“Max?” she asked, frowning.
“My pal. He, uh . . . came home with Angela last night. Now I gotta get him to the airport or we’ll miss our flight.”
“I thought you were with Angela,” she blurted.
“Naw, not me,” he said, sipping his coffee and thinking she looked even prettier without all that heavy makeup plastered over her face.
“So you simply walked in here this morning?”
“I shoulda rung the bell, right?” he said sheepishly. “Only, like I said, the door was open, an’ I didn’t know anyone else lived here.”
“I live here,” she said lamely. “Angela and me—we’re roommates.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, nodding. “I know who you are, you’re a girlfriend of Manny Spiven’s.”
“I am not,” she said indignantly. “I hate that rude pig.”
“You do?” he said, surprised.
“Yes, I do. I had the horrible experience of going on a blind date with him once. The pig tried to jump me, and when I didn’t respond, he shouted all kinds of insults at me.”
“That’s not the way he tells it.”
“Excuse me?” she said, furious that there was a Manny Spiven version of their one unmemorable date.
“Did you know that he goes around sayin’ that he’s . . . uh . . . gotten it on with you?”
“What?!” she exclaimed, blushing a deep red. “That’s absolutely untrue.”
“Guess he was makin’ up stories.”
She was so humiliated. How dare Manny Spiven make up lies about her. “I told you he was a pig,” she said fiercely. “A lying pig!”
Michael grinned. He should have known Manny was full of crap.
“Anyway,” she said vehemently, “maybe you should teach him some manners, he’s your friend.”
“No,” Michael corrected. “Business associate. Sure as hell not friend.”
“I thought—,” she said tentatively.
“Manny’s an asshole,” he said, reaching for an apple and taking a bite. “Seems like you found that out for yourself.”
“At least we agree on that.”
“So . . . ,” he said. “Now that we’ve straightened Manny out . . . it’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Finally?” she said, big blue eyes meeting his.
“I’ve been watchin’ you for a while,” he said, mentally kicking himself for blowing the opportunity of getting together with her the previous night.
“You have?” she said, surprised and quite flattered.
“Saw you a few weeks back, only just when I was about to make my move, you ran off with some guy on a motorcycle.”
“My sister’s husband,” she said quickly.
“Glad to hear he doesn’t belong to you.”
“What?” she murmured breathlessly.
“That he’s not your guy,” he repeated, giving her a direct stare that made her go weak at the knees.
Before she could answer, Max staggered into the kitchen bleary-eyed and bare-chested, clad only in his crumpled boxer shorts, his hair standing on end as if he’d just put his finger in an electric socket.
“Jeez!” Michael exclaimed, controlling his laughter. “You look like crap!”
“Water,” Max gasped. “I need water.”
“It’s the desert air,” Michael deadpanned to Dani. “New Yorkers—they can’t take it.”
“You’re from New York?” she asked.
“Yup,” he said, standing up. “An’ we’re supposed t’ be on a plane any minute.”
“Oh,” she said, strangely disappointed.
“But I’ll be back,” he said cheerfully. “Soon. An’ next time we won’t let Manny Spiven come between us.” He winked at her. “Will we?”
“No,” she said, and for the first time in her short life she felt a stirring within her that made her want to grab a man and hold on to him forever.
Tuesday, July 10, 2001
Fuck!” the gunman exploded, punching a hole in the wall, his rage and frustration quite apparent.
Almost an hour had passed and nothing was happening. Every communication had promised that a van was on its way. So far no van.
“You!” he yelled, pointing at Madison. “Get over here.”
She felt a coldness in the pit of her stomach. Was he about to make good on his threat and start shooting the hostages? Was she to be the first victim?
Bravely she stood up and walked over to him.
He thrust the phone at her. “Tell ’em five more minutes or someone fuckin’ dies.”
She took the phone and began speaking. The negotiator on the other end sounded like an idiot.
“They mean business,” she said urgently. “Where’s the van? Why isn’t it here yet?”
“How many of them are in there?” the negotiator asked, his voice cold and impersonal. “Are they all armed?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly. “Three minutes is good.”
“Try to keep everyone calm,” he said. “I’m used to these situations. We’re working on getting you all out safely.”
Was he kidding? They were locked up with armed men who were threatening to kill them, and he was telling her to keep everyone calm. This was insane.
“What’s with the three minutes?” the gunman snapped.
“They’re trying to get a van here.”
“You’re comin’ with,” he decided.
Cole was on his feet in a flash. “You can’t take her without me,” he said urgently.
The gunman looked him over. “You her old man?”
“Yes,” Cole lied.
“Get the fuck over by the door. An’ you,” he said, waving his weapon at the short redhead in the tight blue dress, “you get over there, too.”
“I want my ring back,” the redhead whined. “It’s my engagement ring.”
He ignored her, picking out three more hostages to go wait by the door.
Please God, Madison prayed, let them send a van soon. Because if they don’t, somebody’s going to die.
Jolie was on her third cigarette when she realized that Jenna had been missing far too long. This was not good, and she wasn’t about to hang around in the ladies’ room all night waiting for her. Impatiently she stubbed out her cigarette and reentered the casino. The room was still packed with people gambling their lives away. As she walked through the throngs of people, she glanced over at the blackjack table where she’d first spotted Andy Dale. He was no longer there, and Jenna was nowhere in sight.
Oh, shit! It wasn’t her fault. All she’d done was point him out, and she’d told Jenna to hurry back. Too bad if the ditz couldn’t follow instructions.
“Where’s my wife?” Vincent demanded as soon as she returned to the table.
“Playing the slots, I think,” Jolie murmured vaguely, sliding into the booth.
“Jenna doesn’t play,” Vincent said. “You’re the one who’s into that.”
“And I didn’t feel like it tonight,” she answered coolly.
“You left her in the casino by herself?”
“I’m not her keeper, Vincent.”
He glared at her, his eyes hard.
“Maybe she bumped into a friend,” Nando offered.
“If she bumped into a friend, she’d bring whoever it was to the table,” Vincent said, getting up. “I’ll be back.”
Nando shrugged. “Whatever,” he mumbled, not happy about his partner’s reaction to the deal he’d suggested. What was so terrible about hookers and drugs? They were a Vegas tradition. Besides, everyone else made money with them. Why shouldn’t they? Vincent could be so uptight.
As soon as Vincent was out of earshot, Nando turned to his wife. “So where is she?” he asked.
Jolie picked up her champagne glass and took a sip. “She spotted Andy Dale and went running over to him. I couldn’t stop her.”
“Damn! Vin’s gonna beat the shit out of him,” Nando warned. “The kid makes a living with his face. How’s he gonna look with a br
oken jaw and nose and three black eyes?”
“Three black eyes?” Jolie said, laughing.
“You know what I mean,” Nando said irritably.
Jolie tapped her long, silver-painted nails on the table. “Why are you in a bad mood?” she asked.
“ ’Cause Vincent drives me loco,” Nando replied. “Could be our partnership has gone on long enough.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jolie scoffed. “You love each other. You’re as close as brothers.”
“Yeah,” Nando said grimly. “An’ sometimes one brother’s gotta move outta the house before they slit each other’s throats.”
After a lot of screaming and shouting, Sofia was getting nowhere with the concierge, who was now threatening to call the police.
“Call ’em!” she yelled directly into his face. “I want you to. I’m begging you to.”
At which point a man appeared in the lobby—a tall, well-dressed man in an expensive suit who spoke both English and Spanish.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, with only the slightest of accents.
“You bet your ass there’s a problem,” she said, her voice rising.
“Please explain. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”
So she told him her story, and without hesitation, he immediately took command of the situation. Removing his jacket, he draped it around her shoulders while urging her to calm down.
“I nearly killed myself escaping from those two ass-holes upstairs,” she spluttered. “Tell this moron to come with me, so I can collect my purse without getting attacked again.”
Calmly the man explained things to the concierge, who reluctantly agreed to accompany Sofia upstairs.
“Will you come too?” she asked the tall stranger. “I need protection.”
“If you think it’s necessary.”
“Oh yes, I do.”
The three of them got into the elevator and rode upstairs in silence. When they reached the penthouse, Sofia began hammering on the door with her fists.
Eventually Paco opened the door, security chain firmly in place.
“You fucks are lucky I’m not suing your asses,” she yelled. “I had to jump out the fucking window to get away from you two perverts. How do you think that will look in court?”
Paco responded in Spanish, gesticulating wildly. She didn’t understand a word he was saying.
“Where is your purse?” the man from the lobby asked.
“In there,” she said, pointing past Paco into the living room.
The man spoke to Paco in Spanish. Whatever he said was obviously effective, because before she knew it, the other would-be rapist appeared at the door with her purse, shoved it through the crack, and slammed the door shut.
“What did you say to them?” she asked. “Did you tell them they’re a couple of sick fucks who deserve to have their dicks cut off?”
“What language!” the tall man said, taking her arm and guiding her back to the elevator.
“You try jumping out a window and staying calm,” she fumed. “I’m lucky I didn’t kill myself.”
The elevator reached the lobby and they all stepped out. The concierge practically ran back to the reception desk, anxious to be rid of them.
“Do you have somewhere to stay?” the man asked.
“Of course I do,” she said scornfully. “God! Morons like that should be locked up.”
“Perhaps I can drive you to your home.”
“That’s okay,” she said, handing him back his jacket. “I’ll call a cab.”
“Haven’t you had enough drama for one night?”
“Hmm,” she said reluctantly. “If you’re sure you won’t attack me in the car, ’cause you can see what happens to people who get on my bad side.”
“Yes, I can see that,” he said, slightly amused.
“Who are you, anyway?” she asked.
“Gianni,” he replied. “Gianni Ruspeli.”
“Oh God! You’re that famous Italian dress-designing guy,” she said. “The one who makes those cool jeans. I thought you looked familiar.”
He laughed dryly. “We prefer to call it ‘couture.’ And the jeans are merely a very lucrative amusement.”
“Okay—couture. Whatever that means.”
“And you are . . . ?”
“Sofia.”
“Ah . . . Sofia. A beautiful name for a wild beauty.”
“I’m not wild and I’m not a beauty. I’m merely pissed off.”
“Then being pissed off, my dear, agrees with you.”
He slipped the concierge some money and they stepped outside. Parked curbside was a gleaming black Bentley. A uniformed driver stood at attention, holding the door open for them.
“You’ll hate me—’cause I’m about to drip all over your upholstery,” she said, gingerly climbing into the car.
“Lucky upholstery,” he murmured, getting in beside her.
“Wow! A guy who doesn’t go ape shit over his wheels. That’s a first.” She settled back into the luxurious leather and wondered if she was making another mistake. Maybe this dude was a better-class pervert in an expensive suit.
“Have you ever done any modeling, Sofia?” he asked.
“Oh, please!” she said, immediately suspicious. “Now I gotta listen to your smooth lines. I knew this was a mistake.”
“You have a very exotic young look. You might be the perfect model for my new jeans.”
“Here comes the bullshit,” she sighed, rolling back her eyes. “You’ll give me a lift if I come back to your apartment and audition my bare body—is that the deal?”
“Not at all,” he said casually. “Besides, Sofia, you are too young for me. I prefer my women to be at least slightly sophisticated.”
“Ha! That’s a new one.”
“Why don’t I give you my card?” he suggested. “And the next time you are in Rome, you can call me.”
“I’m not exactly on my way to Rome.”
“Then maybe you should consider it.”
“Why?”
“Because, my dear, it is quite obvious you have nothing to lose.”
Going to bed with Michael was as good as the first time, and Dani clearly remembered the first time, even though it was over thirty years ago. He’d been so handsome, she’d been so naive. And a virgin. He’d treated her like a princess, and for one memorable night she’d been in heaven.
“Why are you here?” she murmured as they lay in her king-sized bed after making long, leisurely love. “Can’t you get out of my life permanently and leave me alone?”
“We have children together, Dani,” he said quietly. “Even if we didn’t, I’d still want to be with you.”
“If you’d really wanted to be with me,” she said accusingly, “you would never have married Stella.”
“I married Stella because you rejected me—and in a way she reminded me of you.”
“That’s comforting.”
“Only physically. Stella had none of your sweetness, which is why I’ve always come back to you.”
“No, Michael,” Dani sighed. “The only time you come back to me is when you’re in trouble.”
“Not true,” he said, reaching for a cigarette.
“True,” she said, propping a couple of pillows beneath her head. “Now tell me, Michael, what are you planning to do about your present situation?”
“I have enemies,” he said mysteriously. “They’ve tried for a long time to bring me down.”
“Why would anybody want to murder Stella and her boyfriend, then make it look as if you did it?”
“People do things for many reasons. Revenge is one of them.”
“Who wants revenge on you?”
“It’s better you don’t know.” A beat. “And Dani, you have to be more careful.”
“Me?”
“If their thirst for revenge is strong enough to murder Stella and her boyfriend, then I have to wonder if you’re safe. Or even Madison and Sofia.”
“My God, Michae
l,” she said, alarmed. “What are you saying?”
“Where is Sofia?”
“Still in Europe. I can’t get her to come home.”
“I need her here, Dani.”
“Then you find her. She’s a free spirit—just like you. Totally different from Madison.”
“Madison’s the smart one,” he said. “Did I mention that she met Vincent?”
“When?” Dani asked, quite startled.
“A few months ago.”
“How did they meet?”
“Madison was in Vegas, she needed a favor, and, uh . . . Vincent was able to take care of it.”
“What kind of a favor?”
“Nothing you want to know about.”
“Why didn’t Vincent tell me?”
“That’s between him and you.”
“Oh God, Michael, you’re too complicated for me to keep up with. I only know you shouldn’t involve Vincent.”
“He’s a big boy.”
“Did you tell Madison that he’s her half brother?”
“All she had to do was take a look at him an’ she figured it out.”
“Was she upset?”
“Who knows?” he said, inhaling deeply. “The last time I spoke to her she was in New York. When Sofia gets home, I think they should meet.”
“There’s no need for Sofia to know you had another family that you cared more about.”
“Not true, Dani. I love all my children equally.”
“You might think so, but Madison grew up with you. Vincent and Sofia didn’t. If Sofia felt you’d been there for her, she might not have run off to Europe.”
“So you’re blaming me?”
“It would have been nice if they’d seen more of you.”
“I did my best, Dani.”
“Have you ever thought that your best might not have been good enough?”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he said angrily. “Don’t give me more problems.”
“Fine,” she said, equally angry. “I’ll keep quiet. I always have.”
Vincent strode through the casino, his eyes scanning every table. Eventually he stopped to talk to one of his pit bosses. “You know the actor Andy Dale?” he asked brusquely.