Destiny Calls by Samantha Wayland (100 best novels of all time TXT) 📗

muscle caught Brandon"s attention. The shoulder holster made Patrick"s already impressive chest seem impossibly wide and for a moment, he just stared.

Patrick cleared his throat and Brandon winced, looking up to find Patrick looking decidedly amused. Christ, he"d just been caught drooling over his partner at a police raid. Time to get a grip.

His eyes met Patrick"s and his smile faded.

“You ready?” Patrick asked while his eyes scanned Brandon"s equipment, lingering on his belt holster, scrutinizing the fit of his vest.

Brandon felt remarkably calm, actually, considering what they were about to do.

“Yeah, I"m ready.”

He jumped when Patrick wrapped his large, warm hand around the back of his neck and pulled him forward. For one hysterical moment, he thought Patrick was going to kiss him again, right there in front of the rest of the entry-team and with the entire SWAT team just around the corner. Instead Patrick brought him close enough to not be overheard.

“No chances, Bran. If it gets hairy, we"re out.”

He nodded as best he could with Patrick"s hand clamped on his neck. “No chances.”

Patrick squeezed once before letting go. Brandon let himself feel one moment of real fear, then he put it away.

Patrick stood, his shoulder to Brandon"s on the sidewalk outside Bella"s, and waited for the signal that everyone was in place. When it came, they walked through the door as if they were any other customers. Except that they had four uniformed officers at their back and an entire SWAT team on the street.

Just in case.

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The hostess didn"t register what was happening until they were almost past her.

From Brandon"s briefing on the way over, he knew this was Mario"s sister"s youngest.

Tough luck, kid, you’re about to watch your uncle get arrested.

She managed to sputter a feeble, “you can"t go down there” as they swung through the restaurant to the steps leading downstairs.

This was where it could all go wrong.

For the length of time it took Patrick, Brandon and their escorts to descend to the private dining room, they were single file, boxed in by the narrow walls and the doors at either end of the flight of stairs. If Benedetto was considering making a stand, this would be the time to do it. Surprise was their strongest ally. Ryanne had chosen a judge they all knew was as clean as they come, but once the warrant paperwork was run through the courthouse, the information could have been leaked back to Mario any number of ways.

They knew he was here. The question was, did he know they were coming?

Patrick would have given his left nut to have gone first, but he was so damn tall he had to duck to keep from smacking his head on the ceiling, which would have made him slow to draw his gun and a lousy shot to boot. Not to mention he would have blocked Brandon"s ability to shoot at anything.

So Brandon went first while Patrick focused on what they were there to do and not the boulder of anxiety lodged in his chest.

As soon as his feet hit level ground, he moved forward to flank Brandon, his ears buzzing with the deathly silence that rolled across the dining room. His eyes never stopped moving, roving over the tables, recognizing Benedetto family members, thugs, made men, ex-cons, informants, even Mario"s mother.

Not one of them moved until Brandon had led their team forward and stopped in front of the table where Mario Benedetto himself sat.

Then, like a well-rehearsed fire drill, the people at the tables closest to the stairs got up and left. Once they were gone, the next group stood. No one ran. No one said a word. It was like they were standing to take Communion on Easter. They let them go. If anyone had an outstanding warrant, they"d get picked up as soon as they hit the street.

In the meantime, the fewer people locked into a windowless, single exit room with six police officers and god only knew how many armed thugs, the better.

Brandon held out a tri-folded sheet of blue paper with his left hand. “Mario Benedetto, I have a warrant for your arrest.”

All eyes swung to Mario.

In the electrified silence that followed, Patrick caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see a henchmen reaching under his coat.

Oh fuck.

Patrick"s hand was on the butt of his gun, his thumb rolling over the safety, releasing it, when Mario held up his hand. The air seemed to crystallize around them, 47

Samantha Wayland

then the henchman put both hands palm-down on the table where everyone could see them, bringing the tension in the room back to pressure-cooker from near nuclear meltdown. When the thug smiled, Patrick considered pulling his gun anyway. He hadn"t known a smile could be so fucking sarcastic.

Jesus. They needed to link Mario up and get the hell out of there. Every instinct he had was screaming it was time to go.

Brandon took a step forward and addressed Mario again, his voice calm as he tried to keep things moving. “Please stand up.”

Mario smiled. “My good man, you don"t think I"m going to let you drag me out of here in front of all these people without at least making sure you"ve got more than a piece of paper in your hand, do you?” He shook his head, his eyes rolling, as if to say, the young are so naïve. Brandon"s calm façade didn"t even crack. “Please hand that supposed warrant over to my lawyer. It"s quite fortunate for you he"s here.” A big man stood up and Patrick had to purse his lips to clamp down on his reaction. Nerves made him want to laugh when he really fucking shouldn"t—it was a lifelong affliction. But come on. The lawyer had slicked-back black hair, a gold Rolex and a two thousand dollar dark blue chalk-striped Italian wool suit. Why didn"t the guy just have “Defense Attorney for the Mob” embroidered on his back?

The lawyer took his