Accardi (Genevieve and Matteo) by Allison Franklin novel Chapter 151

**You Were My Favorite Hurt, And My Hardest Goodbye by Ava Knight**
**Chapter 151**

The first time he regained consciousness, it was merely a corridor of muted sounds and sterile scents.

The atmosphere enveloped him in a haze of antiseptic, punctuated by the rhythmic beeps of machines that felt too sharp at the edges yet oddly soft in the center. He chose not to open his eyes; they felt like they were weighed down by the dense fog of exhaustion. His body was leaden, as if his lungs were encased in wet sand, making every breath a laborious task. But the sounds around him carried with an unsettling clarity—louder than he wished them to be.

Then he heard Nico’s voice, raw and unguarded, slicing through the silence like a knife. “Almost losing you made it clear. I love you, Lo. Not as a brother. Not as a friend. But as a man who knows he won’t ever love anyone else like this.”

The air thickened with silence, palpable and trembling, as if the very walls were holding their breath. Lola’s response came next, gentle yet unwavering, each word hitting him with the force of steel. “I used to lie awake wondering what it felt like. To be loved—really loved. Not just wanted. Not merely used. Loved. I conjured up stories in my mind, but it was never this. This is better. You and Enzo—you’ve given me something I didn’t even think existed. And now I don’t know how to be without it. Without you.”

There was a brief pause, the sound of linen shifting as her hand moved. Then her voice emerged again, raspy yet fierce, filled with determination: “So you’d better get used to me sticking around. Because I’m not letting go.”

Her words struck him like a punch to the chest, leaving behind a raw, electric sensation that coursed through him. He could have opened his eyes then, could have let them both know he was listening, but he chose not to. Instead, he surrendered to the weight of his slumber, allowing it to pull him deeper into the comforting darkness.

When he awoke again, the experience was markedly different.

The heaviness remained, but now it was a clean weight, one that came from the depths of sleep rather than the crushing blow of collapse. Tentatively, he stretched his fingers, flexing his wrists against the dull ache of overuse. His bruises throbbed, but there was a reassuring absence of anything permanent.

The lighting had changed—softer, dimmer, with the gentle light of dawn spilling through the cracks of the drawn blinds. Gino was slumped in a chair, his head tilted back, snoring loudly like a chainsaw. Dom was contorted sideways in a recliner that seemed on the verge of breaking under his weight.

Nico was half-propped in his bed, eyes closed, but his hand remained entwined with Lola’s. And there she was—Lola—sleeping, her breaths shallow yet steady, her chest rising and falling in sync with the rhythm of the machines around her.

Enzo pushed himself upright, ignoring the way the world tilted precariously around him. He sat there, elbows resting on his knees, inhaling the scent of her presence. Alive. Bruised and battered, yes, but alive. His thumb brushed over the rough bandage on his palm, a reminder of how it felt to hold her broken body, slick with blood and warmth.

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