Accidentally Yours Chapter 21

**Enzo**

She was gliding.

That was the only word for it—dark goddess in stilettos, hips swaying through the rooftop like she owned the place, like she’d been born to haunt leather couches and luxury turf.

She hit the bar with a grin and ordered without hesitation.

“Dirty gin martini. Extra filthy.”

***Of course.***

The guys followed, drinks flowing fast—whiskey, tequila, craft beers for the ones pretending to behave. Gino got a spritz and didn’t even apologize for it.

Then Lola clapped her hands.

“Alright, assholes—shots.”

A chorus of laughter, groans, and one nervous “wait, what?” followed. But she was already waving the bartender over.

“I don’t care what it is,” she said. “As long as it burns and makes you feel something.”

Eight shot glasses appeared like magic—lined up in two rows of four. Crystal-clear. Potent.

She grabbed hers and held it high. The rooftop quieted slightly. Even the music from the speakers dipped low as all eyes landed on her.

Lola smiled.

Not cocky. Not chaotic.

Something softer.

She looked around—at Enzo, at the men surrounding him, at the strange not-quite-family she’d accidentally stepped into.

***She’s so beautiful.***

Then, in smooth, steady Italian:

“Ai legami più forti del sangue. A quelli che restano quando tutto il resto brucia.”

To bonds stronger than blood. To the ones who stay when everything else burns.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was heavy.

Respectful.

***She isn't just rare. She's impossible. And somehow, she's real.***

Even the loudest of the crew didn’t dare undercut it.

One by one, glasses lifted in response.

She drank first. Let the heat rush down her throat like a dare she was winning.

Then the others followed. Enzo’s hand found her back again, grounding. Claiming. His eyes didn’t leave hers for a second.

***And if she hadn’t already broken through?***

***That toast did it.***

***Completely.***

***There’s no going back now.***

The guys were still drinking, still clinking glasses and laughing around the firepit. But all Enzo could see was Lola.

Lit by the string lights like she’d summoned them.

Hair wild. Smile easy. Shoulders relaxed like she wasn’t standing at the center of a world she didn’t belong to two days ago.

But she belonged now.

And the worst part?

She didn’t even know what she’d done.

How much she just anchored herself inside him.

Not by seduction. Not by chaos.

By seeing something in these men—the broken ones, the loyal ones—and blessing it like it mattered.

He sat back in his chair, a drink in his hand he hadn’t tasted, and watched her move between the others like she’d always been there.

Dom gave her a high five.

Marco pulled out her chair like a gentleman.

Nico was already asking if she played cards.

Gino, the dumb bastard, looked weirdly proud. Like this was all going according to some glitter-fueled plan.

And Enzo?

He was spiraling. Quietly.

Dangerously.

Already too deep.

He reached for his drink, took a long pull, and didn’t even blink when the bourbon burned.

She looked over at him. Caught him staring.

Raised her brows with a cocky little smirk. As if to say,

What?

He didn’t answer. Just tipped his head, smiled like it didn’t matter.

Like he hadn’t already decided—

***She’s mine.***

***Even if I have to lie to both of us to keep her.***

Dinner was loud. Not obnoxious—just alive.

Plates clinked. Knives scraped against grilled steak, charred vegetables, mountains of pasta. Someone passed garlic bread across the table with a muttered threat to Gino. Laughter broke out in waves. Ice cracked in glasses.

***Everyone is already so comfortable with her.***

Lola was at the center of it.

Not by force. By gravity.

She didn’t try to dominate the table. She just… existed.

Sharp when someone deserved it. Funny when the mood dipped.

She let Marco teach her how to twirl spaghetti the “proper” way, only to slurp it up and wink at Dom across the table.

Gino was talking too much. As usual.

Dom kept side-eyeing Enzo like he was waiting for him to crack.

Nico just watched—calculating, quiet, sipping his drink like he was already trying to solve her.

And Enzo?

Enzo sat back in his chair and tried to breathe around the fact that his fake fiancée had just hijacked his inner circle with a toast, a smirk, and zero effort.

The woman who tied him to a bed less than 48 hours ago now had the loyalty of half the room.

***Jesus Christ.***

***What the fuck is happening to me?***

She caught him staring. Again.

This time, instead of giving him attitude or a sly grin, she just smiled.

Soft. Like it wasn’t a trap.

Like she wasn’t dangerous.

Like she could actually be… safe.

And it hit him, right in the ribs.

He didn’t know what she was doing to him.

But he wanted more of it.

The plates were cleared. The stars were out.

And somehow, Lola had a martini in one hand and every man at the table wrapped around her pinky with the other.

She kicked off her heels and settled into one of the firepit chairs, glowing in the low light, loose and dangerous.

Marco raised his glass. “Alright, trouble. We’ve seen the punch. What else you got?”

Lola smirked. “You already got your freebie with Gino’s face this morning. Now it’s shots for secrets.”

The rules were set:

One truth per shot.

No repeats.

No explanations unless earned with that person taking a shot.

Dom poured the first.

Round One

Lola: “I got my GED at sixteen.”

Nico: “Overachiever or just feral?”

Lola: “Bit of both.”

Round Two

Lola: “My guardian’s name is Dottie. But she goes by Baba Yaga. You know, like the powerful witch that can either help or harm you. That’s my Baba to a T.”

Marco: “Wait, that sweet old lady?”

Lola: “She used to run the most feared and coveted brothel in Vegas. I’m the tame one.”

Round Three

Lola: “I speak five languages.”

Beat of silence.

Enzo: “All five.”

Lola (grinning): “Mandarin, Spanish, English, Russian, and Quenya.”

Gino: “Quenya?”

Dom (half-laughing): “What the fuck is that?”

Lola: “The language of the High Elves from Lord of the Rings.”

Marco: “Jesus Christ.”

Enzo: completely smitten

Round Four

Lola: “I’m a licensed stunt driver.”

Nico spit out his drink. “You’re lying.”

Lola: “Nope. Got accidentally roped into a car chase scene on some movie set four years ago. Took the test. Passed. They paid me in burritos.”

Round Five

Lola: “I started tattooing at seventeen. Fell in love with it. It’s still the only thing I’ve ever stuck with that didn’t involve caffeine or criminal threats.”

Dom: “Where’d you learn?”

Lola: “Under a bridge. Next.”

Round Six

Lola (deadpan): “I took the Bar Exam after studying for two days.”

Gino: “Okay, what?”

Lola: “Baba told me the only way I was getting to the grand opening of the Wizarding World theme park was if I did something to impress her. And since she’s seen and done everything…”

Nico: “You passed the Bar… for a theme park trip.”

Lola: “Two states. Florida and New York. You’re welcome, America.”

Round Seven

Lola (smirking): “Eidetic memory. So careful what you say—I’ll remember it forever. Especially the embarrassing stuff.”

They laughed. They drank. They groaned and shouted and passed the bottle again.

But Enzo?

He just watched her.

Because every damn thing she said made the world tilt a little more.

***She’s the most fascinating person I’ve ever met.***

He’d never met anyone like her.

And he never would again.

They were still buzzing—pouring another round, asking her if Quenya had dirty words, arguing about whether eidetic memory was real or just hot-girl science.

And Enzo?

He couldn’t move.

He just sat there, bourbon in hand, chest tight like something vital had shifted under his ribs.

She tossed her head back in a laugh, and it echoed straight through him.

***Where the fuck has she been hiding?***

***Not just in Vegas—in the world.***

***How does a woman like that exist in silence? No headlines. No radar. No warning.***

***Tattoo artist. Stunt driver. High Elvish. A goddamn bar exam for theme park tickets.***

***IQ like a weapon. Mouth like a wildfire. Ass like a loaded gun.***

And somehow, she was his.

Even if the whole thing started as a lie.

***Whoever fumbled this woman before she landed in my bed—bless them.***

***Truly. I hope they find peace, health, and never cross my path again…***

Because she’s not going anywhere.

Not now.

Not ever.

She didn’t walk into his life—she detonated in the center of it.

And Enzo wasn’t running.

He wanted to burn.