Chapter 5
Max gritted his teeth as he watched another man put his hands on his woman.
Yes, Lexie had rejected him a year ago, walking away from the life they could have had together.
And yes, by all rights, he should have moved on.
But no other woman had even caught his eye in passing since.
How could they? Lexie had gotten under his skin in a way no one else ever had.
He was the head of the entire “family” here in Seattle—the undisputed leader of the Pacific Northwest. His power stretched across state lines, controlling the flow of money, influence, and allegiance throughout the region.
Men twice his age bowed to him; politicians called him when they wanted a deal brokered.
And yet, the one thing he truly wanted was the one thing he couldn’t have: Lexie.
Again, she’d rejected him. Again, she’d walked away.
The memory of the bruise forming on her cheek made his blood boil.
It took every ounce of restraint he had not to march across the room, grab Enzo by the throat, and make an example of him in front of every guest at this godforsaken party.
But Max’s control was renowned. It was the reason he’d risen to power, why every corner of his territory operated as smoothly as a well-oiled machine.
And so he stayed back. Not away—he’d never truly be away from her—but back, watching, waiting. Lexie was stubborn as hell, and she’d never accept his help unless she asked for it. Until she admitted that she needed him, he’d bide his time. He had to.
He glanced at his second-in-command, Ramone, who stood silently nearby. “Find out what’s going on,” Max ordered quietly.
Ramone didn’t hesitate. “Got it,” he replied with a brief nod, melting into the crowd with a grace that always impressed Max.
Ramone wasn’t a small man; his imposing frame and steely gaze were usually enough to stop trouble before it started.
But somehow, when the situation called for it, Ramone could fade into the shadows, invisible to all but those he chose to confront.
It was a skill Max respected but had never needed to cultivate himself.
No, Max’s strength lay in commanding attention, not avoiding it.
He understood people—what they wanted, what they feared, and what they needed to hear to fall in line.
Whether it was an ambitious underling or a rival looking to make a move, Max knew exactly how to bend them to his will.
It was why the “family” thrived under his leadership.
Disloyalty was dealt with swiftly, loyalty was rewarded generously, and no one dared to challenge his rule.
Here in the Pacific Northwest, Max didn’t just control the family; he controlled the game.
He had a finger in every pot—construction, imports, logistics, even politics.
Drugs were carefully controlled to keep the insane designer garbage out of his city.
He despised drug use, but understood that some people sought solace in that destructive crutch.
Rather than allow chaos to fester, he ensured that every aspect of the drug trade within his territory was tightly controlled, with all profits funneled into drug rehabilitation centers.
It wasn’t just about power—it was about maintaining order.
The kind of order that kept people in line, minimized harm, and ensured the family’s survival.
But none of it meant anything as he watched Lexie retreat back across the ballroom.
The dress she wore clung to her curves, making her look both stunning and vulnerable, and it made his chest tighten with equal parts desire and frustration.
She didn’t belong with Enzo. She didn’t belong in that ridiculous dress. She belonged with him.
And yet, he knew he couldn’t force her hand. Not now. Not after everything that had happened. So he’d wait. He’d figure out what was going on, dismantle the problem piece by piece, and make sure Lexie knew that he’d always be there for her—whether she could admit she needed him or not.
For now, patience. But if anyone hurt her again, patience would no longer be an option. Max would burn down the entire Pacific Northwest if that was what it took to keep her safe.