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

by Mara McQueen

  Patrice counted thirty-seven, but something told her more were coming.

  If those Runagates had been greedy enough to hunt Patrice and Enzo down for a bounty, then they'd be stupid enough to come in a big pack to make sure the job was done.

  Let them come.

  She and Enzo had a plan, and the more Runagates on the island, the better. In theory.

  The little red dots on the control panel were getting closer. They'd formed small groups, advancing in lines.

  Enzo gritted his teeth. "They know about the traps."

  Shit.

  Patrice took a deep, centering breath. This wasn't the kind of danger she was accustomed to. Get in a building, poison someone or kidnap and interrogate him, then make herself scarce, that was her thing.

  She'd never had to defend a building.

  "Are you sure?"

  "They're avoiding them. This right here—" He pointed to a spot on the panel near the greenhouse. "—has some minefields I've just reactivated."

  Patrice's eyes went wide. "Fucking minefields?"

  "Really small ones. Charles was worried about his tomatoes." Enzo rolled his eyes. "They're useless now, anyway. These people have been tipped off."

  By someone who knew where the traps were. The people Enzo had trusted most of all—his family.

  "Did you tell them about all the traps?"

  "Most of them. In case they were visiting and whoever attacked us would have killed me. I wanted them to be able to protect themselves." His face turned angular. Predatory. "But I installed new ones last time I came here and hadn't gotten around to showing anyone the plans. The new traps are near the house."

  "Can't stop them all." Minefields or not.

  "No, but we can take most of them out." Enzo banged on another tile. A compartment opened in the wall, revealing a row of weapons, from huge daggers to a mighty-looking bow—which Enzo took out and handed to Patrice.

  She raised her brows. "You can't be serious."

  There were at least five guns in there. Menacing ones, too.

  A corner of Enzo's lips ticked up as he tucked two guns into the back of his pants. "Your favorite weapon is a crossbow."

  Patrice huffed. "I'll have you know, The Duchess is a very intricate example of modern technology. She just looks ancient. Makes my targets sweat a little more."

  The Duchess had black spikes and horns all over its sides, thank you very much.

  "The bow's for Charles. The man gets sweaty just thinking about bullets, but he's an international archery champion," Enzo said. "And this is for you. In case the Duchess starts getting an attitude."

  He handed her a gun. A goddamned gun.

  "I'm not too fond of bullets, either," Patrice said.

  "I don't like them, but they come in real handy when you have to deal with—" His eyes slashed to his watch screen, which had the same map on it as the control panel. "—fifty-five very stupid people."

  Boy, these Runagates hadn't come to play, had they?

  "Fine, I'll use the gun if I really have to." Patrice sighed and tucked the thing in her waistband, just like Enzo. The dark metal was cold and rough against her skin.

  She checked on Mr. Oscar one last time, kissing his small head. He blinked up at her once, before snoozing back against his pillow. He was still heavily sedated. Good. Then he wouldn't get into any trouble while minefields and bullets were flying.

  Patrice nodded at Enzo. "Let's go."

  They rushed up the cellar stairs and locked the door behind them. If all went according to the plan tonight, the cellar needed to remain shut to protect Mr. Oscar—and the evidence Patrice had gathered.

  She and Enzo ran into Charles' room. No sign of the trespassers through the window. No shadows, no glimmer of a gun shining in the moonlight. Yet.

  Man, these Runagates were good. Maybe too good.

  "Thank the heavens, you didn't kill each other," Charles said as soon as they opened his door. He had a loopy smile on his face—Patrice's concoction hadn't totally worn off yet.

  "I'm really sorry I doused your tea," Patrice said as she untied him.

  "And I'm sorry I begged Master Enzo to throw you out of the house that first night," Charles said.

  "You did what?"

  "You were very frightening." Charles stuck his nose in the air. "But I came to like you after that, since you stopped being less of a harpy. And Master Enzo didn't listen to me, anyway. He was smitten with you from the first night, I could see it in his eyes."

  "That truth serum really did a number on you, didn't it?" Enzo muttered, checking his watch again. He swore. Loudly. "They're getting closer."

  Patrice handed Charles the bow with a solemn nod, which he mirrored. Whether they liked it or not, they were in this together. Charles took out a large chest from underneath his bed. He popped it open, revealing stacks upon stacks of arrows. "These should do for about half an hour."

  "Good." Enzo rolled his shoulders back, a cloud of confidence enveloping him.

  Seeing him so in control made Patrice calmer—which she definitely needed. Her hands were getting clammy.

  "Charles, up in the attic you go," Enzo said in that no-bullshit, unflinching voice of his. Yep. Super hot.

  "On it," Charles said, already lugging the chest toward the door.

  "And remember...don't kill them. If you can," Enzo said.

  Charles huffed. "But, Sir—"

  Enzo raised one of his brows.

  "Very well," Charles said, chastised. "Good luck, Sir. And Miss."

  "You, too," Patrice called after him before turning to Enzo. "I've never done this before."

  She'd always defended herself when running away. That's what she did. Sting, then made herself scarce.

  This was new and frightening. The red dots on Enzo's watch were quickly approaching.

  "It's going to be alright." Enzo rested his hands on her shoulders. "We're getting out of this alive. I have faith in you. And your Duchess."

  A stuttered laugh escaped Patrice.

  Enzo met her eyes with such intensity that Patrice froze.

  "Do you have faith in me?"

  After everything they'd been through and after everything they'd have to face still?

  Yes, her mind whispered. Because her heart had already decided it was betting on Enzo from now on.

  "I do."

  "Good. Then trust I'll protect you no matter what it takes." He sealed the pact with a kiss, arms coiling around her.

  Patrice sunk into his embrace, feeling every one of his heartbeats against her own chest.

  They were getting out of this alive. They had to.

  The kiss was over much too soon.

  Steps resounded outside the window.

  They were getting closer.

  Enzo licked his lips, gaze jumping around Patrice's face like he wanted to memorize every line and eyelash.

  "You take the ground floor and I go outside to corral them where we want them. If I go down—"

  "I run into the attic," Patrice said, reciting their hasty plan. "But you won't go down. I trust you."

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  PATRICE

  "Come closer. Just a little bit closer. Past the hedge. That's it," Patrice muttered to herself, barely audible even to her ears, which were flooded with the sound of her own galloping heartbeat.

  The house was dead silent. The Runagates didn't make a sound either. Only the noise of the waves crashing against the cliffs drummed into the night.

  But she could see them. Actually, she only saw their guns and their weird night-vision goggles glimmering in the moonlight.

  But it was enough to perch Duchess just right on the living-room windowsill and wait.

  A cluster of seven Runagates was quickly approaching.

  They were getting closer.

  Closer.

  "That's it, you pieces of shit." Patrice pulled Duchess' trigger.

  Her first dart soared through the night, fast and true, leaving behind the barest scen
t of mint.

  Patrice's poisons and draughts brought enough mayhem in the world, the least she could do was make them leave a pleasant scent behind.

  The dart hit its target, straight in the shoulder. He swayed for a second before dropping down.

  His little friends instantly pointed their guns at Patrice's hiding spot. Suckers.

  Six more darts flew through the air and six seconds later, six bodies fell to the ground.

  Patrice did love consistency and symmetry.

  She didn't have time to gloat.

  She ran toward the kitchen window. She'd barely propped Duchess up on the windowsill when the second group of invaders stepped too close to the house.

  A whirring noise rang out. A second later, a hole opened up in the ground right where they were standing.

  All ten of them fell, the sound of crunching bone piercing the silence.

  Patrice hoped none of them had died. Not even she could interrogate bodies.

  She dashed to the window of her first room, Duchess at the ready.

  She'd barely gotten two darts in before Enzo suddenly appeared from the shadows and took out the rest of the fifteen-strong group with a few bullets.

  He turned, winked in her direction, then vanished right back into the shadows, like the Phantom he was.

  How could he just disappear like that? After they were done with this, Patrice would definitely pester him into teaching her.

  She moved onto the next window. Darts flew, bodies fell. The ones she didn't catch were expertly drawn into the traps by Enzo.

  A few got electrocuted. A few more found themselves impaled in the knee or shoulder by Charles' arrows. Some were caught in nets, squirming and screaming, as if they hadn't been the ones to attack.

  It was a beautiful sight to behold.

  Watching Enzo in action—the few glimpses he allowed of himself—was spectacular. Cool, calm, in control. No sign of fear, only expert movements.

  He actually looked like he was having fun. And Patrice was feeling more relieved with each body dozing off in the garden.

  Shit. Maybe their hasty plan had a chance of working.

  She ran to another window, ready to take on more invaders, when a shot rang out, slashing through the air. A moment later, Charles' groan resounded from upstairs.

  Patrice's insides clenched. Charles wouldn't have made a sound and given away his position if he hadn't been badly hurt.

  But if Patrice could make it up there, she could patch him up. And she could keep on raining darts down.

  Yes, that was—

  The split-second distraction cost her.

  She smelled him before she heard his steps. That suffocating sandalwood scent she'd despised in Paris, stenching up the house.

  Patrice whirled around, Duchess at the ready, and shot.

  The dart's metal tip clinked against the looming figure's chest. He was wearing a special kind of metal armor underneath that hideous black jacket, because Patrice's darts had been designed to pierce normal bullet-proof vests.

  But whatever he was wearing made her beloved weapon useless.

  Shit.

  "I learned my lesson in Paris," Jason said.

  Or at least Patrice thought it was Jason.

  She'd been wrong. All those people invading the island and trampling Charles' flowers hadn't been wearing weird night-vision goggles.

  They had even weirder masks on, made out of black metal, with weird symbols and spikes near the brows.

  She'd also been very, very wrong about one more thing—and she'd pay for it with her life.

  Jason raised his gun, aiming it straight at Patrice's forehead.

  Whoever these people were, they hadn't come here to catch Enzo and Patrice and collect the bounty.

  They'd come here to kill them.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  PATRICE

  "You shouldn't have come here," Patrice said, voice even.

  She'd never stared down the barrel of a gun before, but since joining the Brotherhood, she'd known that was a likely outcome.

  She just hadn't expected it so soon. Or now, when she'd felt like she was on her way to having it all.

  But damn if she let terror be the final feeling she allowed herself in this life.

  Instead, she chose satisfaction.

  "Why's that?" Jason asked.

  "Because my fiancé will come after you. And he's going to make you hurt in ways you can't even imagine."

  Right as she said it, Patrice felt the truth in her words. Enzo cared for her.

  As soon as the thought rushed into Patrice's mind, a weird sense of calm washed over her. She was going to enjoy watching Enzo hunt this piece of shit down. She hoped he'd find some solace in it, because she knew he wouldn't rest until he'd avenged her death.

  If she had to go, she wanted his face to be the last thing she thought about.

  Jason cocked his gun. Patrice remembered the way Enzo had smiled at her this morning.

  A moment later, a shot rang out in the house.

  Jason screamed as a bullet pierced his shoulder from behind. Patrice ducked just as a gush of blood splattered on the wall.

  Jason fell to his knees, clutching his wound and squirming like the worm he was.

  Enzo stood behind him, perfectly still, gun raised. He was like a statue. Unmoving. No sign of emotion.

  Patrice hadn't heard him come in. Hadn't seen him. Hadn't smelled him.

  The Phantom, in all his glory.

  "Are you okay?" he asked. His voice sounded eerie. Unearthly. Mangled. Like some monster come to life.

  Patrice nodded, propping Duchess against her hip. She looked down at Jason.

  Between the groans and the squirming, his jacket and mask had shifted, revealing a sliver of skin right at his throat.

  Patrice shot one of her last darts straight into his neck. His yelp soothed some dark, twisted part of her. Seeing him go limp satisfied her even more.

  "Are you sure you're okay?" Enzo stepped closer.

  "Yes." Patrice looked up at him. As soon as their gazes connected, her heart skipped a beat. God, she had fallen in love with a magnificent man. "Thank you."

  Enzo relaxed. The intensity cooled, his easy-going charm returned.

  But there was something beastly in his eyes as he stared at Jason's blood on the wall. Patrice hoped the poor sap enjoyed his sleep now, because he was in for a hell of a time once he woke up and Enzo got his hands on him.

  "Not only did these wastes of space interrupt our night, now they've ruined my walls," Enzo said, checking his watch screen. "They're coming into the house."

  Let them. "We need to get to Charles."

  The two of them shared a nod and raced up the stairs, side by side, just as the front door banged open.

  They were coming.

  Patrice went up the attic ladder first. Enzo stayed at its base long enough to fire five more shots, protecting her back, before he followed.

  Charles lay slumped underneath the small attic window, blood trickling from his temple.

  Patrice rushed to his side. She breathed a sigh of relief as she inspected his wound—the bullet had grazed the skin on his right temple, but it hadn't hit bone.

  Charles was going to be alright.

  "I'm okay," Charles slurred. "They just nicked me. But my brain's still rattling from the impact. Sorry about making such a ruckus, didn't expect that bullet. How rude."

  "Yes, very rude." Patrice lifted his arm and pressed it against the wound. "Put pressure on it. I'll stitch you right up once we're done with these people."

  "Yes, kill them all and use their guts as manure. It's the least they can do after trampling my flowers."

  Patrice rushed back to Enzo's side, who was standing at the edge of the attic hole, gun aimed at the ladder.

  "Charles' hallucinating," Patrice whispered.

  Enzo scoffed. "You should hear what comes out of his mouth when he's had one too many sips of that Irish coffee of his."

  Th
ey locked eyes, resolve flowing between them.

  "We're going to get through this," Enzo said, voice leaving no room for argument. "Then we're getting married and we're going to drive each mad until the day we die, on our own terms."

  "I believe you." She did. She absolutely did. Now and forever.

  Hasty steps approached.

  Patrice raised her own weapon, matching Enzo.

  They stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder, ready to defend themselves.

  Figures dashed into view below.

  Enzo and Patrice began shooting at the same time. A shoulder here, an elbow there, all while Charles rooted for them from behind, in-between moaning about his precious petunias.

  Patrice and Enzo were a force to be reckoned with.

  They made a mean, efficient team. Together.

  The bodies were falling and writhing, but more were coming.

  They were like cockroaches, ready to infest.

  Patrice dared a glance at Enzo's watch. Almost all the red dots were inside the house now.

  But not all.

  "Come on, come on," Patrice muttered, heart trying to beat itself out of her chest.

  Next to her, Enzo was six feet of steely determination. God, he was hot.

  Patrice pulled Duchess' trigger again—but no dart came out this time.

  Shit.

  "Out of ammo," she said, pulling out the gun Enzo had given her.

  This wasn't going to be pretty. The first bullet she shot hit one of the masks, propelling the dark figure back. She hoped she hadn't killed him. They needed them alive and talkative.

  But Patrice wasn't so sure they'd get to that point.

  Both she and Enzo were running out of bullets, and the masked figures kept coming.

  They both glanced at the screen. Just a few more red dots were scattered on the ground floor.

  They all had to be on the second floor, at least, for this plan to work. Wouldn't want them having time to run back out.

  "Come on, come on." Patrice gritted her teeth.

  She was five bullets away from being useless.