Lucca (Made Men #4)(74)

“Go ahead. I’m listening.” He took the bottle from her and started unscrewing the top.

“I just received an interesting phone call.”

“Tell the telemarketers to call in the morning. Lana can answer their calls.”

“It wasn’t on the house phone. It was on my cell phone.”

“Then I don’t see what it’s got to do with me.” He poured another full glass, waiting for her to leave before drinking it. It wouldn’t be worth the bitch session if he drank it in front of her.

Elaine moved the drink away. “Will you listen to me, you drunk?” Seeing she finally had his attention, she said, “I just received a strange call. The caller asked me if I knew where my daughter was.”

“If she wanted to talk to Chloe, why didn’t she just call her?” he asked stupidly.

“It was a man,” she revealed. “I told him she was at college.”

“So?” He just wished she would leave. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“No, he said, ‘wrong answer’ and hung up.” Elaine gave a slight shiver, though she was practically made of steel.

Maxwell shrugged. “If you care so much, look at your recent calls and call him back.”

“I did. No one answered, and it went to voice mail.”

“I don’t know what the big deal is. It’s a fucking telemarketer. Block their call.”

“It was just strange, and I did block him,” she snapped back. “I’m going to bed.”

Her irritating high heels clicked on the hardwood floors as the bitch left him in peace.

Finishing his drink, he slumped back down in his chair, dozing off.

The urgent need to take a piss had him jerking awake. He unsteadily left his office to go to the powder room, almost not making it. When he was finished, he splashed cold water on his face. He was getting old. His heavy drinking was beginning to affect his appearance.

Unable to stare at the man in the mirror any longer, Maxwell exited the powder room, going back inside his office.

Throwing the empty liquor bottle into the trash can beside his desk, he went to the liquor cabinet for another one.

He was reaching for the brandy when his cell phone rang on his desk. Taking the liquor with him, he picked up the phone, seeing it was an unidentified number. He almost didn’t answer, but the thought of another pesky telemarketer calling Elaine if he didn’t had him hitting the accept button.

“Hello …?” he slurred out.

“Do you know where your wife is?” The male voice sent a chill down his spine.

Trying to fight through the self-induced alcohol haze, Maxwell asked, “Who is this? Do I know where my wife is?” Maxwell snorted sarcastically. “She’s in her fucking bed. Next time, ask me if my refrigerator is running.” Maxwell ended the call. He thought prank calls had gone out of style decades ago.

Pouring his drink, he was about to sit back down in his chair when he heard Elaine calling his name from the kitchen.

He almost didn’t respond to her, thinking it was just the prankster calling her now. She would never shut up about it. However, after downing the glass of brandy in one swallow, he walked toward the kitchen.

“Is it another tele—” Maxwell blinked owlishly at the man standing in his kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Shut up and sit the fuck down,” Lucca ordered.

Paling, Maxwell went to the table and clumsily sat down before turning to look at his wife, who was sitting next to him.

Her normally styled hair was in disarray, and it took him a few drunken moments to realize that each of her hands were zip-tied behind her back.

“Why the fuck is she tied—?”

Maxwell lurched forward when a hard hand pressed against his back before it twisted his hands roughly behind his back. When he would have tried to stop him, Lucca punched him in the side of his face.

Dazedly, Maxwell started to fall out of the chair, but Lucca held him upright as he zip-tied his wrists to the arms of the chair.

He nearly pissed himself when Lucca tugged the chair away from the table and started zip-tying his ankles to each leg of the chair. Then he began crying.

“Tell me what you want. You want more money? I can get it for—”

“This isn’t about money,” Lucca said as he stood up, pushing Maxwell’s chair back toward the table when he was done. Then he moved to the other side of the table to stare at them.

“Then what do you want!” Maxwell cried.

“Shut up, Maxwell,” his wife hissed. “Lucca, we have a profitable relationship with the Carusos—”

“The Carusos will no longer be doing business with you. Your dealings with Lucifer voided any promises we made.”

Maxwell started sobbing as he stared at the boogieman’s heartless, frightening eyes, knowing he was fucked.

Lucca’s cold voice cut through his tears. “I got a new dog, and he told me a story about how you sold your daughter’s soul to the devil. That he would get her when she reached the age of eighteen.”

Maxwell’s crying sobs turned into whimpers.

“Shut the fuck up!” his wife screamed at him, her chair nearly tilting sideways. “You’re going to get us killed.” Then she turned her attention to Lucca. “I told Lucifer he could have Chloe when she left for college. I would have given her to you if tha—”