Chapter 99
Then he left her to the quiet again, smoke curling from the grill, her cigarette burning low between her fingers, and the pool rocking softly around her.
Lola closed her eyes.
She raised her bottle in salute. “Thanks, chef.”
Dom smirked and went back to the grill, tongs clinking softly as the first steak hit the heat. Smoke curled upward, carried off by the night breeze, leaving Lola alone again with her drink and the faint ripple of water against her shoulders.
She let her eyes fall shut, head tipping back toward the stars. For a moment it was just her, the pool, and the faint hum of flame.
Then the sliding glass door groaned open.
“Smells like heaven out here,” Gino announced, voice too loud, carrying a tray of shot glasses with the reverence of a priest. “Somebody better be blessing me with tequila.”
“Only if you’ve earned it,” Nico drawled, following behind with two beers already tucked under his arm.
Enzo came last, moving slower than the others, dark eyes sweeping the deck. He didn’t look at the grill, or the food, or even Gino’s ridiculous balancing act. His gaze went straight to her, half–submerged in the pool, cigarette between her fingers, bottle nearly drained.
Lola blew out a stream of smoke, lazy and unbothered. “Took you boys long enough. I was about to send out the search party. Enzo remember what happened the last time you went missing?”
“Yeah, he ended up bringing you home and now look where we are,” Gino grinned, setting the tray down on the nearest table. “Shots first. Steak second. Moral collapse third.”
Dom barked a laugh without looking up from the grill. “Shut up and set up the shots.”
The deck settled into rhythm–the crackle of flame, the pop of bottles opening, the clink of glass. Lola stubbed out the last of her clove in the ashtray Dom had dragged over, finished the rest of her beer, and stretched her arms across the pool’s edge, watching them through half–lidded eyes.
It was only when Enzo broke from the group and came to crouch by the water that her chest tightened.
“So I wanted to ask you about your new tattoo earlier but had other things taking up all the space,” Enzo voice low, chin tilting toward the edge of her ribs.
Lola glanced down like she’d forgotten it was there. “Yeah.”
Slowly pulling herself out of the water, sitting on the edge, her fingers brushed the ridged edge of the design–black lines still sharp, the skin still slightly
pink.
2
“It’s a shield. Not flashy, not performative. Just solid,” she said finally.
“The laurel’s for victory,” she explained, fingers tracing the leaves, voice softer now.
“The knotwork’s for loyalty. But the structure–that’s what matters most.”
Dom tilted his head. “Structure?”
Her gaze cut to Enzo and stayed there, steady and unblinking. “You know what a phalanx is?”
Dom nodded. “Old battle line. Shields locked so tight nothing gets through.”
“Exactly.” She traced the tattoo again, eyes never leaving Enzo. “One shield alone can only hold for so long. But when you lock them together—same shape, same weight, same purpose–you build a wall. A fortress that moves as one. Unbreakable.”
“Damn,” Gino muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Kinda makes me wanna get one now.”
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