Accidentally Yours (Merffy Kizzmet) novel Chapter 39

Chapter 39

He woke up sore în every muscle that mattered.

Neck. Thighs. Back. Jaw.

The kind of soreness that wasn’t pain–it was memory. Of her. Of what she let him do. What she begged him for. What she took from him like it belonged to

ber.

And it did.

He rolled onto his side, hand reaching out-

Empty sheets, cold.

The faintest trace of her citrus–sweet scent still clinging to the pillow.

I’m glad she brought all of her toiletries, that smell is so soothing.

He exhaled, slow. Let himself smile.

She had her ten a.m. appointment. She told him last night.

Still.

She could’ve woken him up.

He grabbed his phone off the nightstand, thumbed it open.

9:42 a.m.

He typed:

You should’ve woken me up. I wasn’t done with you.

Then, before the smug could wear off:

Also–good luck walking today.

Grinning now, he rolled out of bed, pulled on the nearest pair of sweats, and padded barefoot into the hallway.

Coffee.

First order of business. Second: texting her again.

Third: figuring out what the fuck to do with the kind of energy she’d left in his chest.

He started down the hall.

Where are you?

He waited. Nothing.

Did you at least give me a kiss before you left?

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Still nothing.

His thumb hovered.

He was smiling, sure, but something about the silence twisted in his chest.

He wanted her attention. Her voice in his ear. Her smartass grin.

Lola.

Still no reply.

Lola.

His jaw ticked. Not angry. Not yet. Just… unsettled.

He stepped into the kitchen, phone still in hand.

And there, waiting like twin demons sent to test his patience-

Nico and Gino.

Both already mid–bite into their breakfast. Both looking up in perfect, eerie sync the second he walked in.

Their eyes widened.

Fuck, what happened now?

And then-

Nico choked.

Gino dropped half his taco. “Oh. Shit.”

Enzo frowned, confused.

“What?” he asked, voice low.

Nico’s hand slapped his own chest as he doubled over in laughter.

*Did she-*oh my god-*SHE DID IT.”

“Bro,” Gino said, breathless. “You’ve got, like, art on your face.”

Enzo blinked. “What the fuck are you talking ab-”

Then he turned.

And saw the fridge.

His reflection.

Black Sharpie villain mustache.

Triangle eyebrows.

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5:48 pm

Chapter 39

A heart drawn on his neck.

He stared.

For a long moment, nothing moved but his thumb.

Hovering over the text field on his phone.

He deleted the draft he’d been writing.

Typed one word.

Run.

Sent.

Oh that girl is absolutely going to be punished.

Then, without breaking eye contact with his own ridiculous reflection, he grabbed the coffee pot, poured himself a cup, and whispered:

“This means war.

The mustache was gone now.

His ego? That was still stained.

Enzo poured another cup of coffee.

Slow. Deliberate. Let the silence stretch just long enough to remind them who the fuck they were talking to.

Enzo looked up, calm as hell. “We’re kidnapping Lola.”

Nico choked on his coffee.

Gino’s brows shot up. “Like… as a joke?”

Enzo sipped. “That depends entirely on how long it takes her to beg for forgiveness.”

Nico cleared his throat. “Okay. Clarifying question: are we talking, like, fake kidnapping with consent? Or real fake kidnapping with black bags and tactical gear?”

Enzo’s smile was slow and sharp. “Lights out. Tactical entry. Full blackout. Smoke non–optional.”

Gino lit up. “Oh hell yes.”

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“She’ll actually murder us,” Nico muttered. “With her hands.”

Enzo set the mug down again and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms.

“She started it. We’ll send Ralph, Ed and Benny to actually grab her.”

‘Smart because whoever makes it to her first is getting throttled,” Nico said.

Gino nodded like it was scripture. “She did. That Sharpie had intent.”

“She’s cocky right now,” Enzo continued. “Riding high. Thinks she’s untouchable.”

“Because she kind of is,” Nico offered. “She made you say ‘Run‘ in a text. I’ve never seen you text anything under five words.”

He paused. Smiled wider.

She does but I’m going to make her second guess her life choices from now on.

“So we’re gonna take it back.”

He wasn’t angry. That surprised him.

This morning could’ve been a war crime. The mustache. The eyebrows. The heart.

And instead of humiliation?