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

by Mara McQueen

  They'd jumped from the window straight into Darryl's pool. The water had been lukewarm, too. After that, it had been a race through the bastard's courtyard and out the hole in the fence—Charles had "accidentally" ran his car into it earlier that day.

  Like Enzo had said, he never left the house without an escape route. Or three.

  If had been a wild run through the narrow streets he'd scoped out a week before, but they were safe. That's all that mattered. And he'd scanned those reports.

  Mission accomplished, now onto phase two—if Enzo could stop staring at Patrice.

  Her hair clung to her face. Her mascara ran down the sides of her cheeks.

  But there was fire in her eyes. That unmistakable look of someone who would rather take on the entire world—and Underworld—instead of ever admitting defeat.

  And her dress. Her soaking wet dress that clung to her body sinfully, accentuating every curve and dip.

  Good thing Enzo's jacket still draped over her shoulders or he would've been in trouble. All Enzo wanted to do was pick her up, rush into the first fancy hotel, and forget they'd ever been from different Clans.

  Patrice wasn't all that unaffected either.

  Enzo's shirt clung to every inch of skin and her eyes wandered a bit too often to his arms and abs.

  They were definitely attracted to one another. It was a start.

  Too bad his socks made sloshing sounds in his shoes with every step, and one of her sandal straps had torn, so that she had to walk with a small limp.

  To the few passersby, they must've looked like wet cats.

  "One of the finest cities in the world," Enzo said, breaking the stillness. Paris was great, especially during the night, but he wanted to hear Patrice's voice. "And one of my favorite places."

  Patrice snorted a laugh.

  Enzo couldn't help but laugh, too. "What?"

  "Your favorite place is Paris. My favorite place is a lake in the woods back at my cabin." She shrugged. "But you're right, Paris is pretty amazing. I can't believe I've never visited it before."

  Enzo frowned. "Question is how you managed to avoid Paris until now. You're Brotherhood. Your last name's Duval."

  "I'm from Canada." She sniffed. "And I've been here. On missions. But I just saw the airport and too many embassies to count."

  "You're joking."

  Patrice shrugged. "Never had time to wander and enjoy."

  Enzo grinned. If there was one thing he was good at, it was enjoyment. And he wanted Patrice to enjoy herself. With him.

  He stopped in the middle of the street and checked his watch. The place he had his mind on wouldn't technically be open, but he knew the owner.

  He grinned at Patrice, who was looking at him with raised brows. "We don't have enough time now either, but we're not leaving until we've had a taste of Paris."

  He grabbed her hand and raced through the streets, feeling more alive than he had in years. Patrice's unrestrained giggle as they began running. Her erratic heartbeat beating in his palm. Her mere presence at his side.

  It felt good not to run in the middle of the night alone, for once.

  They reached the pastry shop in a few minutes and after some polite—then insistent—knocking on the glass door, Maurice, the owner, came out. His thunderous expression melted into a smile when he saw Enzo.

  "Ah, Caputo. Bonsoir. Ou bonjour, n'est-ce pas?" Maurice said and unlocked the door with his flour-coated hands. "You are in time, the first batch has just come out of the oven. Perfect timing, as always."

  "I try," Enzo said, not missing the way Patrice's eyes widened as she took in the hot trays lining the counters.

  "This is amazing. I want every—" She shook her head, even as her stomach gave a loud growl. "I don't have any money."

  "Luckily, euros survive unexpected pool dives." Enzo took out a wad of money—credit cards could be traced, cash was the way to go, always. "We'll have two of each, s'il te plait."

  "Make it three," Patrice said sheepishly, looking up at him with big, round eyes and an innocent smile. "I may be small, but I have a mighty appetite."

  If she wanted, Enzo would buy the whole damn shop, just to see that smile on her again.

  Ten minutes later, they were walking along the Seine river, with the sun barely peeking on the horizon. The soft morning breeze accompanied them, carrying a sweet magnolia scent.

  They each carried a paper bag overflowing with steamy baked goodness.

  "This is divine," Patrice moaned as she polished off another pain au chocolat.

  She was divine.

  She nodded at the Eiffel Tower in the distance. "And we get to do some sightseeing. You're fun to travel with."

  Oh, how much fun they could have traveling if only they allowed themselves to just let go.

  "Next time, we'll go to my favorite restaurant and visit the Louvre."

  "Sweet, sweet promises." She munched on a macaron. Her nose wiggled in delight, and she moaned again, closing her eyes. She had zero mercy for Enzo. "But not as sweet as these pastries."

  "You haven't even touched the Paris-Brest." Which was a crime, as far as he was concerned.

  "They're way down at the bottom of the bag, I have to eat my way down." She gave him a sly little grin. "But if you're in the mood for sharing?"

  Enzo chuckled. His future wife had a massive sweet tooth. Who would have guessed the Viper would go crazy over pastry?

  "You're insatiable," he said and regretted it instantly. Because that one small word conjured wicked things in his mind that had no connection to eating. Well...almost no connection. "But from now on, what's mine is yours, right?"

  Patrice nodded and eyed his bag hungrily. Enzo laughed. He couldn't help it. Her sudden enthusiasm was infectious—and a bit worrisome.

  "Are you tired?" he asked as he fished out a perfectly flaky Paris-Brest. His mouth watered.

  "When am I not?" She frowned. "Why?"

  "Because you no longer seem to want to gouge my eyes out. It's concerning."

  "Ah." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She always did that when she was flustered, didn't she? Enzo liked that he'd caught that delightful detail already. "You impressed me tonight."

  Enzo's heart grew about ten times. "I aim to please."

  He didn't like to think about it too much—or acknowledge it—but since Patrice had come stomping into his life, Enzo had felt this weird resentment that the entire world didn't know just how good he was at his job. Because she was Brotherhood Elite. The Viper. The Lady of the Brotherhood.

  But now she knew he was the Phantom. And, miracle of all miracles, she liked it.

  Patrice gave him a playful side-eye. "Your ego's already big, no need for me to fluff it up. But it's true. And…"

  She twirled around, almost losing her balance as her sandal strap loosened even more. But she regained her balance before Enzo could wrap his arms around her. Damn.

  "And it's this walk. In Paris. Alone, just the two of us, when everything's so quiet. This night is kind of perfect, isn't it?" She sighed wistfully. "Though I'd kill for some dry clothes."

  She probably would, wouldn't she? Enzo smiled. He liked that she was somehow ruthless and gentle all in one. She'd knocked Jason out, then was appalled Enzo might kill him. She had her own moral compass and he respected that, because he had one of his own.

  "All I have is fantastic pastry." He turned to her, sweet pastry in hand. He had a moral compass, but he wasn't above turning a situation to everyone's advantage. "Open your mouth."

  With those three words, the easiness between the two of them vanished, replaced with that indescribable tension.

  The first sun rays danced in her hair and her long eyelashes. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and desire. Her cheeks were quickly turning that pink color Enzo had come to crave on her.

  To Enzo, she looked gorgeous. Much too beautiful for a mere mortal like him.

  And that gaze of hers...The one that seemed to see straight through him, down to his ver
y core. He already knew it could undo him.

  He shouldn't have been playing with fire.

  Just as he was about to yank his hand back and joke away the moment, Patrice leaned her head forward and bit into the pastry. She didn't take her eyes off him, not even as she leaned back, chewing slowly.

  Good Lord. She was going to kill him, poisons or not.

  Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, but she missed a bit of almond cream in the corner of her mouth.

  Before Enzo realized what he was doing, his hand rose. He wiped the cream with his thumb and then licked it clean, gaze not leaving hers.

  Patrice inhaled sharply.

  An indescribable electricity blistered between them. They stepped closer and closer to each other. If one of them took a good, hard breath, their chests would touch, and, God, did Enzo want that to happen.

  He knew it was dangerous. He knew he shouldn't. He knew they'd both be plagued with questions if they dared step over this barrier.

  He didn't care.

  He grabbed the back of Patrice's neck and captured her lips.

  Her arms instantly coiled around his neck as she molded her wet body to his with a moan that vibrated straight through Enzo.

  He held onto her tightly as his mouth claimed hers.

  She tasted sweet and sinful, all in one. Just one taste of her and Enzo knew he'd never get enough of this. Of her.

  Of her small breaths against his cheek. Of the way her fingers dug into his neck. Of the way her tongue danced against his, like they both wanted to devour the other.

  This wasn't a chaste kiss. It tasted of fire and desire and holding back for too long.

  Enzo wanted to get lost in her forever. Run his hands over every inch of her. Then his tongue. Feel her moans against the shell of his ear while he whispered wicked things against her neck. Heaven.

  But, like all good things in Enzo's life, it ended much too quickly and abruptly.

  They broke away at the same time, breathing heavily.

  "You hear it, too?" Patrice whispered, licking her lips.

  "Yes." Hurried steps. Getting closer and trying to be stealthy about it. "Have they lost their minds?"

  The Runagates wouldn't be stupid enough to actually hunt down two important Clan members, would they?

  Enzo and Patrice stepped back from each other, starting to walk away slowly toward the subway entrance, like the Underworld professionals they were. The last thing they wanted was to let the Runagates know they'd caught on.

  Patrice tilted her head in the direction of the steps. "At least five of them have lost their mind."

  Enzo listened closely, too. "Six. Six people are coming after us. Probably well-trained assassins, too."

  Patrice scrunched her nose. "Five."

  "Six."

  "Want to bet on it, Caputo?"

  Enzo grinned. God, it felt good to have someone like Patrice by his side. She didn't take any of his bullshit. She challenged him. And she was a fucking fantastic kisser.

  "Okay, let's bet on it," Enzo began as they hurried down the subway steps and through a dusty maintenance door. "Whoever's right gets to pick our wedding date."

  Patrice grinned at him as she picked up a rusty metal rod, ready to attack whoever was stupid enough to come after them. "You're on."

  Chapter Ten

  ENZO

  Enzo checked behind them one last time before he ushered Patrice inside his apartment and bolted the door shut.

  He leaned against it, too out of breath for his liking. Patrice wasn't doing much better, face all red, each long breath making her chest rise in the most delightful way.

  "We lost them," she managed out between gasps.

  Yes, about fifteen minutes before. But Enzo was on edge. The Runagates shouldn't have come after them for something as simple as a break-in. They couldn't have known what he and Patrice had been after. They'd left no trace on the safe and Enzo had put the reports back exactly as he'd found them.

  Darryl's study had no cameras—the hideous excuse of a man was worried his wife would find out what went on in that room beside business—and Jason had been out cold during it.

  Even if Jason had woken up and ratted them out and if the Runagates had somehow found out what Enzo and Patrice had been after, they still wouldn't have tracked them down for something as simple as some reports—unless they had something to hide.

  Coming after a member of the Syndicate's First Family was dangerous. Coming after Enzo? Insane. Darryl knew this. All the Runagates knew it, too.

  "We're safe here?" Patrice asked.

  Enzo nodded. "Nobody but my family, Charles, and now you know about this place."

  The mere idea that a member of the Brotherhood Elite was in his apartment should have angered Enzo. But Patrice knowing about it didn't worry him at all. It was strange.

  "Good." She stared down at herself and wrinkled her nose. "I need to take the longest shower known to man and hope the hot water will burn the chlorine smell."

  "Thanks," Enzo said before she turned away.

  Patrice furrowed her brows. "For what?"

  "For tonight."

  "You mean ruining your grand plan?"

  "No, for trying to protect me when you thought Jason was going to shoot me."

  It took a lot of guts for someone to put themselves in danger to save a person; especially one they'd considered an enemy only a few days before.

  Patrice ducked her head. A soft smile bloomed on her beautiful face. "You had your back to him. That wouldn't have been a fair fight. It wouldn't have been a fight at all, since you wanted him to attack you, but still."

  Enzo grinned. A moral compass like hers was very rare in the Underworld. "But still, thank you."

  "You're very welcome." Patrice walked away and smiled over her shoulder. "Don't forget you have an important date to pick, Phantom."

  Yes, he did. Their wedding date, since he'd won the bet.

  They were getting married. Enzo was getting married. To the Viper. The Lady of the Brotherhood. The woman who was slowly driving him wild.

  It was insane. He liked it.

  Enzo licked his lips as he watched her go. He could still taste her on his tongue. All he wanted to do right now was march after her, help her undress, and then spend the morning with her in the shower. Then the bed. Then wherever else she wanted to, as long as Enzo could have her in his arms. Glide his hands all over her beautiful body. Taste all of it until she screamed out his name.

  He clenched his jaw.

  He'd have to take his time with Patrice. The Viper was feared in all the Underworld, but Enzo had held her in his arms. Kissed her.

  Patrice seemed like the kind who wanted to be seduced. Swept off her feet. And Enzo wanted to do that for her.

  He also wanted them to fuck each other's brains out.

  Patience.

  Yes, yes. He was going to be patient.

  He groaned when he heard her shower running. He definitely needed a shower, too. A cold one.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling fatigue set in. He hadn't run like that in years.

  But he'd been running right alongside Patrice. For their lives. By Underworld standards, this night had actually been romantic.

  Charles' quick footsteps brought him back to reality. Why was he even up at this ungodly hour?

  "Sir—" Charles began, sounding panicked.

  "Good morning, Charles," Enzo said, pushing himself away from the door and feeling every sore muscle. He really needed to get some sleep. He headed straight for his room. With his very large bed. In which he'd be sleeping alone. Damn it. "Thank you for the fence, by the way. It literally saved us tonight."

  Charles followed. "My pleasure, Sir. But—"

  "Oh." Enzo turned in front of the living room's doorway. He handed Charles the pastry bag he'd been carrying through all of Paris. "I saved you some macarons. Almond, your favorite."

  "Thank you," Charles said, holding onto the bag way too tightly. Was he flustered? "Bu
t, Sir—"

  Enzo frowned. Charles only showed real emotion when his flowers bloomed just right. Which they always did. The man was a true gardening genius—and an excellent archer. If someone came looking for trouble, Charles would launch it straight at them.

  "What's wrong?" Enzo asked. Charles was getting paler by the second. "You look like you've seen a ghost and I know you don't believe in them."

  "I don't, but—"

  "He saw me," a deep, booming voice came from the living room.

  Enzo turned, already on edge. He must've been really tired if he hadn't noticed someone was in his house.

  Not just anyone. Zio Rossi, sitting at the head of his table, looking as menacing as a Consigliere should. Enzo instantly relaxed.

  Along with Victor, Rossi had taken care of Enzo and Toni from the moment their parents had died in that stupid accident. And, if Enzo was being totally truthful, long before that.

  Zio Rossi had taught Enzo how to swim. How to start a fire with nothing but two dry pieces of wood and a magnifying glass. How to read people. How to steal and, most importantly, how to keep it a secret.

  Zio Rossi had given Enzo his first gun and his first cigar. In that order. Victor had paid for Enzo's college, but Zio Rossi had taught him how to skip classes and still be in the top one percent of his year.

  When Enzo had placed his trust in the wrong person and had almost paid for it with the rest of his life, Zio Rossi had helped him turn that betrayal in the Clan's favor.

  The man had protected and cared for Enzo and Toni in his own booming, no-bullshit way, and Enzo owed him and Victor his life.

  They hugged and patted each other on the back. Then stared at each other as only two people who'd lost an Underworld family member could—with sorrow and an unspoken thirst for revenge.

  Someone had to pay for Victor's death.

  "Kind of early for a visit," Enzo said. "Or are you planning on staying for longer? Because I think I only have enough wine in the house to last you three days."

  "Always a smartass." Zio Rossi pointed his finger at him.

  "Just like you taught me."

  Zio Rossi smiled with pride. "Yeah, I did."

  Enzo smiled back. "Veronica says hi, by the way."