Accidentally Yours (Merffy Kizzmet) novel Chapter 70

Chapter 70

Enzo

The meeting was dragging–the kind that demanded patience, a poker face, and enough self–control to keep from strangling someone across the table. Enzo

was half–listening to Nico walk a supplier through the numbers when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He didn’t check texts in meetings. Ever.

But it was Gino.

Gino: Your boy Kevin just got real handsy with Lola.

Gino: Grabbed her shirt to look at the bruises. Tried to get in her face.

Gino: I handled it. You’ll wanna handle the rest.

The edges of Enzo’s vision tightened.

He typed back, each word deliberate.

Enzo: Is he still there?

Gino: No. I sent him packing.

Enzo: Good. Don’t let him back in.

Enzo: I’ll deal with him.

The phone slid back into his pocket before anyone could notice the shift in his face. His pulse was steady, but his jaw was locked hard enough to ache.

Someone had touched her. Pulled at her clothes. Looked at what was mine like he had the right.

And Kevin was still breathing.

For now.

I’ll fix that.

He let the meeting play out, speaking only when absolutely necessary. His mind wasn’t in the room anymore–it was already mapping routes, deciding how far he’d have to go to make Kevin understand this was a one–time mistake.

Two hours later, Enzo was on the casino floor, standing over a pit boss who’d been caught skimming from a high roller. The man stammered excuses, but all Enzo heard was Kevin. Every syllable sounded like his name.

“You think this is a game?” Enzo’s voice was low enough that the hum of the floor almost swallowed it. Almost. He stepped in close–close enough for the man to see exactly how thin his patience ran. “You want to keep your job, you put the chips where they belong. Next time you pocket a cent, you walk out without fingers.”

He didn’t lay a hand on him, but the way the pit boss blanched said the message landed.

Behind him, Nico’s voice floated in. “You’re in a mood.”

Dom snorted. “More than a mood. That poor bastard’s gonna have nightmares.”

Enzo didn’t answer. They didn’t need to know. Not yet. Not until Kevin was handled.

1/3

5:57 pm P P P P

It was late evening by the time he tracked Kevin down–leaning over a pool table in the back of a dive bar Enzo owned through a shell company. The place reeked of cheap beer, stale cigarettes, and desperation that stuck to the walls like smoke.

He would.

And then he’d wish he hadn’t.

Kevin was bent over the table, chalking his cue, when a broad palm pressed flat to the felt, stopping his shot cold.

He straightened, frowning. “Do I know you?”

“Not personally,” Enzo said, voice low and steady. “But you know who I am.”

Kevin’s brow creased, suspicion flickering before realization settled in. “Yeah? And who’s that supposed to be?”

“Vincenzo Marchesi.”

The name hit like a cue ball to the ribs. Kevin’s face drained of color. “Fuck. You’re Enzo?” His voice went thin. “Hey, man, I don’t want any trouble-”

Enzo stepped in, close enough to crowd him against the table. “Too late for that. You touched my woman today. Grabbed her shirt. Looked down it.” His tone sharpened into steel. “The absolute disrespect.”

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