Chapter 8
“Where is she?” Max demanded as he strode into his office, tossing his jacket and tie over a chair without breaking stride. The calm veneer barely concealed the storm brewing underneath. He headed straight for the decanter of scotch on the corner table, already reaching for the crystal stopper.
“Santorini attacked her, sir,” Ramone said from the doorway. “Two of my men picked him up, and another is tailing Lexie. She’s been driving around the city for the past hour.”
Max’s hand froze, his entire body going still as those words registered. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the city outside. The fury that surged through him was absolute, a blazing inferno held in check only by his iron will.
He resumed his movement, pouring a precise portion of the hundred-year-old scotch into a glass. Without a word, he poured a second and handed it to Ramone, who accepted it without hesitation.
“What’s going on?” Max demanded, his voice sharp and laced with authority. “Why the hell would Lexie be dressed in such a hideous outfit and standing with someone like Enzo Santorini?”
Ramone took a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’ll figure it out,” he promised, his tone steady and resolute. “Right now, the guy is downstairs. What do you want me to do with him?”
Max’s lips pressed into a thin line as he considered the question, his gaze dark and distant. “What did Lexie do to him?” he asked after a beat, his voice deceptively casual.
“Kneed him,” Ramone replied, a flicker of admiration in his tone. “Hard.”
For the briefest of moments, a faint smile flickered across Max’s lips, but it didn’t last long. The satisfaction he felt at Lexie’s defiance was overshadowed by the lingering rage at what had happened—and the fact that she’d been in danger in the first place.
“Fine,” he said finally, his voice cold and deliberate. “Keep him quiet until we have more information. I’ll deal with him later.”
As he spoke, his cell phone buzzed on the desk. Max glanced at the screen and saw a familiar number. “It’s Jacob,” he said, his tone shifting slightly. Jacob was the guard stationed at his Seattle penthouse. Without waiting for Ramone’s response, Max answered the call.
“Talk,” he commanded, pressing the phone to his ear.
“She’s here, sir,” Jacob said immediately. “Lexie just pulled into the garage. She’s shaken but unharmed.”
Max closed his eyes briefly, exhaling slowly through his nose.
The satisfaction of knowing she’d come to him—of her choosing his protection, even if it was out of desperation—settled deep in his chest. But the fury didn’t fade.
It shifted, focusing instead on the man who had dared put her in this position.
“Good,” Max said quietly, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. “I’ll have a car come to pick her up but make sure she’s comfortable. I’ll handle the rest.”
“Yes, sir,” Jacob replied, the line going dead.
Max placed the phone back on the desk and looked at Ramone. “Lock Santorini in the cellar. No one sees him until I say so.”
Ramone nodded. “Understood.”
As Ramone left the room, Max downed the rest of his scotch in a single swallow. Then, smoothing his shirt cuffs, he headed for the elevator. Lexie was here. She’d come to him. And now, he’d make sure nothing—and no one—ever threatened her again.