Chapter 27
Enzo
She was gliding.
That was the only word for it–dark goddess in stilettos, hips swaying through the rooftop like she owned the place, like she’d been born to haunt leather couches and luxury turf.
She hit the bar with a grin and ordered without hesitation.
“Dirty gin martini. Extra filthy.”
Of course.
The guys followed, drinks flowing fast–whiskey, tequila, craft beers for the ones pretending to behave. Gino got a spritz and didn’t even apologize for it.
Then Lola clapped her hands.
“Alright, assholes–shots.”
A chorus of laughter, groans, and one nervous “wait, what?” followed. But she was already waving the bartender over.
“I don’t care what it is,” she said. “As long as it burns and makes you feel something.”
Eight shot glasses appeared like magic–lined up in two rows of four. Crystal–clear. Potent.
She grabbed hers and held it high. The rooftop quieted slightly. Even the music from the speakers dipped low as all eyes landed on her.
Lola smiled.
Not cocky. Not chaotic.
Something softer.
She looked around–at Enzo, at the men surrounding him, at the strange not–quite–family she’d accidentally stepped into.
She’s so beautiful.
Then, in smooth, steady Italian:
“Ai legami più forti del sangue. A quelli che restano quando tutto il resto brucia.”
1
To bonds stronger than blood. To the ones who stay when everything else burns.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward–it was heavy.
Respectful,
She isn’t just rare. She’s impossible. And somehow, she’s real.
Even the loudest of the crew didn’t dare undercut it.
One by one, glasses lifted in response.
1/3
Chapter 27
She drank first. Let the heat rush down her throat like a dare she was winning.
Then the others followed. Enzo’s hand found her back again, grounding. Claiming. His eyes didn’t leave hers for a second.
And if she hadn’t already broken through?
That toast did it.
Completely.
There’s no going back now.
The guys were still drinking, still clinking glasses and laughing around the firepit. But all Enzo could see was Lola.
Lit by the string lights like she’d summoned them.
Hair wild. Smile easy. Shoulders relaxed like she wasn’t standing at the center of a world she didn’t belong to two days ago.
But she belonged now.
And the worst part?
She didn’t even know what she’d done.
How much she just anchored herself inside him.
Not by seduction. Not by chaos.
By seeing something in these men–the broken ones, the loyal ones–and blessing it like it mattered.
Dom gave her a high five.
Gino, the dumb bastard, looked weirdly proud. Like this was all going according to some glitter–fueled plan.
And Enzo?
He was spiraling. Quietly.
Dangerously.
Already too deep.
He reached for his drink, took a long pull, and didn’t even blink when the bourbon burned.
She looked over at him. Caught him staring.
Raised her brows with a cocky little smirk. As if to say,
What?
He didn’t answer. Just tipped his head, smiled like it didn’t matter.
Like he hadn’t already decided-
She’s mine.
Even if I have to lie to both of us to keep her.
Dinner was loud. Not obnoxious–just alive.
Plates clinked. Knives scraped against grilled steak, charred vegetables, mountains of pasta. Someone passed garlic bread across the table with a muttered threat to Gino. Laughter broke out in waves. Ice cracked in glasses.
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