Accidentally Yours Chapter 54

****Enzo****

Enzo leaned back against the headboard, Lola’s warmth pressed to his side, her voice low and deliberate as she laid out the kind of plan men would pay fortunes—or spill blood—to hear.

She hadn’t even asked for anything. Not a single thing. Been reluctant to touch any of the clothes in the closet. Tried to take up as little as space as possible. And now she was offering him this—for nothing.

He studied her in the dim light, every word she spoke threading itself into his mind like steel wire.

Most people in his world survived by keeping their mouths shut. Even loyal men who’d bled for him wouldn’t suggest something like this—not to his face. Ideas of this magnitude didn’t just change operations; they shifted the balance of power. Saying them out loud, uninvited, was dangerous. Saying them to the wrong man was a death sentence.

But Lola? She didn’t flinch. She didn’t hedge her words or water them down. She dropped the plan in his lap like she knew exactly what it was worth.

***My girl's dangerous. And God help me, I liked it.***

*“He offered her the world. She said she had her own. So he stole her to rule beside him.”*

"I've always loved that line about Hades and Prosephone," Lola replied not moving

He let the silence stretch, tasting the weight of it.

***She just handed me a weapon sharp enough to cut a family line out of existence. And she did it like it was nothing.***

***The worst part? She wasn’t wrong.***

It was surgical. Brutal without spilling a drop of blood. A kind of power you didn’t show off—you kept in your pocket until the day you needed to end something completely.

And she’d thought of it for him.

Not because she wanted his territory. Not because she wanted to prove she could play at his table.

Because she didn’t want to wake up without him.

***Christ***.

That did something to him.

Made his chest feel too tight and his pulse too steady, like his body already knew this was the moment she stopped being something he wanted and became something he could not lose.

He curled his hand over her hip, thumb brushing the warm skin under her shirt.

“That’s the kind of plan,” he said quietly, “that men have started wars for.”

Her lips curved—soft, smug, and utterly unrepentant. “Guess you better win, then.”

Enzo let her words hang in the air a beat longer, the picture of it building sharp and clear in his head.

“I’ll have to send Marco,” he said finally, half to her, half to himself. “Him and his old lady. They know how to settle somewhere quiet without drawing heat, and Marco’s been in the game long enough to smell a setup from a mile away.”

Her brow lifted, like she could already see him running the chessboard.

“They’ll rebuild down there,” he went on, thumb dragging over her hip in slow, absent strokes. “Fortify the port. Start fresh with people who’ll bleed loyalty before they’d ever sell it. Keep eyes on the Zhangs from the inside.”

She didn’t interrupt, just watched him in that way she had—like she was cataloging him in real time.

“I’ll need to go down myself, too,” he admitted. “Not for long. But long enough to make sure the right message gets sent.”

He didn’t say that he’d discuss that part with her later. No sense stirring that pot before it was time.

Her hand slid over his chest, palm warm against his skin. “Sounds like a plan.”

It was more than a plan. It was already set in motion in his head—who he’d pull, what resources to shift, which loose ends to burn quietly before they became threats.

He tightened his arm around her, pulling her close until her head was under his chin, hair spilling soft over his chest.

“Sleep, piccola (baby),” he murmured. “We’ve both got work in the morning.”

She sighed, settling in like she belonged there. Like she’d been there a thousand nights before and would be there for a thousand more.

And as her breathing evened out, Enzo stared at the dark ceiling, already turning over the steps he’d take to make sure the Zhangs understood exactly how far his reach went.

Because she was right—one wrong move, and their entire name would be erased from the earth.

Enzo kept the plan running in his mind long after Lola drifted off. The more he thought about it, the cleaner it became. Marco and his old lady could be down there before the week was out. A quiet crew could be embedded, the kind that knew how to blend in and keep their mouths shut. Within a month, he’d know every movement the Zhangs made—every meal, every meeting, every face they spoke to.

When morning came, he was up first. Lola didn’t have to be at the shop until noon, and she’d earned a morning to sleep in after the week they’d had. She was still curled into the warm hollow of his side when he eased out of bed, careful not to wake her.

Suit on, coffee in hand, he slid into the back of the car and started making calls.

Marco was waiting in his office by the time Enzo got to HQ.

They talked logistics, contingencies, and the kind of surveillance that would make the Zhangs feel the weight of his shadow without him ever having to step foot near them.

Enzo sat back in the leather chair, the grain of the wood table warm under his forearms, morning sunlight cutting thin blades through the blinds. Marco’s seat was still angled toward him, the faint scuff of the man’s shoes on the tile already fading down the hall.

The plan was in motion.

Not tomorrow. Not next week. Now.

He shifted forward, clasping his hands on the table.

First meeting of the day. The board was set. And if he played it right, the Zhangs wouldn’t even realize they were losing until the king was already in check.

Enzo had been in his office since just after dawn, coffee gone cold on the corner of the desk, ashtray already holding the day’s first cigarette. The low hum of the building was steady—phones ringing, doors opening and shutting, voices carrying in muffled fragments through thick walls.

But under it all, the plan Lola had laid out the night before was still running like a current in his head. Clear. Precise. Dangerous.

Marco stepped in without knocking, a thick folder under his arm. “We’re good to move on it,” he said. “I already started vetting a short list of people we trust for a long-term post down there.”

Enzo leaned back, fingers tapping against the armrest. “You and Luce are going. Pack what you need for at least three months.”

Marco’s brows kicked up. “Us?”

“You,” Enzo said, flat. “You’ll rebuild from the inside—shift every loyalty, cut every soft tie. I want eyes on every Zhang. Family, friends, business associates. I want patterns mapped, weaknesses circled, schedules memorized. If they so much as take a walk at a different time of day, I want it on my desk by morning.”

Marco nodded once, sharp. “That’s going to mean replacing half the management.”

“Replace them,” Enzo said. “Quietly. No noise, no threats. Just… absence.”

Dom drifted in midway through, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “When you want it started?”

“It’s already started,” Enzo said. “I’ll be down there myself in a week or two. I want everything in motion before I arrive.”

Marco opened the folder, flipping through satellite photos, personnel notes, shipment logs. They spent the next forty minutes talking routes, suppliers, and how to slip in new faces without drawing heat. By the time Marco left, the execution was in motion—tight, clean, and without a traceable edge.

The rest of the day was business as usual—if “usual” meant two sit-downs with mid-level crews, signing off on a cash transfer that could’ve bought a casino floor, and a terse call with a Vegas councilman who needed a reminder of who kept his campaign coffers full.

But every so often, his mind circled back to last night. The way Lola had been curled against him in the dark, voice soft but steady as she laid it out. No hesitation. No fear. Just certainty.

By the time he looked at the clock, it was past six. Marco was already making calls, Dom had disappeared into the garage, and Enzo had a short list of people he was going to need in that port city before the week was out.

And tomorrow, he’d tell Lola he’d be leaving for a while.