Accidentally Yours Chapter 102

**Enzo**

The first time he woke, it was only halfway.

The world was a smear of antiseptic and low machine beeps, too sharp around the edges, too soft in the middle. He didn’t bother opening his eyes. His body was too heavy, lungs working like they’d been packed in wet sand. But sound carried—clearer than he wanted.

Nico’s voice. Ragged. Honest. “Almost losing you made it clear. I love you, Lo. Not as a brother. Not as a friend. As a man who knows he won’t ever love anyone else like this.”

Silence cracked open, thick and trembling. Then Lola, soft but steady, every word striking like steel. “I used to lie awake wondering what it felt like. To be loved—really loved. Not wanted. Not used. Loved. I made up stories in my head, but it was never this. This is better. You and Enzo—you’ve given me something I didn’t even think existed. And now I don’t know how to be without it. Without you.”

A pause. The scrape of linen as her hand shifted. Her voice again, rasping but fierce: “So you’d better get used to me sticking around. Because I’m not letting go.”

The words punched straight through his chest, leaving something raw and electric behind. He could have opened his eyes then, could have made them both aware he was listening. But he didn’t. Instead, he let the weight pull him back under, deeper this time.

When he woke again, it was different.

The heaviness was still there, but it was clean now, the kind that came from sleep, not collapse. He stretched his fingers experimentally, flexed his wrists against the ache of overuse. His bruises barked, but nothing screamed permanent.

The lights had shifted—dimmer, soft dawn spilling through the cracks of drawn blinds. Gino was hunched in a chair, head tipped back, snoring like a chainsaw. Dom was folded sideways in a recliner that looked ready to snap under his weight. Nico was half-propped in his bed, eyes shut but his hand still threaded with Lola’s. And Lola herself… she slept, shallow but steady, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with the machines.

Enzo pushed upright, ignoring the way the world tilted. He sat there, elbows on his knees, breathing her in. Alive. Bruised and battered, but alive. His thumb brushed over the rough wrap on his palm, remembering how it had felt to hold her broken body, blood slick and hot.

He looked at her face—pale under the bruises, lips parted, lashes dark against silver hair—and something in his chest went quiet for the first time in days.

Later, there would be a conversation with Nico. Later, there would be war. But now? Now there was this: her hand within reach, the faint pulse of her heart steady in the air, the simple, brutal truth that she’d survived.

He leaned forward, brushed his knuckles lightly against her cheek, and let himself breathe. Just breathe.

Sixteen hours gone. Too much blood spent. But she was here. And so was he.

For now, that was enough.

The door opened quiet, soft shuffle of boots on tile.

Gino walked in first, cleaner shirt, hair damp from a recent shower, though the shadows under his eyes still betrayed him. Dom followed, carrying two coffees, looking like he’d finally managed a few hours on an actual mattress.

“You’re awake,” Gino said, relief in his tone but tempered, measured.

Enzo gave the barest nod.

Dom set one of the coffees on the counter with a muttered, “About damn time.” His mouth tugged at a grin, but it was tired around the edges. “Don’t do that again, yeah?”

Enzo’s gaze cut to him, dark but not sharp. He let the silence be answer enough.

Nico stirred in the bed on Lola’s other side, lashes fluttering before his eyes opened. He shifted, wincing against bruised ribs, but his hand never left Lola’s. Their gazes caught—blue into black—and for a moment the air tightened. Not anger. Not yet. Just Enzo marking it, storing it, the way he always did.

“Status,” Enzo said, voice flat steel.

Dom straightened instantly. “Perimeter’s locked. Guards rotated. Nobody comes within a block without us knowing.”

Gino leaned into the wall, arms crossed, voice low. “The Russians are angry. Real angry. They’ve been yanking people out of their safe houses all night, scattering like roaches. Which means they’re scared. And scared men? They slip. We need to finish it before they grow their balls back.”

Enzo’s jaw ticked once. Gino had kept the machine moving—quiet, efficient, clean. Exactly how it should be.

His gaze slid back to Lola. Bruises like ink stains across pale skin. Bandages tucked beneath hospital linen. Still alive. Still here. His thumb brushed absently over her fingers, careful not to stir her.

“She doesn’t stay here,” he said, the command absolute. “Too exposed. We move her to the house. Private care. Locked down tighter than this place could ever be.”

No one argued. Not Gino, not Dom, not even Nico.

Enzo pushed to his feet, muscles stiff but holding. His body barked at the effort, but his spine was iron again, his place reclaimed.

“Get it ready,” he said, voice low, final. “We’re done bleeding time.”

His hand lingered on Lola’s, thumb brushing once more across the bruises before he looked up, steel snapping back into place.

“Get the doctor,” he told Dom. “Nico and I are finished here.”

Nico grimaced as he swung his legs off the bed, jaw tight but silent. For all his bruises, his body was holding—fatigue had dropped them both, not shrapnel.

The doctor arrived minutes later, bleary-eyed and bristling. “They’re not fit to be discharged—”

Enzo cut him off with a look sharp enough to carve. “We’re not asking. You’ll sign what you need, and you’ll tell me what it takes to move her.”

The man hesitated, glancing toward Lola’s monitors. Then he exhaled, resigned. “She’s stable. Transfer’s possible, but risky if it’s rushed.”

“It won’t be rushed,” Enzo said. “It’ll be guarded, sealed, controlled. You’ll prep her for relocation when I call. Until then, she doesn’t leave this bed.”

The doctor nodded. Gino saw him out with a clap to the shoulder that carried more weight than warmth.

Enzo bent over Lola one more time, whispering something only she could have claimed before straightening. His hand lingered a beat too long before he let go.

Dom and Gino stood ready by the door, shoulders squared. Nico rose carefully beside him, pale but upright, forcing his body back into motion.

“Get the cars,” Enzo said, voice carrying again. “Nico goes back to the house. Double perimeter on Lola’s floor until the transfer. No one in or out unless it’s one of us.”

Gino gave a sharp nod. “Done.”

Dom’s brow furrowed. “And you?”

Enzo slipped his watch onto his wrist, the steel band clinking soft against bruised skin. His expression didn’t change. “I’ve got a stop to make before I join you. Just me.”

Dom’s mouth tightened, protest on his tongue, but Enzo’s eyes shut it down cold.

“Straight shot,” Enzo added, shrugging into his coat. “In and out.”

Nico narrowed his gaze but stayed quiet.

Enzo didn’t explain. Didn’t have to. Some things weren’t for discussion—not yet. The plan was carved into him already, sharp and inevitable.

He turned for the door, every step steadier than the last. “Go. I’ll see you back at the house.”

When the room cleared, he lingered. Rolled his shoulders, flexed his bruised wrists. Then he leaned down, lips brushing against Lola’s temple, his voice rough but low enough to be hers alone.

“I’ll be back before you wake up, amore. Don’t make me chase you again.”

His hand squeezed hers once—firm, grounding—before letting go.

By the time Dom cracked the door open again, Enzo and Nico were already suited up, coats over their shoulders, moving like men who’d just clawed back from hell but were ready to walk into it again.

War waited. But so did she.