Accidentally Yours (Merffy Kizzmet) novel Chapter 199

Chapter 199

Lola

The world had shrunk to four walls, a bed, and Enzo’s chest.

Three days blurred together like watercolor gone to mud. Morning, night–didn’t matter. The curtains stayed mostly drawn, daylight creeping in only when Enzo cracked the window to keep the air from going stale. Coffee cooled untouched on the nightstand. Food arrived in bags by the door, left by silent men who didn’t knock. Sometimes the bags disappeared again, unopened.

They didn’t leave the bed. Not really.

Enzo held her when sobs ripped through her like storms, stroked her hair when her throat went raw from screaming into his shirt. When her body shook too hard to breathe, he whispered steady promises into her ear until her lungs remembered how.

Sometimes they spoke, voices hoarse and low, as if speaking louder would shatter the fragile cage they’d built for themselves.

“I loved the way he never knocked,” Lola murmured once, cheek pressed into Enzo’s chest. Her voice was a rasp, barely there. “Just barged in like boundaries were a myth. Used to drive me insane. God, I’d give anything to hear it again.”

Enzo’s lips brushed her tangled hair. His voice was broken gravel. “He did it to me too. Drove me out of my mind. Now? I’d pay for it.”

Another time, in the bleary half–light of dawn, she whispered, “His books. Those big pretentious Russian ones. I’m going to read them. Every single one. Even if I don’t understand half. I’ll do it the week of his birthday, every year. That’s my deal.”

Enzo kissed her temple. “He’d laugh at you. Call you stubborn. But he’d like it.”

So they built little altars in bed–scraps of memory, small promises. Nico’s dumb jokes. His scowl when she stole fries. The way he guarded the cast–iron skillet like a relic. Each story felt like lighting a candle against a storm.

But mostly, they just slept. Bed–rot. That was the word. They tangled together like wreckage in the tide, half–dead, half–clinging.

It was pathetic. It was survival.

And then came day four.

The knock wasn’t heavy enough to be one of the guards. Too confident to be anyone else.

“Fuck off,” Lola muttered into Enzo’s chest.

The door creaked open anyway.

“Saints preserve me,” a gravel–honey voice announced. “You two look like wrung–out dishrags someone left in the sink.”

Lola groaned and refused to lift her head. Enzo only sighed, already knowing.

“Dottie.”

Baba Yaga herself strode in, Crocs bedazzled within an inch of their life, scarf tied haphazardly over her iron–gray curls. One hand carried

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Chapter 199.

a casserole dish that smelled aggressively of garlic and onions; the other gripped her cane, which Lola was ninety percent sure she used more for smiting than support.

“Well?” Dottie demanded, thunking the casserole down on the dresser. “You plan to rot in there forever, or do I call the coroner early?”

“Go away,” Lola groaned, dragging the blanket over her head.

“No.” Dottie said cheerfully, stabbing the cane at the lump Lola made. “You’ve had three days. Crying, screaming, snot fountains. Fine. You get three. Today’s day four.”

Enzo shifted, protective tension rolling off him like heat. “She’s not ready.”

Dottie swung the cane toward him so fast he nearly flinched. “Neither are you. Don’t make me start swinging, boy.”

“Boy,” Enzo muttered under his breath, jaw flexing. But he didn’t argue.

Lola peeked out, eyes swollen, face streaked. “You’re a monster.”

Dottie leaned on her cane, smirking. “And you’re alive. Start acting like it.”

Lola’s chest burned. “He’s not. Nico’s not.”

The smirk softened, though her eyes stayed sharp. “And nothing you do will bring him back, bug. That’s the cruelty of it. You get three days for grieving. Day four is for revenge.”

The words cracked through the room like a whip.

Enzo’s arm tightened around Lola, silent steel. But Dottie wasn’t finished. She came closer, cane tapping the floor, every step deliberate.

“You think this world cares that you’re broken? It doesn’t,” she said, voice sharp enough to slice. “It’ll eat you alive if you let it. You’ve got two choices: drown in it, or sharpen it into a blade. Which one do you think Nico would want, huh?”

Lola sat up, hair a tangle, hoodie slipping off her shoulder. “Don’t.” Her voice cracked. “Don’t use him against me.”

“I’m not,” Dottie said flatly. “I’m reminding you what he died in. Violence. Fire. The kind of world that only respects teeth. You want to honor him? Then get up. Bite back.”

“I can’t.” Lola’s fists twisted in the blanket.

“You can,” Dottie said, softer now but still iron. “Grief lies. It tells you you’re nothing without the one you lost. But grief is a thief. It’ll steal everything if you let it. You’re still here. You’re still you. And you are stronger than anything that comes for you–because I raised you to be.”

Lola let out a bitter laugh. “God, you’re such a witch.”

Dottie grinned, wicked and proud. “Of course I am. You think I lived this long by good looks alone? No, you always need a little magic.”

Enzo’s hand slid over Lola’s, grounding her. He hadn’t spoken, but his eyes tracked Dottie like she was saying the things he couldn’t.

Dottie’s gaze flicked between them. Then she planted her cane with finality. “Here’s the truth, bug. If you stay down, they win. Whoever

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Chapter 199

pulled that trigger, whoever thought they could carve the heart out of you that’s what they’re betting on. That you’ll be too broken to stand. Are you going to let them be right?”

The silence was heavy, Lola’s throat locked.

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She thought of Nico laughing in the kitchen. Nico calling her trouble. Nico promising fries and books and time.

Her hands trembled. She wiped her face roughly with her sleeve. “No.”

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