Chapter 4 - The Lake House Secret
The sun was just beginning to pierce through the dense, fog-draped pine trees surrounding the isolated lake house when the black Mercedes crunched to a halt on the gravel driveway.
Penny woke with a start, the heavy wool blanket slipping from her shoulders. She blinked against the morning light, disoriented, realizing she had fallen asleep with her head resting comfortably against Vincent’s broad shoulder.
She flushed scarlet, quickly pulling away. “I... I’m sorry. I didn't mean to—”
“Don't apologize for being tired,” Vincent interrupted smoothly, shifting his weight as he opened the car door. The crisp, pine-scented morning air rushed into the vehicle. “We drove through the night. You needed the rest.”
Penny stepped out of the car, wrapping her coat tightly around herself, and stared in awe at her surroundings.
Unlike the sprawling, fortress-like mansion in Lake Forest, this house was built of dark timber and massive glass panels that overlooked a vast, mirror-flat lake shrouded in morning mist. It was secluded, beautiful, and utterly cut off from the chaos of the city.
“Is this yours?” Penny asked, her breath pluming in the cold air.
“A retreat,” Vincent said, leading her up the stone steps toward the heavy oak front door. “When the city gets too loud, or the business gets too dirty, this is where I come to think.”
Inside, the house was warm and minimalist, dominated by a massive stone fireplace, leather couches, and walls of windows that framed the breathtaking view of the water. Frankie had stayed behind in Chicago to manage the fallout and track Moretti’s movements, leaving Vincent and Penny completely alone.
Penny stood awkwardly by the entryway, clutching her canvas bag of clothes like a shield. “I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Marlow. For all of this. You didn't have to bring me here. You could have left me at the bakery.”
Vincent turned around, hanging his heavy coat on the rack by the door. He walked over to her, his dark eyes intense and unreadable.
“Stop calling me Mr. Marlow,” he said quietly. “My name is Vincent.”
Penny swallowed hard, her heart doing a strange, fluttering dance in her chest. “Vincent,” she repeated, testing the syllable on her tongue. It felt too intimate, too dangerous, like wearing someone else’s expensive ring.
“Good,” he said approvingly. He gestured toward a wide hallway. “Your room is at the end of the hall. There’s a hot shower, clean towels, and some clothes in the closet that should fit you. I had my housekeeper stock the place last week.”
Penny raised an eyebrow. “You keep women’s clothes in a secret lake house?”
Vincent’s lips twitched into a faint, amused smile. “My sister visits occasionally. Though, judging by the clothes, she’s about three inches taller than you, so you might swim in them.”
Penny felt a genuine smile break through her exhaustion for the first time in days. “I’m used to oversized clothes. It’s kind of my brand.”
Vincent’s gaze lingered on her for a beat too long, his dark eyes softening in a way that made Penny’s breath hitch. “You don't need to hide behind oversized clothes here, Penelope.”
Before she could process the weight of his words, Vincent turned away, walking toward the large kitchen overlooking the lake. “I’m going to make coffee. Go get cleaned up.”
An hour later, showered, changed into an oversized cashmere sweater that smelled faintly of vanilla and cedar, and with her honey-brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail, Penny walked into the kitchen.
The rich, dark aroma of freshly brewed espresso filled the room. Vincent stood by the island, wearing a simple black t-shirt that clung to the muscular contours of his chest and arms, completely stripping away the polished mafia boss facade and revealing a man who was undeniably, breathtakingly striking.
He handed her a steaming mug of coffee with a dash of cream and just the way she liked it—though she hadn't told him.
“How did you know?” Penny asked, wrapping her cold hands around the ceramic mug.
“I notice things,” Vincent said simply, leaning against the counter and sipping his own black coffee. His dark eyes fixed on her. “For instance, I noticed that you haven't asked about your mother once since we left the city.”
Penny stiffened, her gaze dropping to the dark surface of her coffee. “What is there to ask? She sold me. To a stranger. For two hundred thousand dollars to pay off gambling debts she brought on herself.”
“Moretti has her,” Vincent said quietly, his voice dropping into a hardened edge. “When my men raided her usual haunts this morning, she wasn't there. Moretti’s crew picked her up two hours after we left the bakery.”
Penny’s grip on the mug tightened. A cold knot formed in her stomach. Despite everything—despite the years of emotional abuse, the neglect, and the ultimate betrayal—Brenda was still her mother.
“Is she... is she going to die?” Penny whispered, her voice cracking.
Vincent walked over, closing the distance between them until he was standing close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off his body. He reached out, his warm fingers gently wrapping around her hand, steadying the mug so she wouldn't spill it.
“Moretti thinks she’s a golden goose,” Vincent said, his voice absolute and unyielding. “He thinks he can use her to break me, or to lure me into a trap. But Moretti doesn't understand something fundamental about the way I operate.”
“What’s that?” Penny breathed, looking up into his dark, intense eyes.
May you like
“Nobody touches anyone under my protection,” Vincent said softly, his thumb gently grazing the back of her hand. “Not your mother, and certainly not you. Moretti thinks he has the upper hand. By tonight, he’s going to find out what happens when you cross Vincent Marlow.”
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