Accidentally Yours Chapter 15

**Lola**

Calm. Cool. Unbothered.

***What was he just doing?*** 

He didn’t say a word. Just pulled the door closed and put his right back on her thigh right under the hem of her dress, like that was its home now. No indication of what he had just done or why’d they stopped. Lola raised an eyebrow, lips twitching.

“Disappear for five minutes and come back more possessive?” she murmured. “What’d you do—buy a collar?”

Enzo didn’t look at her. His thumb traced higher, deliberate and slow.

Then, voice velvet-soft and lethal:

“La mia Gattina ha bisogno di un collare?”

(Does my kitten need a collar?)

***This man knows exactly what he’s doing. If I pulled one out right now I’d probably let him put it on me with how hot that was.***

Marco made a strangled sound. “Jesus.”

Dom sighed like this was his thirteenth reason.

Nico looked like he wanted to crawl into the glovebox and stay there.

Lola just smiled—sweet, composed, and absolutely lying with her whole face. Because her pulse was pounding and Enzo’s thumb hadn’t moved.

Not even a little.

Lola didn’t blink. She turned toward him slowly, eyes full of fire and something darker—something earned.

Then she leaned in, lips near his ear, voice smooth as warm liquor:

“Solo se sei tu a stringerlo… bello stretto.”

(Only if you’re the one to fasten it… nice and tight.)

Silence detonated in the car.

***I think this dress gives me superpowers.*** 

Marco let out a wounded noise and collapsed against the window.

Dom exhaled a full-body sigh and muttered, “We’re all going to die.”

Nico turned completely around and covered his face with both hands.

Gino smacked the steering wheel and just whispered, “That was so fucking hot.”

Enzo didn’t laugh.

He didn’t smirk.

He just looked at her—looked at her like he’d never seen anything like her before. Like she was both the match and the flame. ***God, he’s looking right through me.***

Then he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, voice low and dark and edged with control he was starting to lose:

“Keep talking like that, Gattina (kitten)… and I’ll be putting my name on you before we even make it upstairs.”

Lola didn’t flinch, but her thighs squeezed tight. And Enzo’s thumb dragged one final inch higher, just to feel it happen.

When the SUV pulled up, she expected something intimidating. Maybe discreet wealth. Subtle power. Something like him. What she didn’t expect was this. Glass. Gold. Lights like a Hollywood budget. The kind of architecture that screamed I own everything you see and the ground you walk on too. A curved, mirrored skyscraper rose above the Vegas strip like it was holding court. And carved discreetly into the black marble entry:

CASINO VERO LUXE.

Lola blinked. “You live… here?”

Enzo didn’t even glance at her. “Top floor.”

She stared out the tinted window.

“Of course you live here,” she muttered. “Like a fucking supervillain.”

Dom chuckled in the front seat.

Gino turned to grin at her. “Pretty cool, huh?”

She side-eyed him. “At some point, I’m tattooing something wildly inappropriate on your forehead. Just so we’re clear.”

Gino looked disturbingly pleased.

They stepped out and walked through the main entrance—tall gold-framed doors and a flood of noise, neon, and warm, intoxicating light. Lola’s jaw tensed.

“Wait a sec. We’re going in the front?”

Enzo shot her a sideways glance. “Yes.”

“Don’t you have, like, a secret elevator entrance behind a waterfall? Maybe a biometric retina scanner? Trapdoor into the lair of doom?”

He smirked. “You watch too many movies.”

“No,” she said, stepping onto the velvet-carpeted casino floor. “I date too many red flags.”

The lighting here was warm and slick. All polished marble, low music, soft laughter and the ever-present clink of money moving—through chips, dice, cards, and drinks.

Lola’s boots clicked softly as they moved through the VIP section. “I’ve never gambled before,” she said.

Enzo slowed his stride. “Never?”

“Unless you count trusting men. Or taking body shots off a girl called LoLo at Burning Man.”

Enzo stopped walking. Looked at her.

Then flicked his fingers once—barely a gesture.

One of his men materialized instantly, handed him a neat stack of chips without a word, and vanished again. Enzo turned and placed them in her hand. Ten white chips. $100 a piece. $1,000 total. Lola blinked down at them.

“Just like that?” she asked, arching a brow.

His tone was cool. “You wanted to gamble.”

She rolled a chip between her fingers, smirking. “You’re very casual about throwing around a grand.”

“I’m casual about a lot of things,” he said, almost too quietly.

Her stomach did that stupid swoop again.

***What does that even mean?*** 

She weighed them in her hand.

He started to lead her toward a private poker table, but she stopped.

“There,” she said, pointing.

Roulette.

The croupier straightened as they approached—clearly recognizing Enzo and very aware of who this girl must be. Lola said nothing. Just walked up, leaned casually against the railing, and looked at the spinning wheel. She didn’t ask for odds. Didn’t hesitate. She slid all ten chips into the center of the table and stacked them neatly on one number.

Black 13.

The table fell quiet.

“All of it?” the croupier asked, slightly stunned.

Lola nodded. “Go big or… end up in an unmarked grave in the desert. Isn’t that the vibe?”

Enzo’s jaw twitched. Everyone else stared.

The ball dropped.

The ball clattered.

Spun.

Slowed—

Click. Click. Tap.

Black. 13.

The croupier froze. The table went silent.

 “Black 13,” he confirmed, voice slightly dazed. “Payout… thirty-five to one.”

***No fucking way. I’m the unluckiest person I know. How the hell? This dress really is doing something for me.***

Dom muttered something under his breath.

Marco just gawked. “No fucking way.”

Nico whispered, “She’s not real.”

Gino clapped once like he was witnessing a miracle.

Lola blinked. She stared at the ball.

Then at the neat stack of chips the dealer began pushing toward her—$35,000, racked and gleaming.

Her jaw tensed. Just a little.

She’d never seen this much money in her life.

Not in one place. Not with her name on it.

Not like this.

The dealer slid the rack across the felt with reverence.

“Congratulations, Miss,” he said.

Lola swallowed. Tried to smirk. Managed about half of one.

She reached out, fingers curling around the tray—steady, even though her chest was sprinting.

***This is definitely boosting my whole unkillable vibe.***

Then, without looking away from the chips, she reached into the stack… pulled two crisp $1000 chips free… and turned to Enzo. Her palm opened. The chips lay across it.

“Your investment,” she said, voice almost casual. “With interest.”

Enzo stared at her for a long second. Then took the chip, his fingers brushing hers. Hot. Deliberate. Just enough to make her breath catch. “You keep the interest,” he murmured.

Her throat tightened. She turned to the rest of the crew, lifting the tray high like a waitress with a god complex. “So…” she called out, grin reloaded, “drinks on me?” She was still holding the tray like it might disappear if she blinked too fast.

Thirty-five thousand dollars.

Stacked and racked. Real.

Her hands didn’t shake, but only because she wouldn’t let them. Then Enzo leaned in—close enough to brush her shoulder with his chest—and nodded toward the chips.

“Gino’ll cash those in for you.”

Before she could answer, he turned toward the group.

“Marco, Dom, Nico—head up and get cleaned up. Gino, take care of the chips and grab Lola’s payout from the cage.”

He glanced back at her, something unreadable in his eyes.

“Lola and I are going to shower and settle in.”

She blinked. “We are?”

He didn’t answer. Just touched her lower back, guiding her gently but firmly toward the elevator at the far end of the private floor. Behind them, Dom grunted in agreement and peeled off. Marco gave her a wink. Nico looked like he was still recovering from the Black 13 incident. Gino was already on the move, chip tray in hand. Enzo pressed the elevator button with that same casual control he used for everything.

“Upstairs,” he said, still not looking at her, “you’ll change into something comfortable.”

“Oh?” she asked, trying not to sound breathless. “And what exactly does comfortable mean in your world?”

***Pretty sure it’s naked for me. Oh lord. You stop that right now. You just met this man and on a winning high. Simmer down.***

He finally turned his head toward her, expression unreadable.

“You’ll figure it out.”

The elevator doors slid open. Just before stepping inside, Enzo glanced back at the guys one last time. “Rooftop,” he said. “Two hours. Dinner. Cocktails.”

And then, like it was nothing, he added: “Let’s call it a soft opening.”