Chapter 8 - Building a New Recipe
Three weeks had passed since the night at the rail yard.
The city of Chicago had shifted beneath the surface. With Moretti’s empire fractured and leaderless, Vincent Marlow’s syndicate stood undisputed, but the man himself had spent the last three weeks completely off the grid—holed up in the lake house upstate with a plus-size baker who refused to let him drink his coffee black.
Inside the sprawling, sunlit kitchen of the lake house, Penny stood wearing an oversized flour-dusted apron over a soft green sweater, whisking a bowl of heavy cream with intense concentration.
“You’re beating that bowl as if it personally offended you,” a deep, amused voice drawled from the doorway.
Penny turned around, smiling brightly as Vincent leaned against the doorframe. He looked entirely different from the terrifying mafia boss who had confronted Brenda Hayes weeks ago. Dressed in a simple charcoal t-shirt and dark jeans, with his sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms, he looked relaxed, rugged, and breathtakingly handsome.
“Whipped cream requires aggression, Vincent,” Penny retorted playfully, tossing a small pat of butter in his direction. “It’s culinary science.”
Vincent caught the butter out of the air with effortless reflexes, a genuine, rare smile touching his lips. He pushed off the doorframe and walked over, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin comfortably on her shoulder.
Penny’s breath hitched, a familiar warmth blooming in her chest as his strong hands rested securely against her stomach.
“What are you making?” he asked, breathing in the sweet scent of vanilla and sugar that seemed to permanently cling to her skin.
“Lemon brioche tarts,” Penny said, leaning back against his solid chest, feeling utterly safe in his embrace. “With homemade curd. And if you ruin my crust again by sneaking pieces before they cool, I’m locking the kitchen doors.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Vincent murmured innocently, pressing a warm, lingering kiss against the crook of her neck.
Penny shivered, her cheeks flushing pink. “You ate three tarts yesterday before I even finished the glaze.”
“They were quality control tests,” Vincent whispered against her skin, his lips trailing up toward her jawline. “And I can assure you, the product met my highest standards.”
Penny turned around in his arms, wrapping her flour-dusted hands around his neck. The playful banter faded, replaced by the heavy, electric tension that always seemed to spark between them whenever they were this close.
“You know,” Penny said softly, looking up into his dark, intense eyes, “Sweet Confections reopened last Monday.”
Vincent’s expression softened, his thumb tracing the curve of her hip. “I know. Frankie sent me the daily revenue reports. Apparently, your regulars missed you. Sales are up forty percent.”
Penny smiled, her heart swelling. “I don't need to hide anymore, do I?”
“Never,” Vincent said, his voice dropping into a fierce, unwavering register. “You never have to hide from anything, Penelope. Not your past, not your mother, and certainly not the world.”
“And you?” Penny asked, her fingers gently tracing the faint scar across his knuckle. “Are you ever going back to the city to rule your empire with an iron fist?”
Vincent chuckled, a rich, deep sound that vibrated against her chest. “The empire runs itself, sweetheart. But my favorite part of the business is right here.”
Before Penny could reply, Vincent captured her lips in a kiss that swept away all remaining doubts, sealing their new life together in a quiet sanctuary far away from the dark streets of Chicago.
May you like
Little did they know, peace in their world was never meant to last forever—and a final, unexpected shadow was about to test the foundation of everything they had built.
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