Accidentally Yours Chapter 69

****Lola****

She made it to the hallway before the heat hit her.

Not from shame—no, that was all Enzo—but from adrenaline crash and the ghost of everything that almost was. Murder basements weren’t her aesthetic. And while she hadn’t laid a single finger on anyone, her boots had done more psychological damage than she’d expected.

Practical and stylish.

Enzo had laughed when he saw her in them, ready to go.

Who was laughing now?

She snorted to herself, swinging open the penthouse door and heading straight for the master bath.

Changing took all of two minutes — bikini on, hair twisted up in a loose bun, her oversized shirt tossed into the hamper like it had just completed a mission. She grabbed one of Enzo’s oversized button-ups on her way out, threw it on like a robe, and raided the fridge for a Corona.

Lime? Check.

Tajin rim? Hell yes.

Clove Cigarette? Ready to burn.

By the time she stepped barefoot out onto the sun-warmed deck, the last threads of day were melting into a purple-streaked horizon. The pool still shimmered from the heat that had baked it all afternoon. She slid the shirt off her shoulders, kicked it aside, and dipped her toes in.

“Perfect,” she whispered, balancing her beer on the ledge.

She waded in slow — hips, ribs, shoulders — until the water kissed her collarbones and the tension slid from her spine like silk.

Only then did she pull the cigarette from behind her ear. She wasn’t a regular smoker but something about today…about almost dying, and almost getting confessed to in a basement with a guy who looked like sin and sounded like surrender…yeah. Today called for one.

She lit it. Took a drag. Let it burn.

I fucking love—

The words echoed.

The sky was darker when the door slid open behind her.

Lola didn’t turn. Just took another drag, the clove-sweet smoke curling out of her mouth in a lazy ribbon. Her eyes were half-lidded, body weightless in the water.

The pool lights hummed beneath the surface, casting soft glimmers that danced across her skin.

For one second, everything was still.

Then a voice behind her—dry and familiar:

“I was gonna ask if you were okay. But you look like a villainess on vacation, so I’m guessing the answer’s complicated.”

Lola smiled without opening her eyes. “You’re getting good at this emotional check-in thing, Dom.”

He snorted. “Don’t let it get around. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

She finally tilted her head toward him. Dom stood by the grill, setting down a plate of marbled steaks like he was placing treasure on an altar. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked over her—taking in the beer, the cigarette, the too-still quiet—and then softened.

“You sure you’re good?” he asked again, quieter now.

She tapped the ash gently off the end of her clove, watching it fizzle on the stone. “Am I an absolutely awful person if I say I am? That somehow I feel safe?”

Dom didn’t push. Just nodded once and turned toward the grill, firing it up with practiced ease, “No Lo, it doesn’t make you an awful person.”

The hiss of flame filled the silence.

She watched him work for a minute—steady hands, calm energy. The kind of presence that didn’t demand anything, just offered it quietly.

It helped.

“You ever kill someone and then immediately crave steak?” she asked, deadpan.

Dom barked a laugh. “Can’t say I have. But I respect the multitasking.”

“I didn’t even do anything,” she muttered, half to herself. “Didn’t touch him. Just… watched.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Yeah, and that guy nearly pissed himself. You didn’t touch him—but you changed him.”

Lola looked away, lips twitching.

Changed him. That was one way to put it.

“You want music?” he asked, gesturing toward the built-in system on the back wall.

She shook her head. “Not yet. Just the sizzle and stars for now.”

“Well,” he said, smirking faintly, “if you need anything—beer, food, moral absolution—you know where to find me.”

Then he left her to the quiet again, smoke curling from the grill, her cigarette burning low between her fingers, and the pool rocking softly around her.

Lola closed her eyes.

She raised her bottle in salute. “Thanks, chef.”

Dom smirked and went back to the grill, tongs clinking softly as the first steak hit the heat. Smoke curled upward, carried off by the night breeze, leaving Lola alone again with her drink and the faint ripple of water against her shoulders.

She let her eyes fall shut, head tipping back toward the stars. For a moment it was just her, the pool, and the faint hum of flame.

Then the sliding glass door groaned open.

“Smells like heaven out here,” Gino announced, voice too loud, carrying a tray of shot glasses with the reverence of a priest. “Somebody better be blessing me with tequila.”

“Only if you’ve earned it,” Nico drawled, following behind with two beers already tucked under his arm. 

Enzo came last, moving slower than the others, dark eyes sweeping the deck. He didn’t look at the grill, or the food, or even Gino’s ridiculous balancing act. His gaze went straight to her, half-submerged in the pool, cigarette between her fingers, bottle nearly drained.

Lola blew out a stream of smoke, lazy and unbothered. “Took you boys long enough. I was about to send out the search party. Enzo remember what happened the last time you went missing?”

“Yeah, he ended up bringing you home and now look where we are,” Gino grinned, setting the tray down on the nearest table. “Shots first. Steak second. Moral collapse third.”

Dom barked a laugh without looking up from the grill. “Shut up and set up the shots.”

The deck settled into rhythm—the crackle of flame, the pop of bottles opening, the clink of glass. Lola stubbed out the last of her clove in the ashtray Dom had dragged over, finished the rest of her beer, and stretched her arms across the pool’s edge, watching them through half-lidded eyes.

It was only when Enzo broke from the group and came to crouch by the water that her chest tightened.

“So I wanted to ask you about your new tattoo earlier but had other things taking up all the space,” Enzo voice low, chin tilting toward the edge of her ribs.

Lola glanced down like she’d forgotten it was there. “Yeah.”

Slowly pulling herself out of the water, sitting on the edge, her fingers brushed the ridged edge of the design—black lines still sharp, the skin still slightly pink.

“It’s a shield. Not flashy, not performative. Just solid,” she said finally.

“The laurel’s for victory,” she explained, fingers tracing the leaves, voice softer now.

“The knotwork’s for loyalty. But the structure—that’s what matters most.”

Dom tilted his head. “Structure?”

Her gaze cut to Enzo and stayed there, steady and unblinking. “You know what a phalanx is?”

Dom nodded. “Old battle line. Shields locked so tight nothing gets through.”

“Exactly.” She traced the tattoo again, eyes never leaving Enzo. “One shield alone can only hold for so long. But when you lock them together—same shape, same weight, same purpose—you build a wall. A fortress that moves as one. Unbreakable.”

“Damn,” Gino muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Kinda makes me wanna get one now.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward. It carried weight—the kind that sat between them like a vow. The hiss of the grill, the clink of bottles, the slow ripple of the pool all blurred into background noise.

Lola’s voice dipped, raw but sure. “I spent a long time alone. Just me. My shield. My fights. But this—” she tipped her chin toward the men around her, then back to Enzo like she was pinning the words to him, “—this is the first time I’ve had people to lock in with.”

For a beat, no one moved.

Then Dom gave a quiet nod. “You’ve got us, Lo. Shields up. Always.”

Her smile was small, soft, and real