Accidentally Yours Chapter 12

**Enzo**

He heard the door creak open before he saw her.

And then—he forgot how to breathe. Lola stepped into the room like sin in sandals. White sundress. Tiny multi-colored flowers. A hemline designed by Satan.

The dress hugged every inch of her body like it had been made to ruin men. The top clung tight to her chest—round, high, impossible to ignore. Her legs looked criminal. Her hips moved like she knew what she was doing and wanted someone to try and stop her.

His eyes caught on the swing of her bag. The bounce of that ass under thin cotton.

***Perfectly round. Perfectly plump. Damn I want to sink me teeth into-stop if you get a boner right now you’ll never hear the end of it. Puppies, pancakes, Nonna, ok we’re good.***

A walking threat. The room went dead silent.

Marco forgot how to swallow.

Dom blinked like he’d been slapped.

Nico exhaled, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

And Enzo? He had to reset his jaw before he spoke.

Lola didn’t flinch under their stares. She strode straight toward him, a little smirk on her lips like she’d planned this moment in her sleep. When she reached him, she grabbed his hand with confidence—lifting it like she was going to place it gently on her waist.

But no.

She redirected.

Planted his hand firmly on one bare cheek beneath that scandalous little dress. Right there in front of everyone. His fingers sank into soft, warm skin.

***I’m never letting go.***

She looked up at him, eyes sparkling with false bravado and mischief barely held together. “You ready, husband?” she asked sweetly.

***Oh, I like that a lot. Maybe too much.*** 

Enzo made a sound he would later deny was a groan. His crew was either choking or pretending not to stare. He held her gaze for a long second, then leaned in, voice low and strained.

“We need to leave. Immediately.”

***Before I send these guys to the vehicle so we can finish what we started this morning.***

Lola just smiled up at him with all the innocence of a loaded weapon and turned toward the door, hips swaying, floral hem bouncing with each step like a taunt written in cotton.

He followed, pulse pounding, pride shredded, and hand still burning from where lay on her cheek.

They passed his crew in silence—Dom, Marco, and Nico all doing their best to look anywhere but at her legs.

And just as they reached the hallway—

“Alright,” Lola said lightly, shifting the bag off her shoulder. “Which one of you is carrying this?”

They all turned like synchronized soldiers. Blinked. Dom opened his mouth, then stalled. Marco scratched his temple like maybe the answer was hiding in his hair.

Nico said, “Uh…”

Enzo didn’t move. He just watched, finally removing his hand from its new home. Lola raised a brow, tapping her foot with exaggerated patience.

***Testing our limits so early in the game? Such a fearless little firecracker.*** 

“Well? Or should I just give it to the one with the best arms?”

That did it. Dom reached first. Marco blocked him with an elbow.

“I was closest,” Nico said, grabbing the strap and tugging it from Lola’s hands before either of them could land a claim.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, tossing a wink over her shoulder.

Then—without so much as a glance—she reached back, hooked her pinky into the waistband of Enzo’s joggers, and pulled him forward like he was hers to drag.

“Come on, anima gemella,” she purred. (twin soul)

The tug was subtle. Possessive. Dirty in its simplicity.

Enzo’s breath caught. ***I’m going to impregnate this woman right here and now. Who taught her how to do that and how do I thank them properly? That was by far the sexiest thing a woman has ever done and her Italian is flawless. Where did she learn it and why is she so earth-shattering?*** 

His mouth parted slightly as she walked ahead, hips swaying, leash-in-pinky tugging him along like a well-dressed problem.

He followed. He didn’t have a choice.

“Jesus,” Marco muttered under his breath.

Dom groaned. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen and I think I hate it.”

“I need to sit down,” Nico mumbled.

Enzo didn’t look at them.

He just let her lead, lips curving into the ghost of a smirk as he muttered under his breath, “You're gonna kill me, Gattina (kitten).”

**Lola**

She could feel their eyes on her back. All of them.

And yeah, fine, that was the goal—but now that she’d executed the full strut, handoff, and waistband tug combo, her adrenaline was starting to crash.

***You’re doing great sweetie! Keep up the good work. You’ve got this. Haven’t tripped yet, everything is sounding smooth and thought out ALL THOUGH I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE ANY OF THAT JUST CAME FROM but it’s totally fine. We’re good. It’s fine…***

Her fingers still tingled where she’d yanked Enzo forward by his joggers.

***Anima gemella. Jesus.***

***Where the hell had that come from?***

He’d followed like gravity couldn’t let him go. And she—She’d felt powerful. But now they were halfway down the stairs, and the sharp smell of sunlight and nerves was starting to replace the heat in her veins.

She hit the last step—And froze.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

There, at the base of the stairwell, stood Baba Yaga.

Sunglasses. Slippers. Holding a tiny plastic watering can and the exact amount of judgment it took to silence four grown men.

She wasn’t looking at the crew behind Lola.

She wasn’t looking at Enzo.

She was looking through her.

Lola straightened instinctively, like a teenager caught sneaking out after curfew. “Morning,” she said, bright. Too bright.

Yaga’s mouth twitched. “Uh huh. Morning. Wanna tell me why the hallway smells like testosterone and broken drywall?”

Lola’s eyes darted toward the busted front door up the stairs. “There was… a disagreement.”

Yaga’s eyes narrowed. Then clocked the large man standing just behind her. Then the even larger man standing behind him. Her voice went flat. “You planning on explaining why you’re walking out of here looking like a hostage in a J.Crew catalog?”

“I’m not a hostage,” Lola lied.

Yaga took a single step forward, and every man behind Lola took a step back. Except Enzo.

Yaga eyed him up and down. “You.”

He nodded, calm. “Si, Signora.” (Yes madam)

“You break my girl’s heart; I start with your kneecaps, and we move on from there.”

Enzo didn’t blink. “Fair trade.”

“Baba,” Lola hissed, flustered. “He’s not—this isn’t—just let us go, okay?”

Yaga turned back to her, softer now. “You leaving?”

Lola’s throat tightened. “Yeah.”

“You coming back?”

Lola hesitated. Then—“I don’t know.”

***God I hate to leave this old hag. She’s the greatest person I’ve ever met, is always taking care of me and here I am leaving her all alone.***

Yaga didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she stepped forward and cupped Lola’s cheek in one warm, dry hand. “You call me. Got it? No matter what. Even if it’s just to say the code.”

Lola nodded. “Ducks are dancing, Baba.” ***Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry***.

Yaga smirked. “Or?”

With a sigh, “Is the tea cup full of tequila again?”

“Good girl.” Then she turned back to Enzo one last time. “You keep her safe.”

“I will,” he said without hesitation.  

***He better because I’ve yet to finish One Piece and I CANNOT DIE BEFORE I FIND OUT WHAT THE TREASURE IS, or if it’s really just the friends and family we make along the way. Plus, Baba and I have to die together so…***

Yaga tilted her chin. “And the door?”