Chapter 37
Max’s hand tightened around the phone, the tension in his knuckles threatening to snap the device in half.
“Say that again,” he said, his voice low, steady, and terrifyingly calm. But inside, his fury roared, threatening to consume him. It wasn’t just anger; it was an unrelenting, visceral rage he’d never experienced before.
“Someone took her, boss,” Marco Tombini repeated, his voice taut with nerves but steady enough to convey his determination. “A navy minivan. We’ve got the license plate,” and he rattled off the numbers. “They’re heading east on Route Ninety.”
Max exhaled slowly, the movement doing nothing to ease the inferno building inside him. “Why,” he began, his tone sharp and lethal, “weren’t you closer?”
Marco hesitated, then forced out an answer, knowing his life might depend on it. “Boss, you told us to keep our distance unless trouble came up. She was excited, and had just called out that she was heading to you. We thought she was going to your office.”
Max closed his eyes, fighting the urge to snap. His fist curled against the edge of his desk, the sharp wood biting into his palm.
Max growled under his breath, more to himself than Marco. “When this is over, I want a full account of where you lost her.”
Marco pressed on, his voice quickening. “Boss, we’re five cars behind the minivan now. Mick’s on another line with Ramone, giving him every detail and keeping him updated on the direction they’re heading. We’re catching up.”
The competence in Marco’s response tempered Max’s rage, but only slightly. He straightened, his mind a steel trap of focus now. Every detail mattered. Every second counted.
“I’m sending more men to your location,” he declared, the authority in his tone brooking no argument. “They’ll intercept the minivan at the next exit. Keep them in sight and do not lose them, Marco. If anything happens to her—” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
“Understood, boss,” Marco replied, and the line went dead.
Max tossed the phone onto his desk, his hand trembling with barely contained fury. His chest heaved as he forced himself to take slow, measured breaths.
Lexie had told the guards she was coming to him. She’d been happy, excited. And someone had dared to take her from him. That thought alone was enough to rip apart whatever patience he had left.
Turning sharply, Max grabbed his jacket and phone as he dialed Ramone’s number.
“We’re tracking them,” Ramone reported without waiting for a greeting. “My men are moving to intercept at the nearest intersection. We’ve got the vehicle and their location locked in.”
Max’s jaw tightened, his voice a growl. “Good. Make sure whoever is in that van doesn’t get far. I want every single one of them alive—barely. They’ll wish they were dead by the time I’m done.”
He ended the call and stormed out the door, focused on the only thing that mattered: getting Lexie back.