Enzo
Enzo leaned back against the headboard, Lola’s warmth pressed to his side, her voice low and deliberate as she laid out the kind of plan men would pay fortunes–or spill blood–to hear.
She hadn’t even asked for anything. Not a single thing. Been reluctant to touch any of the clothes in the closet. Tried to take up as little as space as possible. And now she was offering him this–for nothing.
He studied her in the dim light, every word she spoke threading itself into his mind like steel wire.
Most people in his world survived by keeping their mouths shut. Even loyal men who’d bled for him wouldn’t suggest something like this–not to his face. Ideas of this magnitude didn’t just change operations; they shifted the balance of power. Saying them out loud, uninvited, was dangerous. Saying them to the wrong man was a death sentence.
But Lola? She didn’t flinch. She didn’t hedge her words or water them down. She dropped the plan in his lap like she knew exactly what it was worth.
My girl’s dangerous. And God help me, I liked it.
“He offered her the world. She said she had her own. So he stole her to rule beside him.”
‘I’ve always loved that line about Hades and Prosephone,” Lola replied not moving
He let the silence stretch, tasting the weight of it.
She just handed me a weapon sharp enough to cut a family line out of existence. And she did it like it was nothing.
The worst part? She wasn’t wrong.
It was surgical. Brutal without spilling a drop of blood. A kind of power you didn’t show off–you kept in your pocket until the day you needed to end something completely.
And she’d thought of it for him.
Not because she wanted his territory. Not because she wanted to prove she could play at his table.
Because she didn’t want to wake up without him.
Christ.
That did something to him.
Made his chest feel too tight and his pulse too steady, like his body already knew this was the moment she stopped being something he wanted and became something he could not lose.
He curled his hand over her hip, thumb brushing the warm skin under her shirt.
“That’s the kind of plan,” he said quietly, “that men have started wars for.”
Her lips curved–soft, smug, and utterly unrepentant. “Guess you better win, then.”
Enzo let her words hang in the air a beat longer, the picture of it building sharp and clear in his head.
“I’ll have to send Marco,” he said finally, half to her, half to himself. “Him and his old lady. They know how to settle somewhere quiet without drawing heat, and Marco’s been in the game long enough to smell a setup from a mile away.”
Chapter 75
Her brow lifted, like she could already see him running the chessboard.
“They’ll rebuild down there,” he went on, thumb dragging over her hip in slow, absent strokes. “Fortify the port. Start fresh with people who’ll bleed loyalty before they’d ever sell it. Keep eyes on the Zhangs from the inside.”
She didn’t interrupt, just watched him in that way she had–like she was cataloging him in real time.
“I’ll need to go down myself, too,” he admitted. “Not for long. But long enough to make sure the right message gets sent.”
He didn’t say that he’d discuss that part with her later. No sense stirring that pot before it was time.
Her hand slid over his chest, palm warm against his skin. “Sounds like a plan.”
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