So was little Madison. His own daughter. His own flesh and blood.
God! How he loved having her. It didn’t even bother him that Beth hadn’t given birth to a boy. They had plenty of time.
Jeez! What was wrong with him? If he really thought about it, he knew that Beth wouldn’t screw around on him. She loved him and they were planning on getting married.
He drove home slowly, wary of getting stopped by the cops. It was 2 A.M. and the street was deserted. He wished he’d spent the evening at home, instead of losing money and getting tanked.
Fortunately there was a parking spot directly outside his house. Walking up the front steps, he thought he heard a noise. A cat raced past, startling him.
Tomorrow he’d have a monster hangover.
The porch light was out. Had to get that fixed.
Unsteadily, he put his key in the lock, deciding that he’d wake Beth up and tell her how much he loved her.
As he walked inside, something or someone fell on top of him, taking him completely by surprise.
He was on the ground, his mind fuddled, reaction slow.
Then he heard it. One single gunshot.
And everything turned to black.
Tuesday, July 10, 2001
Stick together. Don’t panic,” Cole said, grim-faced. “Everyone remember to keep your head down.”
The hostages making the break with the robbers were gathered by the back exit of the restaurant, cloths over their heads and down past their waists. The gunman had made the men remove their ties in the restaurant, then he’d tied the hostages together, making it impossible for any of them to break loose. They were sweating and nervous as he began herding them into place around him and his two cohorts, making sure they’d be surrounded and couldn’t be picked off by sharpshooters.
“You’re drivin’,” he instructed Cole. “Everyone else in the back.”
“Where we heading?” Cole asked.
“You’ll find out.”
Madison wished that Natalie didn’t have to go with them. She’d feel much more secure if they could’ve left Natalie at the restaurant with the others.
“When I say move—do it!” the ringleader said. “Any of you mothafuckers get outta line, I got a bullet waitin’.”
Madison prayed that the police would not attempt to do anything foolish. She also hoped they’d sent a big enough van. What kind of a joke would it be if they couldn’t all fit inside?
As they reached the back door of the restaurant, the leader spotted bright lights shining outside.
“Tell ’em to turn those fuckin’ lights off,” he yelled angrily at Cole, “or we ain’t comin’ out.”
“Turn the lights off!” Cole shouted, knowing that his voice would make them think he was one of the bandits.
Nothing happened.
“Turn the lights off or we aren’t coming out,” Cole shouted a second time.
A beat of three and the lights were switched off. Madison felt her stomach turn over. This was such a perilous situation. What if the keys weren’t in the van? What if it didn’t have a full tank of gas? What if the police marksmen began shooting?
Anything was possible. She remembered a robbery that had taken place in Beverly Hills a few years ago at a jewelry store on Rodeo Drive. As soon as the hostages left the store and were in the parking lot, gunfire had started. At least one of the hostages had been killed.
The unruly procession, looking like one big giant moving tent, began heading down the alleyway toward the van.
In the middle of the night, Sofia awoke from a violent nightmare. She sat up, shivering and scared.
Gianni had tried to insist that she sleep in the bed and he would take the couch. She’d uttered a firm no. “If I’m in your bed, you’ll get another room as soon as I’m asleep,” she’d said accusingly. “And that’s not cool, ’cause I can’t be alone tonight.”
“Very well,” Gianni had answered patiently. “I’ll take the bed and you will sleep on the couch.”
Now here it was, pitch black, and she was frightened. Ever since she was a little girl she’d experienced nightmares. It probably had something to do with the fact that her mom was always out working and Vincent was never around because he was so much older than she and was busy doing his own thing—which meant that most of the time she was left alone with different baby-sitters. She’d never liked any of them—they were always mean and nasty. There was one who was particularly nasty, but she didn’t care to go there.
She got off the couch, clad in a big white T-shirt Gianni had loaned her. Then, tripping over a footstool, she made her way into the bedroom.
Gianni was asleep in bed, a book propped in front of him, his reading glasses halfway down his nose.
She removed the book and glasses. He didn’t stir. Next she turned the bedside light off and crawled into bed beside him.
Sometimes she was overcome with loneliness. It was as if there were nobody in the world who cared about her. And yet, in spite of their differences, she knew her mom cared, and Michael—in his own way. And big brother Vincent, who’d always been very protective of her. When she’d started dating as a teenager, he’d practically killed one of the boys she was seeing.
“You’re thirteen, too young to date,” he’d warned her.
“I’m not too young to do anything,” she’d answered back, realizing it was impossible to lead a normal life with an overbearing brother like Vincent watching her every move.
Actually, she’d always fancied Vincent’s best friend, Nando. Sad to say, Nando had never so much as glanced in her direction; she was far too young for him to bother with.
She edged closer to Gianni. He wouldn’t notice if she cuddled up to him, would he?
And that’s exactly what she did. She cuddled up to a man she’d only known a couple of hours, spooned into his back, and fell into a deep sleep.
Jolie had a special song that always put Nando in the right mood. A combination of soul with just a touch of rap—it was Usher’s “Good Ol’ Ghetto.” The beat was perfect—slow and funky. And Usher’s raspy, sexy voice put her in the right mood for fun.
She went to her closet and removed the appropriate items of clothing—a skimpy pink bandeau top and a short black rubber skirt. Under the clothes she wore a crotchless thong, a front-fastening nippleless bra, and thigh-high lace stockings. Shiny leather boots and a gold coin on a chain around her neck completed the look.
Living in a city jammed with strip clubs, lap dancers, naked women, and lavish nude shows, Jolie had come up with the perfect answer to keep her man happy at home, or at least try to—because Nando was hardly the faithful type.
She shook out her long raven hair, spritzed Angel from head to toe, switched on the Bose CD player, and entered the bedroom.
Nando was lying on the bed, hands behind his head, an anticipatory grin on his face.
Attitude. She had it down as she swayed toward him, undulating her hips to the throbbing beat, running her hands up and down her thighs, thrusting her pelvis at him.
“Oh, babee!” he crooned. “Take . . . it . . . off.”
Slowly, in time to the music, she began peeling her top down. Then, leaning over him, she encouraged him to unfasten her bra. Her breasts tumbled out.
“Nice titties,” he said, leering, as if it were the first time he’d seen them.
They’d been married three years, and the sex still sizzled.
She grazed his mouth with her nipples, then pulled up her rubber skirt and straddled him.
He was still fully dressed, so she dry-humped him in true lap dancer style.
He enjoyed every minute, especially when she unzipped his fly and gave him a memorable hand job. What a wife! She understood everything. She especially understood that sometimes a man liked to feel as if he were fourteen again.
When they were finished, he reached into his bedside drawer and handed her a thousand bucks.
She took it.
“Cheap at the price,” he said,
still grinning.
“I know,” she said with a secret smile. “I’m thinking of raising my rates.”
“Get dressed, we’re goin’ out,” he said.
“Where?”
“I’m takin’ you to meet my future partners.”
“What about Vincent?”
“Fuck him.”
“Surprise,” Michael said, greeting his son at the door.
“Jesus Christ!” Vincent exclaimed. “Where did you come from?”
“Nice greeting.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“Complicated story.”
“Where’s Mom?”
Dani emerged from the bedroom. She’d put on a pale blue shirt, sleek black pants, and secured her long blond hair on top of her head.
Vincent was always struck by his mother’s incandescent beauty. Time had not dimmed her glow.
He often thought what a fool Michael was, not to have married her. Whenever he asked why they hadn’t gotten married, they both came up with the same evasive answers.
It was stupid, because it was so blatantly obvious they belonged together. Dani, who was usually so on top of everything, turned to mush around Michael. And he treated her as if they’d been married for years.
“Something not so good has happened,” Michael said, clearing his throat.
“What?” Vincent asked, immediately thinking it must be something to do with Sofia.
“It’s a tough one.”
“So tell me what it is.”
“Your father is being accused of killing Stella and her boyfriend,” Dani blurted out.
“Come on,” Vincent said disbelievingly.
“There’s a warrant out for my arrest,” Michael said. “It probably won’t be long before they come sniffing round here.”
“Jesus Christ!” Vincent repeated. As if this evening hadn’t been bad enough, he now had to hear that his father was on the run from a murder charge.
“I didn’t do it, in case you’re wondering,” Michael said. “It’s a setup.”
“Who set you up?”
“I have enemies—longtime enemies. Grudges that go way back.”
“This is insane.”
“I know.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Look after your mother. Contact Madison and Sofia. I think they should both come here for a while.”
“To do what?”
“Be protected,” Michael said. “You can arrange that, can’t you?”
“Yes. Only I should point out that I have no idea where either of them are.”
“Madison’s in New York,” Michael said, reaching for the phone. “I’ll call her now.”
“You think she’ll fly out here?”
“If I tell her it’s important, she’ll come.”
“How about Sofia?”
“Find her. If you don’t, somebody else might. And Vincent—believe me—that could be deadly.”
When Jenna heard the front door slam and realized that Vincent had gone out, she couldn’t believe it. How dare he nag and scream at her, then leave her alone in the apartment. She was livid.
She came out of the bedroom and took a good look around. He was definitely gone.
Quick as a flash, she ran to the phone. “Andy Dale’s suite,” she said to the operator.
“One moment please,” the operator replied.
Anais answered the phone, or at least it sounded like her.
“Is Andy still around? This is Jenna Castle.”
“Hey, baby,” Anais said, sounding real friendly. “We’re packin’ up an’ blowin’ this dump. You wanna talk to the man?”
“Yes, please.”
“Sure, babe. You gonna party with us later?”
“Maybe,” Jenna said, hopefully.
Andy got on the phone. He did not sound happy. “I’m sick of your freakin’ husband chasin’ me everywhere I go,” he complained.
“I called to apologize,” Jenna said. “Vincent gets into silly moods sometimes. It’s not as if anything was going on between you and me.”
“It’s not like I don’t want something to go on between us,” Andy said, warming up.
“Really?”
“Didn’t you feel the vibe?”
“Yes . . . I did,” she said excitedly. “Where are you going now?”
“I got a suite at the Bellagio. Wanna join us? We’re ready to party, only don’t bring your old man. An’ don’t tell the asshole where you’re going, okay? ’Cause I’m not into another confrontation.”
She took a long, deep breath. Andy Dale was a huge movie star, and this was her big opportunity. Was she supposed to pass it up simply because Vincent was jealous?
No way.
“I’ll be right there,” she said.
“You got it, foxy.”
The procession made its way down the darkened alleyway toward the big black van parked there. Madison realized that this was probably the most dangerous time of all.
Once they reached the van, she was relieved to see that it was probably large enough. Hopefully it had a tracking device in it.
A voice boomed out of a nearby loudspeaker. “Why don’t you give it up now? Let the hostages go, drop your weapons and surrender.”
The ringleader nudged Madison in the ribs with his gun. She could smell his sweat and fear. He might act tough, but she knew he must be nervous. “Keep moving,” he muttered.
She did as she was told, along with everybody else, wondering if they’d encounter a roadblock when they drove out of the alley.
Roughly he shoved her in the van. The rest of them managed to squeeze in too.
Cole got behind the wheel, the main gunman crowded up next to him, while Madison sat on his other side. Everyone else was crammed in the back.
It occurred to her that if the cops started shooting, she and Cole were prime targets. Cole especially, because he was in the driver’s seat.
Cole started the engine. The gunman leaned forward, checking to make sure the gas tank was full. “Let’s fuckin’ go,” he yelled. “Move it!”
“Where?” Cole asked.
“Turn onto Beverly an’ floor this mothafucker.”
“Yes,” Cole said, doing as he was told. And they roared off.
Silently Madison began reciting a prayer, knowing that within minutes there was a strong possibility that they could all be dead.
Michael—1974
It was Madison’s third birthday. She sat with a dozen other toddlers in the garden of Tina and Max’s new house, which was now her home, and watched in fascination as a funny man dressed like a clown blew up different-colored balloons and twisted them into animal shapes. Susie, Tina and Max’s daughter, sprawled on the grass next to her. At seven, Susie was a cute little girl, with two missing front teeth and a sweet smile. Harry, her eight-year-old brother, was not so nice. His favorite occupation was pulling Susie’s hair, destroying her dolls, and teasing her until she screamed.
Tina was constantly nagging at him to behave himself.
Max was constantly telling Tina to shut up. “He’s a boy,” he said. “That’s what boys do.”
“Not this boy,” Tina retorted.
Michael arrived late and stood at the kitchen door watching his daughter. She was such a little beauty. So full of life, so like Beth. Thank God for Max and Tina. They’d been there when he’d needed them, they were always behind him. Unlike Catherine, who’d accused him of murdering her sister.
The last two years had been a living nightmare. Coming home that night drunk, getting hit on the head, and then—when he regained consciousness—he’d been holding a gun. His gun. And the police were standing over him.
Beth was dead, shot in the back of the head. Madison was asleep in her crib, the press were outside the house, and he was read his rights and arrested for Beth’s murder.
It wasn’t true. He hadn’t done it. Once more he’d been set up, and once more he’d had to struggle to prove his in
nocence.
This time Vito Giovanni supported him, hiring the best criminal defense attorney and paying for everything.
Vito was a wise man. He knew Mamie was in some way responsible, and because he was genuinely fond of Michael, he’d felt a sense of guilt.
Mamie denied she had anything to do with it. Not that Michael had had a confrontation with her, but Vito had, and she’d sworn she was not involved.
They both knew she was lying.
“My lawyers will get you off,” Vito had promised. And they did.
He’d still had to go through the media blitz. The press anointed him Vito Giovanni’s blue-eyed boy. Except that he didn’t have blue eyes, and he wasn’t anybody’s boy. So not only did he have to bear the grief of Beth’s death, he’d also had to endure the constant exposure that the press decided to bestow upon him.
The day he was arrested was a slow news day, and his extreme good looks put him right on the front pages.
The headlines were lurid and without merit.
PRETTY BOY KILLER
The Man with the Golden Smile
Fame, even if it was only transient, was horrifying. Women began writing him—thousands of letters—sending pictures of themselves in scanty outfits, claiming they wanted to marry him, have his children, save him. There were a lot of nuts out there.
He endured it because what else could he do? He had no choice.
After spending several months in jail there was a trial, and eventually he was acquitted.
He’d never forget Catherine’s face the day she stood in the witness box claiming he’d told her that if Beth so much as looked at another man he’d kill her.
Sure he’d said it, he was angry that day. But he hadn’t meant it. And Catherine knew that.
Other witnesses came forward. People he didn’t know, people who’d attended the fashion institute with Beth. Many claimed she’d often said that the man she lived with was insanely jealous. He could just imagine Beth saying that—it was her way of getting attention. She’d always got off on creating havoc.
His lawyer destroyed the witnesses one by one.
Tina and Max took Madison in, treating her as if she were one of their own children. He’d never forget their kindness—they were true friends.