The Innocent: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance (The Syndicate's Revenge Book 3)

by Mara McQueen

  She'd sworn her life to the Brotherhood. She'd bled for it. Now she couldn't share this secret?

  Enzo must've read Patrice's turmoil on her face, because he stepped closer to her and leaned down until he caught her gaze. "Nobody can know who I really am."

  Patrice sighed. "The Brotherhood won't hurt you. You're too valuable. Raiden wants to pay the Phantom a lot of money to get him on our side."

  Of course, Raiden had no idea the Phantom was Syndicate. Everyone thought the spy was former Clan. A rogue. A rebel.

  "I can't be bought," Enzo said darkly. "I take what missions I want, when I want them. I'm tied to no one and I don't want to ever be."

  "Ever?" Patrice asked before she could stop herself.

  Enzo blinked and his intensity vanished, replaced with a warm, open look. "That's different."

  "Is it? I'm Brotherhood, through and through."

  "Patrice, you can't tell anyone about me." He rested his hands on her shoulders, gaze rooting her to the spot.

  "I have to," she whispered. For the good of the Brotherhood.

  "You really don't."

  "We won't hurt you...but you can hurt us." And thus hurt her.

  A handful of secrets could destroy her Clan, and Enzo probably had them. Or could, one day, get his hands on them.

  Enzo worked his jaw for a long time. Finally, he said, "As long as we're married, I won't do anything to endanger your Clan."

  Patrice narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

  It all sounded swell now, when it was just the two of them, where nobody could find them, but they had to return to the real world. And, more importantly, to the Underworld.

  "As long as we're together, I'm not touching your Clan," he said stoically, his eyes not leaving hers. "I swear."

  A heavy silence fell over them. With the Phantom leaving the Brotherhood alone, the Clan would thrive.

  But it was only a promise. From the man himself. Could Patrice trust him? If he betrayed her, a lot of lives would be in danger.

  "I can cut my palm open and we can seal the pact in blood," Enzo said, voice laced with humor. "I know you Brotherhood people love pomp and circumstance. I'm sure Ella has stashed a dagger in here somewhere."

  Damn this man for making her smile and forget, even for a second, about the rest of the world.

  She mock-gasped, playing along. "You're one to talk. You have fifteen million houses, most of them dripping in gold."

  He shrugged. "Only the ones people visit. Have to keep up appearances."

  True. This small home was so vastly different than the marble monstrosity she'd met him in. Not a hint of gold or gaudiness. All clean, sparse, and cozy at the same time.

  "You have a weird thing with secrecy," she said.

  "I once trusted the wrong person and paid dearly for it. I don't make the same mistake twice. Do we have a deal?"

  Patrice took a deep, centering breath. If he said he wouldn't meddle in the Brotherhood's business, she had to believe him.

  The other option was telling the Brotherhood about him and risk breaking the arranged marriage, which might lead to a Clan war and a very pissed-off Underworld Committee.

  That was dangerous. It didn't make sense. But she still felt guilt worming its way deeper into her heart.

  Finally, Patrice nodded. She'd have to trust Enzo. For now.

  His face lit up with a huge grin, back to his tempting self.

  Oh, who was Patrice kidding? He was irresistible when happy, angry, menacing, laughing. The man breathed sex-appeal and she didn't know how much more of it she could take.

  "Now that we've settled all that life-endangering business, how about I give you a tour of the house? You can set your lab down in the cellar," he said. "Let's start with our bedroom."

  Patrice gulped. "Our?"

  Chapter Twelve

  ENZO

  Seeing Patrice zoom across his bedroom was quite a sight.

  Enzo leaned against the doorway, glass of wine in his hand, watching her rush into the bathroom, gasp, then come out with a huge grin on her face.

  "You have a waterfall shower head. And a shower that could fit ten people. At least." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Orgies?"

  "You have a dirty mind, Viper." Enzo laughed.

  "I know who I'm dealing with," she said primly, sauntering close to the bed. She stared longingly at the plush duvet, but she didn't touch it. Like she was afraid. If only she knew how much fun they could have under those silky covers. "I remember how we met. Officially."

  He took another sip from his glass. Was he a bit nervous she might not like his home? Maybe.

  This place was his sanctuary. Passed down from generations, until it landed under Enzo's name. And when he'd gotten it, it had been nothing more than a crumbling shack. Broken windows, sand everywhere, weeds smothering the entire island.

  Nat might have decorated it—after begging Enzo to let her flex the creative muscles she kept dormant during her tedious legal job for the Syndicate—but he'd been the one to clean the place up before she came in with her paint swatches.

  He'd had to tear down walls and decaying windowsills. Take care of those pesky wasp nests that had infested the attic.

  Hack most of the weeds away—not all; he still wanted a bit of wilderness on his island, and got a lot of it on the Southern side, where thorny bushes had taken over for the last couple of years.

  Every time he got a moment to breathe, he came here and did some more work on the house. It had calmed him and he'd left his fingerprints everywhere. On the door varnish, on the table in the kitchen he'd built himself from scratch.

  He'd wanted to create his little slice of heaven. Secret heaven. Where nobody knew who he was. He didn't have to keep up appearances. Here, he wasn't the jet setting party boy. He wasn't the Phantom. He was Enzo.

  He'd had family over every other holiday—and Charles, who he trusted with his life—but everyone else had been barred from this place.

  And now he wanted to share it with Patrice.

  If she didn't like it, it would feel as if she'd be rejecting the very essence of him.

  So, yes, he was nervous. So he'd poured himself a glass.

  "Do you really remember that night?" he asked. "Because all I did was sit down and let other people enjoy themselves. I didn't do anything."

  Apart from organizing the party so he could trap Darryl, which was a move so common in the Underworld, it almost felt like breathing at this point.

  She cocked her hips to the side. "You're right, you were positively saintly in that throne of yours."

  He looked at her over the rim of his glass. "Do you like it here?"

  His insides tightened as Patrice took her sweet time inhaling deeply.

  "I kind of love it," she said, sounding surprised. "I didn't think I would, but it's so quiet. I like that, it reminds me of my cabin and lake. And it smells amazing. Though we've only been here for like ten minutes. I hope I won't get a chorus of boat horns for the next two hours."

  Enzo sighed in relief. She liked it here. A lot. He knew he was reading too much into this, but he relaxed all the same.

  He placed his empty glass onto the table, next to the ceramic lamp he'd haggled for in a bazaar. "Do you—"

  "Can I ask you something?"

  "Anything." She already knew his biggest secret and he wanted to share so much more of him with her. He rarely got to do it. Not even his family knew everything about him, not really. He always had some mask or another on. With everyone, even Toni.

  "We've only been here ten minutes…" she started, lips opening and closing, like she couldn't find the right words.

  "And…we haven't gone swimming yet?" he asked after the silence stretched on for too long. "By the way, stay clear from the Southern beach. It's rocky and full of seaweed."

  "Noted." Patrice took a deep breath. "Do you drink a lot? Because your first stop here was at the bar. And in the plane, you had a glass in your hand before we eve
n took off."

  "I—" Hadn't been expecting that. He'd had his first taste of alcohol after Victor had died and hadn't stopped since, except on missions. "Don't usually drink."

  Maybe a half-truth? He hadn't really thought about it that much. It was still new—which meant he could stop it before it became a habit.

  "You drink more than me. Is this something I should be worried about?"

  "Look at you, being all concerned about me." He grinned.

  Patrice averted her gaze. "I'm serious."

  "You seriously don't have to worry," Enzo said. It definitely felt like the truth. He'd been so angry after the wedding, so unlike himself, that he began doing something that wasn't him. But being around Patrice calmed him down. Took away some of that bloodlust. He still wanted to torture and kill whoever had killed his uncle, but that didn't mean he had to lose himself on the way. "How about I only drink when you do? We can share a glass of wine whenever you want."

  "Good. But get your own glass, because I'm not a sharer," Patrice said playfully.

  Enzo could already picture them in front of the fireplace. Soft lights. Whispered conversation. The two of them naked and spent.

  "I shared my pastry with you."

  "Yes, well...you're kinder than me." She averted her gaze with a small smile. And there was that blush of hers again. Lovely. "So...about this whole our bedroom…" Patrice bit her lower lip. "Beautiful room, but I don't think that's happening."

  Yet. But Enzo was a patient man.

  "Don't worry, I'll be sleeping in the guest room."

  For now. He was also a perceptive man, and he knew Patrice wanted him as much as he wanted her. All she had to do was say the word.

  Patrice frowned. "Why?"

  "Because I don't want you kicking me in my sleep." He grinned. "This bed's bigger, you'll be more comfortable."

  And he liked the idea of his sheets smelling like her.

  "Thanks, but I'll take that guest bedroom. I insist."

  It was Enzo's turn to frown. "Why?"

  "Because I'm still not all that keen on sleeping in the same bed so many others have slept in. With you."

  Was that jealousy he heard in her voice? "Only Charles and my family have been here. Ever. I can assure you, I haven't shared a bed with any of them in about fifteen years."

  She narrowed her eyes at him. She wasn't buying it. "Nobody but family. Really?"

  "Really."

  "Oh." She stared at the bed again. She opened her mouth, looking on the verge of saying something, then squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "No. Guest bedroom for me. It's closer to the cellar anyway. By the way, we should start unpacking my lab. Yes. Definitely."

  She rushed out of the bedroom, as if she was afraid that if she stayed there for too long, she might change her mind.

  Enzo sighed. "It won't bite—"

  "That's the problem." She stopped in the doorway, looking up at him through her eyelashes with an alluring smile. "It can't bite. Yet."

  Chapter Thirteen

  PATRICE

  "I know, it's really nice. No tundra cabin, but it's great not to freeze our asses off, for once." Patrice cooed at Mr. Oscar.

  He'd gotten over himself after that first day and had gone back to his usual clingy self. He followed Patrice around everywhere. To the beach—where he only stayed on the towel, basking in the sun, and locking his gaze on the seagulls that came too close. Through the garden, which they'd only explored maybe half of until now—and they still had to go check out that wild field near the rocky beach, but that could wait. In the bathroom.

  But Mr. Oscar's favorite spot on this island was the cellar's only windowsill. He dozed off on that thing day in and day out, while Patrice slowly lost her mind in her "lab".

  She was a pro at toxins. Poisons. Liquids, powders, pills, gases. She was the Viper, for God's sake.

  But a week into trying to uncover what that wedding toxin had been, she was no closer to finding its origin, no matter how many beakers she'd accidentally smashed.

  The only evidence she had of that substance was a sample she'd taken from Mason's blood after he'd been shot with a poisoned bullet. His wound had turned sickly green. His blood had boiled.

  Patrice had never seen anything like it.

  She also hadn't been able to find any traces of the toxin on the bullets fired at the wedding. It was as if it had evaporated from the metal.

  This was strange. It was infuriating. It drove her fucking insane.

  She'd been staring at Mason's boiled blood under a microscope until her eyes had watered.

  To be fair, she had found one thing—the toxin had come from a plant, not an animal. Which basically still left her with thousands of options to narrow down.

  But she knew plants, especially the dangerous ones, and she'd never seen anything like this one.

  It was maddening.

  To keep from totally losing it, Patrice had made entire batches of the antidote she'd used on Mason—a lucky mix of synthetic substances which could fight most known toxins; she carried at least one vial of it on her at all times—and a bottle of the gas poison she had in her ventilation system back home. If Enzo really had a death trap set up here, this would make a nice addition.

  "I could've become a pharmacist, but noooo," she mumbled. "I had to have excitement in my life. Adventure. Make some difference in the world."

  Mr. Oscar responded by flopping onto his back, belly up, and blinking slowly at her.

  "I love you, too," she muttered.

  "Am I interrupting a romantic moment?" came Enzo's amused voice from the cellar doorway.

  Patrice whirled around, running her hands down the front of the yellow dress she had on, barely peeking from underneath her lab coat.

  In her lab back home, she worked in her PJs. But Enzo would always drop by while she worked here. She wanted to look nice, sue her.

  "No, Mr. Oscar has his eyes set on that Burmese cat in the kitty litter commercial. I can't get in the way of true love," she said, trying very hard not to stare at her fiancé.

  Damn, he looked good.

  He always looked good. Soft cotton shirt, with his sleeves rolled up carelessly. Unbuttoned at the clavicle just enough to give her an enticing peek at his bronze skin. Hair standing up every which way, just begging her to run her hands through it.

  And that smile of his. The easy grin of a man who knew he was hot, but didn't make a fuss about it.

  Enzo was going to be the death of her.

  "Any luck?" He nodded at her table, lined with about a million herbs and powders.

  Patrice hesitated. She had found something, after all. But the whole trust thing was still sketchy between them.

  "I've broken too many beakers not to."

  Enzo must have sensed her hesitation, because he laughed and said, "I've found something, too. I'll trade you. Information for information."

  "Or you can just give it to me."

  "I'm generous, not selfless." He stepped toward her, bringing all of his magnetism out to play. The grin, the head tilt, the unrelenting gaze. He did not come to play.

  "Fine. You go first."

  Enzo scoffed a laugh. "I'm indulging you way too much."

  "You like it."

  "I do," he said without a hint of hesitation. "Remember that whole breaking into Darryl's office?"

  "And almost getting shot, then chased through Paris, only to find ourselves with a bounty on our heads? Vaguely."

  "I've had my associates look into them."

  "You mean Toni?"

  Enzo's twin sister was a tech genius. She was a pain for the Brotherhood—at least one they knew about. Patrice's Clan spent millions of dollars every year securing their servers and documents in case Toni got bored and decided to crack all their passwords. Even the Underworld Committee—which should have been impartial to the bone—had their eyes on Toni. And on the damages caused by the Phantom.

  If Toni and Enzo ever put their minds to it, they might just take ove
r the world. Good thing the twins occupied themselves with other things.

  "Yes, Toni. I think you two are going to like each other," Enzo said.

  Shockingly, Patrice kind of hoped so? She knew this Toni was driving Mason, her Brotherhood fiancé, up the fucking walls, but the woman was fierce and feared, even if she rarely came out in public in the Underworld.

  "She looked over the reports we borrowed—" Enzo went on.

  "Stolen."

  "Scanned."

  "Scanned sounds good." Patrice grinned.

  It was so easy to get into this flow with him. It felt comfortable. It felt right.

  They'd been spending a lot of time together.

  They always shared breakfast, then went off to work in their corners of the house. He came down to visit her more often than not, always with a smile and a joke, and the hours seemed to slip away from them. And after dinner, they always lingered—until the clock struck midnight, and even then, they kept on talking through the yawns and slow blinks.

  Patrice liked being around him. And they got along shockingly well.

  "Toni cross-referenced the Runagate names on those lists with some of her sketchy databases," Enzo went on. "Apparently, a lot of those Runagates haven't been seen in a long time."

  Patrice faltered. "How long?"

  "Since three weeks before the wedding. And more are vanishing each week," Enzo said grimly.

  "Vanishing as in keeping a low profile to create more trouble for Clans—" Bothersome, but understandable. "—or vanishing as in nobody has seen them and never will again?"

  "We don't know. But the timing is suspicious."

  Very suspicious. "You think they're behind the wedding massacre? It's too much of a power move for them."

  The Runagates were driven by profit. Riches. Money and nothing else.

  It made no sense to strike two very powerful Clans for nothing. Runagates weren't into blood and gore and vengeance.

  "They couldn't have done this," Patrice said.

  "Not alone."

  The words echoed around them on a loop, sinking into Patrice's bones.

  "For the right price, a Runagate could become a fearsome sniper. And there were a lot of those at the wedding," Enzo went on. "But someone had to pay them. Set the whole horrid plan in motion."