Deadly Embrace

  Now he’d had two hours’ sleep and felt like shit.

  Nando was grinning as they both got dressed. “You gotta go out in style,” Nando explained. “It’s the only way.”

  “Thanks,” Vincent said grimly. “I doubt if I’ll be able to get it up tonight. You’ve ruined my wedding night.”

  “Once you’re married you don’t have to get it up,” Nando said, still grinning. “Sex takes on a whole new meaning.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Vincent exclaimed. “Why don’t you just stay quiet for once?”

  Vincent and Jenna were married on the grounds of the hotel. The flowers, the music, the food—everything was perfect.

  At the reception Michael stayed by Dani’s side, shooting dark looks at Dean, who was sitting at another table.

  “Will you stop,” Dani said, noticing what was going on.

  “Who, me? What’m I doing?” Michael said innocently.

  Earlier, when she’d introduced them, Michael had barely managed a surly hello. “I hate that asshole,” he’d muttered. “He’s the prick who kept us apart for seven years.”

  “He was doing what he thought was best for me.”

  “No, Dani,” Michael had corrected, “he was doing what he thought was best for him.”

  Vincent’s bride looked stunning, in a white lace Vera Wang gown. She was surrounded by all her girlfriends, dressed in pink.

  “Man, if I wasn’t married, I’d fuck every one of ’em,” Nando confided to Vincent, nudging him in the ribs.

  “What else is new?” Vincent said, shaking his head.

  Dani watched her son with love and pride. Her only disappointment was that Sofia was not here to share in this happy family day. It was a source of great sadness to Dani that her wild daughter was roaming around Europe somewhere when she should be at her brother’s wedding.

  She observed Michael as he danced with the bride. Still so tall, dark, and handsome. A heartbreaker. Her heartbreaker. How she loved him.

  What would her life have been like if she’d never met him?

  She had no regrets. If they’d never met, she wouldn’t have Vincent and Sofia, so somehow things had worked out for the best.

  Tuesday, July 10, 2001

  Where are we going?” Madison asked.

  “Christ!” the gunman said. “Don’t you ever shut up?”

  Loud rap music was blasting, and she was stuck in the back of a strange car with this maniacal asshole. Two other men were in the front. It was too dark to get a good look at them.

  It struck her as odd that she’d been singled out. Why? And where had this vehicle come from? Had the gunman been in contact by cell phone with people to come get him?

  What about the other two gunmen and the hostages? Something weird was going on, and she couldn’t figure it out.

  “What’ll happen to the people we left behind?” she asked.

  “That ain’t your concern,” he said roughly.

  “Will they be freed?”

  “For crissakes!”

  She tried to get a better look at the two men in the front. The driver was a big man, with a totally shaved head. His bare arms were festooned with intricate tattoos.

  The man sitting beside him had long, greasy hair, and studs in his nose and ears. That’s all she could see.

  I’m not frightened, she told herself. I’m not scared. I’m my father’s daughter, and he’d expect me to be strong. So fuck ’em!

  But inside she was filled with trepidation.

  As far as Jolie was concerned the situation was heading from bad to worse. Not only did she have Darren eyeballing her with a lecherous twist to his thin Snoop Doggy Dogg lips, but now the two men had set out several lines of coke on a glass-top table, and a couple of topless girls had wandered in to join the party.

  Jolie was offended. She didn’t want to be here, this was not her scene.

  She kept on looking over at Nando to see if he got the message that she wanted to get the hell out of there. He managed to take no notice of her, he was too busy laughing and bullshitting with the guys. The next thing she knew he was doing a line of coke.

  Determined to act with dignity, she stood up. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” she said, tight-lipped.

  “Sure, babe,” Nando answered, half eyeballing one of the topless babes.

  “The pisser’s on your right,” Darren offered with a sly smirk. “Want me t’ take you?”

  “I’m sure I’ll find it,” she said icily.

  She walked out of the room and back into the club, practically bumping into a huge bouncer who was in the process of dragging some hapless drunk toward the door.

  Now she was really angry. How dare Nando bring her to such a place? He should have more respect for her. After all, she was his wife.

  She glanced up at the stage. It was open-leg city, girls spreading them like there was no tomorrow.

  Shaking her head, she walked to the front entrance. The parking valet who’d taken care of Nando’s car was standing there smoking a cigarette.

  She fished in her purse and took out money. “Here’s that other twenty my husband promised you,” she said, handing him a twenty-dollar bill. “Can you please bring the car?”

  “Sure,” the guy said, giving her an appraising once-over as he flicked his cigarette on the ground. “The Ferrari. Right?”

  Tapping her foot impatiently, she watched as a fat man rolled out of the club chortling with amusement. He was holding on to his friend, who staggered over to the side of the curb and proceeded to puke.

  Nice. Very, very nice.

  The valet brought the car around and she got in. “Oh, by the way, tell my husband when he comes out that he can take a cab.”

  And before the parking valet could say a word, she shot off.

  The plane made a smooth landing. Michael disembarked quickly. He’d kept in touch with Gus, his former prison mate and coworker in crime over the years. Gus had moved to L.A. fifteen years ago to run the West Coast operation for Lucchese.

  Gus was there to greet him. They shook hands, walked out of the airport, and got into a black limo with tinted, dark windows that was waiting at curbside.

  “Good to see you, Michael,” Gus said, looking very L.A. in a silk T-shirt worn under a lightweight cream suit.

  “Shame it has to be under these circumstances,” Michael replied.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Gus said. “I done what you asked. Everything’s set.”

  “Those morons,” Michael said, his eyes filled with an unholy anger. “I think they might’ve taken my daughter.”

  “What?” Gus said, squinting at him.

  “You been following that hostage situation on TV?”

  “You mean the one from the restaurant on Beverly Boulevard?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s not a hostage situation,” Michael said grimly. “I think they could’ve snatched Madison.”

  “I suppose,” Sofia said, as she sat on Gianni’s private jet, sipping iced tea, “that you’re expecting an explanation about last night.”

  “I’ve forgotten about last night,” Gianni said.

  “No, really,” she insisted. “I want to explain.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Why don’t you want to hear it?” she said, fidgeting in her seat.

  “I’m not interested. I’m prepared to forget it ever happened.”

  “Oh, that’s great, isn’t it?” she said sulkily. “Make me feel like a piece of shit.”

  “Sofia—if a gentleman gives you an opportunity to forget something that is embarrassing to you, then you should take that opportunity.”

  “Why are you always lecturing me?” she demanded.

  “I’m not. I’m merely trying to tell you that it is more prudent to listen to good advice.”

  “You’re very smug, Gianni.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  She leaned back and stretched. “I called
my mother this morning.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah—I figured, y’know, she’d like to hear from me. I didn’t tell her about jumping into a swimming pool from eight stories up!”

  “No, I’m quite sure she wouldn’t have appreciated that.”

  “Anyway, she wants me to come home.”

  “And do you wish to do that?”

  “Well, she kind of, like, said there was an emergency with my father.”

  “Is he sick?”

  “No, she just said it was like, um, a situation.”

  “What kind of situation?”

  “How would I know? My mom’s mysterious. You’d probably fall madly in love with her. She’s a gorgeous blond.”

  “What makes you imagine I would fall madly in love with a gorgeous blond?”

  “Men fall in love with Dani all the time,” Sofia said, stating a fact. “She used to be a showgirl in Vegas. She was, like, a real hot number.”

  “Your mother was?”

  “Yeah, she’s only, like, y’know, fifty-something.”

  “When we get to Rome, you’ll do the audition photos, and after that I’ll arrange for you to fly home. Is that a plan?”

  “Yeah, ’cause if the photos work out and you want me to do the campaign, I can always come back.”

  “Excellent.”

  “So, you’ll buy me a ticket home, and my dad’ll pay you. He’s rich, y’know. Probably as rich as you.”

  “Does he have his own plane?”

  “Oh,” she said, staring him down. “I guess you’re mega rich, huh?”

  “What does your father do?”

  “That’s a good question,” she answered vaguely. “Investments and crap, real estate, shopping centers, things like that.”

  “Is he like Donald Trump?”

  She giggled. “Donald Trump wishes.”

  Purposefully Vincent set off to collect his erstwhile wife, and maybe beat the shit out of Andy Dale. He’d warned him. Hadn’t the cretin gotten it the first time?

  Probably not. Andy Dale was a movie star. The dumbest of the dumb.

  He’d dragged Jenna home once tonight, now he had to do it a second time. This was ridiculous. He didn’t need these kind of headaches.

  He’d rescue her, and that was it.

  After this little experience, Jenna was on her own. She’d no longer have him to protect her.

  Michael and Madison—2001

  Michael got the call in the middle of the night. He was alone in Connecticut, since Stella had moved out to live with her boyfriend. He didn’t care. Things between him and Stella had cooled down long before she left. A divorce was inevitable.

  He was trying to get things straight in his own head before he started thinking about the future. Madison wasn’t talking to him, she was still upset about his revelations concerning Stella. He hadn’t called Dani in a while because, quite frankly, he wasn’t sure where he wanted their relationship to go, and once he told her about Stella leaving, it would definitely be decision time. Sofia was wandering around somewhere in Europe. Vincent was the only one who was doing great. He had a new wife, a successful hotel, and seemed all set.

  The call was to inform him that Vito Giovanni had passed away. Michael was heavyhearted to hear the news. It didn’t seem possible that Vito was gone, a man who’d always been such a strong presence in his life.

  He got in his car, drove into town, and checked into a hotel. The next morning he got up early and went directly to the Giovanni house.

  Western greeted him with red, puffy eyes. “He was such a sweet old guy,” she said mournfully. “My Vito was real good to me.”

  “He loved you very much,” Michael assured her.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she worried, twisting her diamond wedding ring. “Who am I supposed to call?”

  “Don’t worry,” Michael said. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  And he did.

  The day of the funeral, two surprise guests turned up. Mamie and Bone. Almost seventy, Mamie was still trying to look like a teenager. She wore a bright blue suit with a skirt way above her bony knees, her bleached blond hair was ratted and brittle, her makeup was caked all over her face, and she was festooned in diamond jewelry.

  A scowling Bone had dyed his hair boot-polish black and swooped it across his head to hide his receding hairline. He’d also applied some kind of fake suntan, which gave his face a sickly orange tint. He looked ridiculous.

  The two of them made quite a bizarre sight.

  The turnout for the funeral was enormous. Vito had an endless stream of friends, business associates, and acquaintances, all anxious to pay their respects.

  Michael immediately spotted Mamie and Bone, and did his best to avoid them.

  Mamie was having none of it; she accosted him on his way out of church. “Mikey,” she said, spiky black eyelashes dominating over-made-up eyes. “My little Mikey.”

  Did she not remember their past history? Had she completely forgotten that she was directly responsible for his mother’s murder, and God knows, probably Beth’s too?

  He tried to turn in the other direction.

  She placed her bony hand on his arm. Long fingers, every one beringed. “Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you.”

  “What is it?” he said, keeping his voice low and even because he did not wish to cause a scene.

  “We came to New York to pay respects to my ex-husband,” she said. “Vito would’ve wanted that.” Michael nodded silently. “And also,” she said, leaning confidentially toward him, “to work out how we’re gonna get the money he promised me.”

  Now was his moment of triumph. “What money?” he said blankly.

  “The money you’ve been looking after for him,” she said, fixing him with a malevolent glare.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t screw with me, Mikey,” she said, talking to him as if he were still the teenage kid she’d known way back.

  He brushed her hand off his arm, and in a very low voice so nobody else could hear, said, “Go fuck yourself, Mamie.”

  Then he walked away.

  Bone came up to him at the reception. “I understand you and Mamie had a talk,” Bone said flatly, fingering the long, thin scar on his cheek.

  Michael stared at him and didn’t say a word. How he hated the man who’d shot his mother. A mother he’d never known because of Bone.

  “Take this as a warning,” Bone said with a great deal of malice in his voice. “You get her the money or you’re gonna regret it.”

  “I’ll tell you the same as I told Mamie,” Michael said, holding back his anger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Bone shook his head in wonderment. “You’re still the same dumb bastard.” His voice rose. “You get Mamie her money or you’ll see what’ll happen.”

  “Jeez!” Michael said, taunting him. “Threats. What’re you going to do to me now?”

  Bone’s eyes were cold and dead. “You’d be surprised,” he said. “You’d be very surprised.”

  Once more Michael walked away. There was nothing they could do to him. There was no way they could prove that Vito had entrusted him with any money. Besides, he was a legitimate businessman now, he was way out of their reach.

  Over the next few days he made arrangements for Western to receive a princely income for the length of her life. He didn’t feel bad about keeping the rest of Vito’s secret stash. He considered it Bone and Mamie’s punishment, a punishment that was not nearly harsh enough. Eventually he’d give every dollar of it to some deserving charity. Now, that was justice.

  As the years passed he’d begun to realize that seeking endless revenge could poison a person’s soul. Another thought—did revenge ever satisfy?

  This particular time it did.

  Later that night he spoke to Warner Carlysle. She was still close to Stella, and with her help he planned to move on.

  “I want a divorce,”
he told her. “Can you talk to Stella for me?”

  “I don’t know why you two can’t speak to each other,” Warner grumbled.

  “She refuses to talk to me,” he said. “So I’d appreciate it if you’d step in and tell her that either she proceeds with a divorce or I will. I won’t fight her. She can have anything she wants—including the house.”

  “Very well,” Warner sighed, reluctant to get involved.

  “Thanks.”

  “Michael,” Warner added curiously, “aren’t you interested in knowing why she ran off with another man?”

  “I couldn’t care less.”

  “Well,” Warner said, “you have to admit that you were hardly ever there for her. And Stella felt you still loved Beth, and that you always put Madison before her.”

  “What’re you—her shrink?” he said coldly.

  He had no interest in Stella anymore. She’d left him, and the truth was that he was relieved. He wished she’d done it years earlier.

  “I’ll talk to her, Michael,” Warner promised. “It’s better for both of you to end it.”

  A few days later, he was in his office when the phone rang. It was Warner.

  “Do you have news for me?” he asked.

  Her voice sounded tired and strained, unlike her usual, spirited tone. “Yes, Michael,” she said slowly, “I do.”

  “So, tell me—is she willing to start divorce proceedings?”

  “It won’t be necessary,” Warner said haltingly. “Stella and Lucien are both dead.”

  “What?”

  “They were shot in the back of the head, execution style.”

  “Jesus!” he said, almost dropping the phone.

  “Michael, I have to ask you this.” A long, silent beat. “Did you do it?”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he screamed.

  And then he knew.

  Bone and Mamie had struck again.

  Madison was confused, angry, and upset. She’d been that way for a while. And it was all because of Michael and his bullshit lies.

  When he’d revealed that Stella wasn’t her mother, and then made up some story about her real mother getting shot, she’d failed to believe him. Somehow his story didn’t make sense. So she’d hired a private detective to find out the real truth. Her detective, Kimm Florian, came up with plenty of information. She’d presented Madison with a stack of press clippings about a man called Michael Castellino, who, of course, was Michael Castelli. Almost thirty years ago Michael Castellino had been accused of killing the woman he was living with, and that woman was Madison’s mother, Beth.