Accardi (Genevieve and Matteo) by Allison Franklin novel Chapter 155

**Chapter 155**

**Lola**

She stirred awake, the rhythmic sound of breathing filling the air around her. It wasn’t the sterile, mechanical noise of machines; rather, it was the deep, human breath of someone worn out from exhaustion.

Her ribs throbbed with a dull ache, and the skin beneath the tight gauze felt like it was on fire. Yet, as she blinked her eyes open, clarity began to seep in, replacing the fog that had clouded her mind.

With a gentle, cautious movement, she turned her head and caught sight of him—Enzo. He was slumped in the recliner beside her bed, his long legs awkwardly bent, his head resting against the armrest in a way that looked uncomfortable. His suit jacket lay crumpled on the floor, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing hands that were still wrapped, the bandages crisscrossing over split knuckles. Even in slumber, he appeared as if he had been chiseled from stone, his jaw set with determination, bruises marring his skin like shadows of a battle fought.

A pang of sorrow twisted in her chest. God, he looked utterly wrecked. This was the man who always maintained an ironclad exterior, who never allowed himself to show weakness. And yet here he was, visibly worn down, a testament to the turmoil they had faced together.

“Enzo,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, softer than the air around them.

His lashes fluttered, and a moment later, his eyes opened—initially clouded with sleep, then sharpening into focus as they landed on her. The relief that washed over him was so profound, it felt almost painful to witness.

With a weak lift of her hand, she felt the tug of the IV line, her nails bitten down to the quick and her bandaged knuckles trembling. “Get in here. Now.”

A frown creased his brow, confusion evident in his gaze, until she patted the mattress beside her. **Bed. With me.** The message was clear. **Broken ribs be damned. I need you close.**

For once, he didn’t argue. He stood up, his body stiff from too many hours spent in the chair, bones cracking as he stretched. With deliberate care, he lowered himself onto the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight, his warmth enveloping her. When she turned toward him, resting her head against his chest, the world finally felt as if it had righted itself.

They lay together in silence for a while, her cheek pressed against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath bruised ribs. The faint scent of smoke and coffee lingered on him, a reminder of the chaos that had engulfed their lives.

Finally, she broke the stillness. “I remember more.”

His arm tightened protectively around her. “Tell me.”

Her gaze remained fixed on the dark ceiling above, her voice barely a whisper. “The blast—it wasn’t fire that hit me first. It was my tattoo table. It got thrown on top of me, slamming me into the wall. I think… I think that’s why I lived. I should probably send that manufacturer a thank-you note.” A weak smile tugged at her lips. “Five stars on Yelp: saved me from Russians.”

Enzo didn’t laugh, but she could feel the tremor in his chest, the way he wanted to.

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