Chapter 17 Chapter 17
Lola
She woke slowly; not from a nightmare, not from instinct, just from warmth. Enzo was behind her, one arm draped over her waist, his chest solid and steady at her back. The weight of him was familiar enough that her body recognized it before her mind did. She breathed him in, his specific scent of soap, sleep, the faintest trace of something metallic that never quite left him and let herself stay still.
For the first time in what felt like a long time, nothing hurt. There were no alarms, no hands grabbing, no voice telling her what came next.
Just this.
She lay there, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, the low hum of the city far below the windows. His arm tightened slightly, not waking, just adjusting like he’d sensed the shift in her without fully surfacing.
Good.
Stay asleep.
She let her fingers curl over his forearm, tracing the faint veins there, grounding herself in the reality of it; of him here, alive and unbroken.
Eventually, he stirred; not abruptly, Enzo never did anything abruptly. His breath changed first, deepening, then his arm loosened as he shifted onto his back. She stayed turned away for a moment, eyes closed, pretending sleep while he woke.
She felt him look at her.
That pause—the quiet assessment, the check-in without touching—made something warm bloom low in her chest.
When she finally rolled over, it was slow, unhurried. She propped herself on one elbow and watched him openly now.
His hair was a mess, flattened on one side, stubbornly refusing to cooperate. His lashes rested heavy against his cheeks, mouth relaxed in a way that rarely happened when he was awake. One hand lay loose against the sheets, fingers flexing once as if he was halfway between worlds.
He looked… peaceful.
The thought startled her.
She traced the line of his jaw with her eyes, the faint crease between his brows that never fully disappeared even in sleep. This man—this terrifying, impossible man—had come for her. Had torn the world apart to get her back. And now he was here, breathing evenly beside her like this was the most natural thing in the world.
She smiled before she realized she was doing it.
God, I love you.
He stirred again, this time fully waking. His eyes opened, dark and still hazy, locking onto hers immediately like there was nowhere else they could possibly land.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice rough.
She leaned down and kissed him—soft, lingering, nothing urgent about it.
“Morning,” she echoed.
His hand came up to her hip automatically, thumb brushing once like he needed the confirmation she was real. She let him. Stayed right there, forehead resting against his.
For a few quiet seconds, neither of them moved.
No plans.
No threats.
No war.
Just the illusion of peace.
And Lola held onto it with both hands, completely unaware she was already counting down the last moments before everything changed.
Breakfast was already waiting.
Not laid out formally. Not ceremonial. Just… there. Plates warming on the counter, coffee steaming gently, the soft hum of a suite that had adjusted to their return before either of them fully had.
Enzo moved through the space like this was muscle memory—shirtless, barefoot, hair still sleep-mussed, taking one plate and then the other. He didn’t ask what she wanted. Didn’t need to. Eggs soft. Toast cut clean. Fruit she’d actually eat instead of push around.
He set her plate down first.
That small detail landed somewhere tender in her chest.
She slid into the stool opposite him, tucking one leg beneath her, chin propped briefly in her hand as she watched him pour coffee. The morning light caught in the lines of his shoulders, the faint bruising still yellowed at his ribs, the quiet competence of a man who carried weight without announcing it.
God, it felt good.
She took a bite, closed her eyes for a second, and hummed softly. “I missed real food.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “You don’t miss hospital broth?”
“Tragic loss,” she deadpanned, then smiled when his gaze lingered on her like he was memorizing something.
He poured coffee, unhurried. didnt look at ther when he spoke, "I tried sleeping in our bed while you were gone but the room felt wrong without you."
She blinked at him, then smiled, soft a little crooked, " you know that's stupidly sweet, right?" Her thumb brushed his knuckles, "Next time, you're allowed to use my pillow."
He looked at her for a long moment, expression unreadable. "There better not be a next time, Lola," he said flatly. Then, without missing a beat, "And i am not cuddling that damn duck again."
A small laugh slipped out of her, quiet and surprised. Enzo's mouth curved in response, just enough to let her ahve it. He kissed the back of her hand and let the moment settle.
They ate slowly. Not because there was time because they were pretending there was.
She kept it light on purpose. Asked what he’d been doing while she was gone. Complained about the way time moved too slow in places you couldn’t leave. She told him how it was unfair that he still smelled like himself, like the world hadn't rearranged itself while she was gone.
Enzo answered just enough; matched her where she stood.
They ate like this, side by side, unhurried, both of them pretending the world wasn’t already knocking.
Enzo listened, asked questions and didn’t rush her.
But she noticed the way his attention split—not away from her, never that—but outward. The way his phone stayed face-down but close. The way the quiet felt… managed.
She didn’t mind.
She was happy.
She leaned across the counter at one point, stealing a bite from his plate just because she could. He caught her wrist gently, pressed a kiss to the inside of it instead of scolding her, and let her take it anyway.
“I like you like this,” she said without thinking.
His brow lifted. “Like what?”
“Domestic,” she replied, soft but certain.
Something unreadable passed through his eyes, then he smiled. “Me too.”
They finished breakfast without urgency and when the last plate was cleared, Enzo reached for her hand, not pulling, just grounding and squeezed once.“Hey,” he said gently. “We don’t really get a day to breathe yet.”
Her smile didn’t fade. “I figured.”
“Couple things came up while you were away. Marco, supply chain shifts and some loose ends.”
She nodded easily, still warm, still wrapped in the afterglow of bed and steam and quiet devotion. “War room?”
“After coffee,” he said. “Five minutes.”
She laughed softly. “Oh, what a luxury.”
He leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering, careful, like he was tucking the moment away for later.
And Lola let him.
They finished breakfast slowly, like neither of them was willing to be the first to stand. Enzo cleared the plates himself despite the staff hovering just outside the room, buying them those last few minutes like he’d promised. Lola lingered at the counter, mug warming her palms, watching the city wake through the glass. The sun was higher now, burning the neon out of the skyline, turning everything brutally ordinary.
When he came back to her, she felt the shift before he said anything—the way his shoulders squared, the way his presence recalibrated from husband to boss without fully letting go of either.
“Let's get dressed and head down,” he said quietly.
She nodded, setting the mug down. “Yeah.”
He took her hand as they left the suite, not possessive, not guiding, just there as a reminder. The walk through the private corridors was silent, footsteps echoing softly against stone. Familiar faces nodded as they passed, respectful, alert and already in motion.
The elevator ride down was brief.
Too brief.
Lola leaned lightly into his side, head resting against his shoulder for the handful of seconds it took to descend. Enzo stayed still, breathing her in like he was memorizing the weight of her there.
The doors opened.
The war room waited.
Voices filtered out before they even crossed the threshold—low, overlapping, threaded with urgency. Screens were already lit, maps pulled up, names pinned and circled in red.
At the center of the room sat the table; a wide, circular table of dark wood, scarred faintly with use, built for conversation instead of command. Every seat equal distance from the center. No one at the head because Enzo didn’t rule by elevation. Men straightened as he entered, conversations cutting off mid-sentence, not out of fear, but respect.
Business snapped into place.
Enzo released her hand only once they reached the table, taking his seat without ceremony. Lola settled beside him, folding herself into the chair with quiet composure, eyes tracking everything without comment.
No one questioned her presence.
No one needed to.
And as the doors sealed behind them, the illusion of normal finally dissolved, leaving strategy, danger, and the slow realization that whatever peace they’d stolen that morning had been borrowed time.
Oh. So very serious. No rest for the wicked I suppose.
The clock wasn’t ticking anymore.
It was already spent.
Author Note:
Hey Friends 🖤
Book 2 is still in progress. I'm taking a short pause on updates while I take care of some personal stuff, then I'll be back with full focus. Thank you for your patience. I want the next chapters to land just right and give you want you deserve. See ya soon!