Accardi (Genevieve and Matteo) by Allison Franklin novel Chapter 149

**Chapter 149**

**Lola**

She emerged from the depths of unconsciousness slowly, as if surfacing from a murky sea, the weight of the world pressing down on her like a heavy, damp blanket. Each breath sent a sharp reminder through her ribs, while the burns beneath the gauze itched incessantly, and her throat felt as if it had been scraped raw by a thousand tiny shards. Yet, amidst the discomfort, there was a clarity in her mind that had been absent for far too long.

The room was shrouded in dim light, a soft glow that felt almost ethereal. The rhythmic beeping and humming of the machines created a steady backdrop, marking time with an unyielding persistence. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she realized she was no longer adrift in that dark abyss.

With a slow flutter of her lashes, she turned her head to the left.

Enzo.

Even in slumber, he bore the marks of a brutal battle, as if he had gone twelve rounds with the devil himself. His jaw was bruised, a dark stubble casting shadows across the sharp contours of his face that had once seemed invincible. The skin beneath his eyes was marred by purple crescents, a testament to sleepless nights and relentless worry. Both of his hands were swathed in gauze, lying palm-up on the blanket, as if he had been too weary to even muster the strength to clench them.

A tightness gripped her chest. What had he done with those hands? She didn’t need to voice the question; the answer was etched into every line of his battered body. Enzo’s fury was like a tempest, a storm that left nothing but devastation in its wake. He had torn through the city for her—bled for her, burned for her. She could read his sacrifice in the very fabric of his being, inscribed like sacred scripture.

With a weak but determined movement, she reached for his nearest hand. Her fingers trembled as they brushed against the gauze, and she felt a wave of heat prick at her eyes. She had willingly signed up for this life—the chaos, the bloodshed, the ever-present danger that came with loving a man like him. She understood who he was, what burdens he carried, and she would choose this path again without a moment’s hesitation.

Because he was not just her protector, her obsession, her downfall. He was hers. And she would traverse the flames—hell, she had already done so—if it meant standing steadfastly beside him.

“I told myself it was loyalty. That you were family. That I could live with just that.” His voice cracked, rough around the edges, revealing the fragility beneath his bravado. “But the moment I thought you were gone… it tore every lie from my heart. Almost losing you shattered something deep inside me. I love you, Le. Not as a brother. Not as a friend. But as a man who knows he will never love anyone else like this.”

The weight of his confession hit her like a physical blow, stealing her breath away. Her throat tightened painfully, and her ribs constricted with a wave of anguish, a single tear breaking free and tracing a path down her temple into her hair.

Her mind raced back to those sleepless nights when she had lain awake, wondering what it truly felt like to be loved—really loved. Not wanted. Not used. Just loved. Another tear followed, then another, hot streaks cutting through the grime and bruises that marred her skin. “I crafted stories in my mind, but it was never like this. This is better. You and Enzo—” she glanced to the left, taking in the sight of the man sprawled asleep, hand still relaxed, knuckles wrapped in gauze—”you’ve given me something I didn’t even think was possible. And now, I don’t know how to exist without it. Without you.”

Her hand trembled as it moved across the sheet, seeking his. She found his bruised knuckles and curled her fingers around them, clinging to him as if he were the only anchor in a tempest. “So you’d better get used to me sticking around. Because I’m not letting go.”