Chapter Nine
Brantley pulled up to the Italian restaurant that Max had directed them to, feeling a sense of foreboding as soon as he tracked the seven men positioned around the place.
That was only what he could see from the front.
He figured there were several in the back as well.
All of them were dressed in black from head to toe, their uniforms very similar to Brantley’s everyday casual wear.
They all wore weapons on holsters at their hip, and he got the feeling these guys weren’t amateurs. They were alert, not on edge. Not once did they abandon their post.
Interesting.
“He’s beefed up security, huh?”
“Looks like it,” Reese muttered. “They’re gonna pat us down.”
“No, they’re not.” Brantley refused to kowtow to this asshole. Sure, Adorite had a reasonable expectation of safety in his own home, but here, in public, he wasn’t going to get Brantley’s full cooperation. And he damn sure wasn’t going to get his weapon.
“And if they do?”
“They won’t,” he told Reese. “Let’s get this over with.”
Once out of the truck, Brantley ensured his weapon was visible as he approached the two guys flanking the front doors.
One of the two spoke softly with a hand to his ear, likely to engage a microphone on the earwigs they were wearing.
A moment later, the bigger of the two stepped forward. “Arms out.”
“Sorry, guy. I’m not here to get felt up by one of Max’s goons.
I’ve got my holstered nine, a clutch piece at my ankle, and two knives you won’t have a chance to see.
As for the dog, she doesn’t need a weapon.
She is one. And if I had to guess, my husband’s got his Glock and likely a clutch piece—a twenty-two, probably.
I don’t know for sure because I haven’t had a chance to frisk him since I’m here to talk to your boss.
But trust me, once I check that off my list of shit to do, I plan to go back to my hotel and do a very thorough strip search of this man right here.
” He pointed toward Reese and exhaled, still holding that inky black stare.
“Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d let us in so we can get this over with.
As you can see, I’ve got something far more exciting on my agenda tonight. ”
The two goons looked at each other. The one who had remained back by the doors lifted his hand to his ear again. A moment later, he nodded, both of them stepping aside to allow them through.
“Huh. Whad’ya know,” he said as they walked into the restaurant. “It worked.”
Expecting a response from Reese, Brantley looked over. He saw how red the tips of Reese’s ears were and knew he was fighting the blush.
“It’s okay, baby. I got it outta my system. I promise to be on my best behavior for the next…” He looked at his watch. “Ten minutes, at least.”
Reese snorted.
The moment they stepped into the main dining room, a dozen men shifted into a stronger position around the perimeter of the space.
“They’re not a threat,” Max called out, getting to his feet and walking over to meet them. “I hear you’ve got plans later.”
Brantley smirked, knowing that Reese’s face was likely beet red.
“Are we the first ones here?” he asked, knowing they were, but wanting to get this underway. He wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries or chit-chat.
“Three more just arrived. Travis called, said he’d be a few minutes late, and to start without him.”
Interesting. The man hellbent on being there was now MIA. Hmm.
“Have a seat.” Max stepped back and gestured toward the table that was set with linens and silverware, glasses and plates. “At the very least, you can eat.”
“You cleared out the place, huh?”
“Not hard to do when you own it,” he said dismissively, remaining on his feet as sounds came from the front.
Brantley took a moment to study Max. It still stunned him how young the guy was.
When you think of mob boss, the images that come to mind were derived from movies and television.
Most of those guys had age backing their experience.
For Max, at thirty-six, he’d been the head of his family for going on a decade.
What twenty-six-year-old could successfully run an illegal enterprise and make it considerably more profitable than when under its previous leader?
Then again, his training would’ve come from childhood.
A few minutes later, Archer, Atticus, and Simon strolled in, none looking any worse for wear.
Brantley could tell they’d been relieved of their weapons if they’d been carrying.
He assumed they had because Atticus had been trained to keep his weapon with him at all times when working.
Now Brantley needed to work on ensuring the kid learned how not to give it up if at all possible.
Max greeted each in turn, the four of them exchanging personal introductions. Brantley didn’t even bother getting to his feet. He wasn’t here to get cozy with a mob boss.
After being officially introduced and then settling in at the table with the others, Simon had been informed that Travis and Gage were running behind.
Since their presence wasn’t necessary to get his questions answered, he figured it was as good a time as any to kick things off.
Manners had him waiting until after drinks were served, but he didn’t hesitate much past that.
“I’ll preface this by asking if I can record,” Simon watched Max, expecting a resounding no.
Max waved a hand. “Have at it.”
Simon thought he hid his surprise well, but he wasn’t entirely certain.
“But I’ll preface,” Max added, “by stating that if I don’t like the direction, I’ll confiscate the recorder before you leave.”
Grinning, Simon nodded. “That’s fair.”
A few minutes passed while several servers came out to take orders and deliver another round of drinks and several appetizers. When the rush cleared, Simon turned to Max and tapped the button to record so that Max was aware.
“I’m not sure whether anyone has relayed our reason for being here, but I’ll give you some of the details so we have a starting point.”
Max nodded, then took a sip of what appeared to be scotch or whiskey.
“A friend of mine was doing research for one of his books, and he came across some information that referenced your family. There was an article quoting prior FBI statements claiming they had a witness who would testify to seeing you commit a crime.”
Max didn’t speak, but Simon had his full attention.
“This witness is Meredith Prescott. Does that name sound familiar?”
“No,” he replied easily. “Can’t say it does.”
Simon had expected that. “She happens to be Travis’s wife’s mother.”
“Estranged mother,” Brantley noted.
“Yes, estranged. We don’t have details yet”—at least Simon didn’t think they did—“but it appears she might’ve left town to avoid testifying.”
Simon knew that wasn’t enough information to get Max talking. If he’d been in the man’s shoes, he certainly wouldn’t just start spouting about the past, fact or fiction.
“The issue we’ve run into is with the man who seems to be at the forefront of the investigation. Martin Calloway.”
He could tell by the gleam in Max’s eyes that he recognized the name.
“Do you know him?”
Max smirked. “I’m acquainted with Martin Calloway.”
“We believe he’s targeting your family and your businesses.”
“That’s been the case for as long as I can remember. I also know he hasn’t come up with anything yet.”
“Did Calloway know your father?”
“They weren’t poker buddies,” Max acknowledged.
“Is it safe to assume that Calloway’s interest in you stemmed from an encounter he had with your father?”
“Why would you think that?”
“You mentioned he’s been targeting your family for as long as you can remember. I assume that means since you were young.”
Again, Max stared, not saying anything.
“From what we’ve found, he’s personally targeting you.”
“And your point?”
“It’s got to be bad for business.”
Max’s dark eyebrows rose slowly. “I have ways of getting through the day without ruffling the FBI’s feathers.”
Simon wanted to ask for specifics, but decided to hold his tongue. He got the feeling his line of questions was starting to irritate the man. He did not want to risk setting him off before the main course.
From the moment Atticus walked into this restaurant, he felt as though he’d been tossed down the rabbit hole. Something about the entire thing felt surreal. Like he was witnessing it all from the safety and security of a dream.
Only, the guys standing sentry around the perimeter of the room really were wielding AKs and standing guard over their boss.
Funny that. Based on the way Brantley talked to Max—with absolutely zero respect—he wasn’t aware of the army of men, or he simply didn’t care.
Atticus knew he shouldn’t, but he found that insanely hot.
“You don’t sound worried,” Simon said, watching Max as he’d been doing since he sat down at the table. It was like the guy was trying to catalog everything about Max so he could jot it down later.
“The FBI and every other alphabet agency have been out to take my family down for years. They’ve failed so far.”
Another thing Atticus found hot and probably shouldn’t … the way Max was so calm and so cool. For a man who needed an army to protect him from God only knows who, he was taking the whole thing in stride.
It was likely the reason the guy still looked so young.
Atticus had done his homework, so he knew Maximillian Adorite was thirty-six years old, and the current head of the Adorite Crime Family, a.k.a.
the Southern Boy Mafia, having taken over when his father was killed a while back.
Leyton Matheson, the acting underboss, was Max’s childhood friend and was now married to Max’s sister, Ashlynn.
Over the course of the past couple of years, the organization had been restructuring, securing its foothold on the state in order to keep the Moroso Crime Family at bay.
According to data that Luca and JJ uncovered last night, the Adorites had control of a significant portion of northern Texas, including all routes into and out of all four bordering states—New Mexico, Louisiana, Oklahoma, and Arkansas.
They did not control the pipeline from Mexico; however, they had established valuable relationships with several of the cartels.
Based on the fact that the media referred to them as the Southern Boy Mafia, Atticus had expected some sort of redneck hillbilly running the show.
That was so not the case. Max and his five-thousand-dollar Armani suit were about as far from hillbilly as one could get.
The man seemed to command respect by simply breathing.
Add to that his somewhat laid-back personality, and this could’ve been any old Saturday night dinner among friends.
Minus the armed guards, of course.
“We don’t need a dossier of your crimes,” Brantley stated. “We know it’s vast and long. What we need to know is whether you know anything about the guy leading the charge against you.”
“What about Censorious?” Archer asked when Max didn’t respond.
Atticus was watching Max, so he caught the slight tick in his jaw. Whether he would admit it or not, he definitely recognized the name.
“That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while,” Max said with a grin. “They still around?”
“Seem to be,” Simon said, his attention raptly focused on the mob boss. “They’ve been dormant for a while, but it appears they’re fortifying ranks once again.”
Atticus listened while they relayed all the information they’d uncovered in the past couple of days, clueing Max in on every single detail.
It wasn’t until just then that Atticus wondered whether the whole relay of information was intentional. Give the mob boss the info and let him solve the problem himself.
Kinda genius if that were the plan.
But if it wasn’t…