Her Mother Traded Her to a Mafia Boss for $200,000, but the First Thing He Did Left Her Too Stunned to Speak

The crisp autumn wind rattled the large glass panels of the lake house, bringing the scent of approaching winter off the water. It was late evening, and Penny sat by the roaring stone fireplace, reading a worn paperback while Vincent reviewed corporate portfolios at the heavy oak dining table across the room.

The domestic tranquility was shattered by a sudden, shrill ring from the secure satellite phone resting on the counter.

Vincent froze. He didn't move for a single heartbeat, his dark eyes narrowing as the phone continued to shrill through the quiet house.

He stood up, walking swiftly across the room, and flipped the phone open.

“Marlow,” he barked.

Penny looked up from her book, her heart giving a nervous flutter. She watched as the color drained from Vincent’s face, the sharp planes of his jaw hardening into absolute, chilling stone.

“Where?” Vincent demanded, his voice dropping an octave into pure ice. “...When? ...Understood. Keep eyes on the perimeter.”

He clicked the phone shut and stood motionless for three seconds before walking slowly over to Penny.

“What is it?” Penny asked, standing up from the couch, a cold knot forming in her stomach. “Who was on the phone?”

“Frankie,” Vincent said, his voice dangerously controlled. “It’s about your mother.”

Penny flinched as if she had been struck. “Brenda? I thought she was in St. Louis. You said she was gone.”

“She was,” Vincent said grimly, running a hand through his dark hair. “Or at least, she was supposed to be. Two days ago, she cashed out the ten thousand dollars I gave her at a underground casino in downtown Chicago. She lost it all in an hour.”

Penny squeezed her eyes shut, a bitter wave of disappointment washing over her. “Of course she did. Some people never change.”

“It gets worse,” Vincent continued, his dark eyes locking onto hers with intense urgency. “When she ran out of money, she tried to contact one of Moretti’s surviving lieutenants, thinking she could sell information about my holdings again. But Moretti’s crew didn't want her information.”

Penny stopped breathing. “Then what do they want?”

“They don't want her,” Vincent said quietly. “They want *you*. They know she’s connected to you, and they’ve taken her hostage—not to bargain with me, but to draw you out into the open. They think if they capture the baker who made the mighty Vincent Marlow drop his guard, they can reclaim the North Side.”

Penny stared at him, the room spinning slightly around her. “They’re coming here?”

“They’re already tracking her burner phone,” Vincent said, his jaw set like iron as he reached behind his back and pulled his sleek Glock from his waistband, checking the magazine with practiced efficiency. “Which means they’ll be at this lake house before midnight.”

Penny’s hands trembled, but for the first time in her life, the fear didn't paralyze her. She looked at Vincent—the man who had risked everything to pull her out of the darkness, the man who had given her a home, a sanctuary, and a love she never thought she deserved.

She wasn't going to let anyone take him away.

“What do we do?” Penny asked, her voice steadying as she walked over to him.

Vincent looked down at her, a fierce, burning pride flashing in his dark eyes. He reached out, cupping her cheek with his warm, calloused hand.