Lucca (Made Men #4)(42)

"Thank you, fucking God. I've been waiting for the day when you would finally fuck over my father," Vincent began praying, a tear looking like it was going to stroll down his cheek. "And what's even better …  I get to help you do it."

Lucca stared at the blond dumbass who thankfully at least had his good looks going for him. "If you think you are going to be my consigliere, you are shit out of luck."

"I'll be your consigliere," Maria chimed in, smiling as she flipped her magazine and tapped her high heels.

Vincent scoffed, "Like he would choose you over me."

"Over you, I would," he told him with certainty, hurting his pretty-boy pride.

"On one condition." Maria smiled. "That I don't have to be with a man of Italian blood, either."

Taking a hit, he blew the smoke at her, "No."

Her expensive heel stopped tapping the ground, "We'll see."





Forty-Eight





This is Your Final Purpose





Maxwell poured another generous portion of liquor into his glass. He didn't even look to see what he was drinking. As long as it gave him enough of a buzz to hide from the wretched mess he had made out of his life, it didn't matter.



       
         
       
        

He should have put a bullet through his head long ago, but he was too much of a coward. He also could have divorced his bitch of a wife, and not cared about the political power he had enjoyed the last few years.

"Maxwell?" A woman's sharp voice had him lifting his head from the desk he had been slumped over.

"Wh-What?" He tried to focus his gaze on his wife as she walked into his office. Fucking bitch. "Is it dinner time?"

Elaine curled her lips in disdain. "We had dinner four hours ago."

Maxwell tried to remember what he had eaten, but drew a blank.

"I'm not ready for bed. You go ahead."

"Don't flatter yourself. I don't care when you go to bed."

"Then what do you want?" Maxwell reached for his glass, finding it empty. He started looking for the bottle of liquor, squinting his eyes as he looked around his desk, not seeing it. Then he searched where he must have left it after filling his glass.

"Maxwell, can you give me your attention for one second?" His wife came to the side of his desk, picking up the bottle from the floor.

"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-"



       
         
       
        

Lucca backhanded her across the face, effectively shutting her up.

"Not another fucking word out of your fucking mouth unless I address you," he sneered.

You could see Elaine's fear now as she realized she would not be able to talk her way out of this.

Lucca walked over to the counter, picking up a briefcase and placing it on the table in front of them. Then he adjusted his arm, making his black suit jacket rise up as he looked down at his watch.

Staring at the demon in front of him, who was dressed in an expensive, black Italian suit, Maxwell felt the impending doom. I'm going to die.

Lucca set a cell phone down on the table in front of the briefcase. "Before I forget, where do you keep your chili recipe?"

"Huh?" Maxwell stared at him, not sure he was hearing him right.

"Your chili recipe. I want it. Now," he demanded from Elaine this time.

Maxwell stared in horror as Lucca grabbed a fistful of Elaine's hair and slammed her head down onto the table when she didn't answer fast enough.

"I don't know!" A trickle of blood ran out of her nostrils. "I don't do the cooking anymore!"

Maxwell lost control over his once again full bladder, and he pissed himself when Lucca turned toward him.

"Lana's recipes are in the cabinet by the stove."

As Lucca walked away from them, Maxwell twisted his neck to see Lucca take the recipe box out of the cabinet. Then he watched as the boogieman went through the recipes until, with a smile of satisfaction, he found the one he was looking for, putting the rest of the recipes back in the box and leaving it on the counter.