city council. The merger was supposed to seal an alliance that would make both our families untouchable."

"And now?" Layla asked.

"Now, Victoria realized that an illegitimate child—let alone twins—born to a former maid would ruin her status and split my family's estate," Dominic replied, his voice darkening. "She doesn't just want you dead, Layla. She wants my bloodline wiped clean so that when we marry, her family inherits everything. And if I step out of line, she plans to use her father's assassins to execute a takeover."

Layla felt a cold shiver run down her spine. "She wants to kill you, too?"

"Eventually," Dominic admitted with a cold, dark smile that didn't reach his eyes. "She believes I'm blind to her games. She thinks I still intend to walk down the aisle with her in six weeks."

Layla squeezed her hands together. "Why bring me here, then? If I'm a target, keeping me near you makes me even more dangerous to her!"

Dominic took three swift strides toward her, closing the distance between them until he was standing right over her. He reached out, his warm, large hands unexpectedly coming to rest on either side of her swollen waist. Layla gasped, her heart jumping into her throat, but she didn't pull back.

"Because no one touches what is mine," Dominic growled softly, his thumb tracing the curve of her belly through her thin sweater. He looked down at her stomach, his expression shifting from ruthless mob boss to something raw, fiercely possessive, and terrified. "I missed four months of their lives, Layla. I missed hearing their hearts beat. I missed protecting you when you were shivering in that damned rain. I won't miss another second."

"Dominic..." Layla whispered, tears stinging her eyes. "You fired me. You didn't care."

"I was a fool," he admitted, his gray eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "I saw a maid dropping a glass, and I let my arrogance cloud my eyes. I didn't see the woman who had conquered my thoughts since August. I didn't see the mother of my children."

He lowered his head until his forehead rested lightly against hers. The scent of rain, cedar, and heat surrounded her.

"You are safe here, Layla," he whispered against her skin. "I will tear this city apart before I let Victoria or the Morettis touch a single hair on your head."

Before Layla could digest his words, a sharp electronic buzz echoed through the penthouse foyer.

Dominic instantly pulled back, his face instantly hardening back into a mask of iron. His chief head of security, a scarred veteran named Marcus, stepped into the living room, his face pale.

"Boss," Marcus said, keeping his voice low. "We have a problem downstairs. Victoria Moretti just entered the private elevator. She brought her father's chief Enforcer with her. She says she's here to discuss the wedding flowers."

Layla gasped, backing away.