Accidentally Yours (Merffy Kizzmet) novel Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Enzo

The bedroom door clicked shut behind him.

He stood there for a beat–heart still thudding, her taste still on his lips.

What the fuck did I just do.

And why does it feel like I’d do it again.

Nico, Marco. Dom.

His top men. Brothers in blood and bone. The ones who’d seen him at his worst and best–and currently, at his most engaged in joggers and a hoodie two sizes too small.

They didn’t speak at first. Just watched.

Then Nico asked carefully, “You good?”

“Yeah.”

Dom looked him over with a slow smirk.

“Really? Because you look like you just got dropped on the Strip after a failed audition for Magic Mike.”

“Dom.” Enzo didn’t blink. “Shirt.”

Dom blinked. “You want-?”

“Your shirt. Now.”

Dom peeled off his fitted black tee and tossed it over. Enzo stripped the borrowed shirt and replaced it in one clean motion. Marco’s fit better. Felt like

armor.

Dom tilted his head. “What happened to your wrists?”

Enzo flexed his fingers and gave a slow smirk. “You don’t wanna know.”

Nico narrowed his eyes. “She tied you up?”

Enzo didn’t flinch. “Let’s just say it was a hell of a night.”

Nico crossed his arms. “And now she’s your fiancée?”

Enzo shrugged. “Timing’s everything.”

That earned a low grunt of approval from Dom, who cracked his knuckles. “She’s got guts.”

“She’s got a baseball bat and no self–preservation,” Marco added.

“Same thing,” Enzo said.

Then Nico’s voice cut in again–lower this time, more serious.

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“So you really weren’t in any danger?”

He swept a glance around the place: plants in mugs, neon signs, fairy lights, a flamingo lamp.

“You’ve just been here… playing house with your fiancée? We’ve been going crazy, calling everyone, searching this city high and low for a day and a half. No word from you, the only way we found you was from a traffic cam of this one driving through a red light with you in the front seat, but nothing was wrong?

Enzo looked him dead in the eye.

“She’s with me. That’s all you need to know.”

Marco raised a brow. “Didn’t see you as the spontaneous type.”

Enzo shrugged once. “Some things don’t need a plan.“.

Dom smirked. “You gonna tell the family?”

“I don’t have to. Gino already did.” That idiot. Always complicating things.

A beat.

“Of course he did,” Nico muttered.

Enzo turned toward the bedroom again, rolling his shoulders once.

I just declared an engagement with a woman who tied me up, drooled on me, and then kissed me like she meant it.

And somehow, it’s the most honest morning I’ve had in years.

Lola

To a man she’d tied to her bed.

They’re taking me.

He’s taking me.

And she had no idea what was waiting on the other side of that goodbye.

Safety? Maybe.

A mansion with marble countertops and a surprise family of assassins? Sure.

A straight–up execution behind a steakhouse dumpster? Still on the table.

She stood frozen for a second, fingers tangled in the strap of her bag.

You said yes, dumbass. You agreed to this. You could’ve screamed, could’ve run, could’ve refused. But no.

You fake got engaged. To a man with mafia boss shoulders and a mouth that clearly does crimes.

She ran her hands down her face, then looked at herself in the mirror.

Hair: chaos.

Face: flushed.

Energy: mildly feral.

Still

she looked hot. Like on–the–edge–of–a–breakdown hot.

Okay. Fine.

If she was going to be kidnapped, she was going to make it inconvenient for the man who fake–proposed mid–crisis and decided to own it. She turned toward the closet and pulled out her final form. A white sundress with tiny multicolored flowers.

Sweet. Flirty. Hot in that retro, old–school housewife way.

Way too short to be innocent.

She slipped it on, paired it with lacy cheeky underwear–because if she was going to be held hostage, she was going to do it mouth wateringly so. She twisted her hair up into space buns–playful, a little off–center, unapologetically chaotic.

Then stepped into chunky white platform sandals–strappy, bold, and loud enough to announce she wasn’t going quietly. Her legs looked like they came with a waiver. A swipe of gloss. A spritz of perfume. She blinked at her reflection, sweet, sexy.

Strategically thirst–trappy.

If they’re planning to kill me, the least I can do is make him sweat first.

She zipped the bag. Slung it over her shoulder.

And smiled like trouble.

Let the hostage games begin.

Chapter Comments

Carrie W. Lane

5 days ago

Totally love the writing style! it’s sassy and mercurial.

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