Enzo
Forearms braced, fingers threaded with hers, he pressed his forehead to hers and moved like he meant it. Slow, deep, reverent–each thrust a quiet confession. No rush. No chaos. Just truth, written into her with every inch of his body.
He held her in that place–that perfect, unbearable place–where pleasure blurred into worship, and stayed there. Kept her there. Kept her.
Her breath hitched. Fingers tightened. And then she shattered–quiet, trembling, like the earth tilting off its axis. No scream, no moan, just a silent quake that emptied the air around them.
He went with her, jaw locked, throat wrecked, a groan ripping from him like it had nowhere else to go.
I can’t lose you.
I would raze the map before I lose you.
I love you.
She was still draped over him, warm and real and breath–steady, like the world hadn’t tried to tear her away hours ago.
I almost lost this.
She has no idea what that would’ve done to me.
“I missed you,” he said, voice low and hoarse.
She smiled into his neck. “You should. I’m unforgettable.”
He almost laughed, but it felt too close to breaking. “Every damn second.”
She pulled back, just enough to meet his eyes, and for once her smile softened without losing its edge.
“I missed you too,” she whispered. “Even when I hated you a little.”
He nodded. He’d earned that.
Then silence settled again, but it wasn’t peace–it was the weight of what still had to be done.
“I have to kill him,” he said.
He didn’t clarify. He didn’t have to.
“The man who touched you. Sir Sprinkles. Matthew. Whatever we’re calling him.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
“Obviously,” she said.
Enzo turned to look at her fully, already expecting to have to walk her through it–through the need, the method, the consequence.
But she was steady. Too steady.
“I meant it when I said ‘later,” she added, voice smooth as glass. “I want to be there. I’m going to be there.”
1/4
6:00 pm P P
Chapter 93
He studied her, brow furrowed. “You’re not… bothered?”
She tilted her head, amused. “By you killing him?”
“Yes.” His voice was gruff, more uncertain than he liked. “By what I’m going to do. What you’ll see.”
“You think I don’t know what this is or what they would have done with me had they succeeded?” she asked, brushing her fingers over the scar near his collarbone. “You think I don’t know who you are?”
He said nothing. Just looked at her.
“I’m not afraid of the truth,” she said. “Only the lies people tell to soften it.”
Something in his chest twisted–tight and hot and terrifying.
“And for the record,” she added, voice lighter now, dangerous again, “I have ideas.”
He raised a brow. “Ideas.”
She rolled onto her back, gaze on the ceiling like she was planning brunch.
“We start with the teeth. It’s psychological. It’s also personal. Then one finger. Just one. People get overwhelmed when you take too much too fast. You lose the fear curve. But one? That’s intimate. We’ll use and industrial grade kitchen mandolin, shave it down nice and slow. Intimate”
He just… looked at her.
She turned to meet his gaze. “What?”
A beat passed. Then he asked, dry but genuine,
“Should I be worried? Did I make you like this, or have you always been into recreational torture and cursed playlists?”
She smirked, unapologetic.
“I watch too much true crime, was raised on anime and horror, and I compartmentalize like it’s a goddamn superpower. You just gave me better tools.”
He blinked once. Then again.
A muscle ticked in his jaw like he wasn’t sure whether to kiss her or call a priest.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I’m so fucked.”
“Yeah,” she said, all teeth. “And it’s too late for you.”
He shook his head, awe and low–level panic twisting behind his ribs.
“How are you okay with this?” he asked, quieter now. Honest. “With me like this?”
She didn’t hesitate.
“Because you never hide it,” she said. “You don’t pretend to be gentle. You don’t insult me with kindness I didn’t ask for. You just are. And I get to decide if I can handle that.”
She leaned in, lips brushing his jaw–soft, sure, sealing the moment with heat and promise.
“Besides,” she whispered, “life’s short. If it’s gonna end at literally any moment… shouldn’t it end with the people we can’t be without?”
Chapter 93
“Let’s do it for the plot.”
Enzo’s throat locked.
Not because she said love.
But because she didn’t need to.
She’d just laid her soul bare in ten words and a whisper.
And his had answered like it was hers to summon.
He already loved her.
“Okay, beautiful,” he said, voice hoarse. “Put something on.”
She laughed in the face of vengeance, flirted with fury, and looked at him like he was something she’d die for.
He ran a hand over his face, dizzy with it.
“I’m in love with a lunatic,” he whispered, not even trying to stop the grin, “and I think she’s my favorite person on earth.”
Lola emerged from the closet like it was a runway. A deeply cursed, aggressively unserious runway.
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