The Santangelos

  Alejandro continued thinking. What if he promised his father an executive producer credit? Then tempted him with stories of all the beautiful and available actresses Pablo could meet and make love to. Pablo enjoyed female company, so surely a string of women, a change of scene, and his name on a Hollywood movie would be lure enough. How could Pablo possibly resist?

  First Alejandro realized that he would have to deal with Rafael, convince him that making a movie was a lucrative business. Rafael had Pablo’s ear, so with him on board it would be easier to obtain Pablo’s approval.

  The problem was that Rafael was an uptight snake who watched over Alejandro’s every business move, and strongly disapproved of his freewheeling lifestyle. Plus Rafael was desperate to get home to his girlfriend and son back in Colombia.

  It occurred to Alejandro that it was time to bring Rafael in from the cold, soften him up, make him forget his annoying girlfriend, give him a taste of what he was missing out on. And who was the perfect person to do that?

  Willow Price, of course.

  Willow was Alejandro’s secret weapon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Driving like a madman was M.J.’s signature style. Why stop for a red light when nothing is coming in the opposite direction? As for pedestrians—they took their life in their hands when crossing in front of M.J.’s vehicle. He’d gotten countless tickets, although fortunately for him, nothing ever stuck. He always had a ready excuse, and for some reason or other most cops seemed cool with him.

  They made it to the airport in record time. Upon arrival, M.J. was all about parking the car and escorting Bobby into the airport.

  Bobby quickly assured him it wasn’t necessary. “Get your ass back to the club,” he insisted. “It’s more important that you check on the receipts for last night, find out how we did. Stop worrying about me. I’m feeling fine now. I’ll call you when I get to L.A.”

  “You do that,” M.J. said. “Meanwhile, I’ll be doin’ some investigatin’ of my own.”

  “Thanks, bro,” Bobby said, jumping out of the car. “Much appreciated.”

  The airport was crowded, long lines of people everywhere. Bobby joined the line for the next American Airlines flight to L.A. and bought a ticket.

  The plump girl stationed behind the desk flirted with him. “What an unusual name,” she said, fluttering over-mascaraed eyes. “Santangelo Stanislopoulos. Where are you from?”

  “America,” he said shortly, wishing she would hurry up issuing him the ticket. He was fed up with dealing with people. All he wanted was to get home to L.A.

  The girl offered up what she considered a beguiling smile. “Me too,” she simpered. “Syracuse originally. Moved to the Windy City when I was five.”

  Who cares? Bobby thought. He’d just gotten a text from Denver asking where he was. This was a good sign, because at least she was communicating with him, even though he knew she must be majorly pissed because of his silence.

  The girl handed him his ticket. Since the flight was not due to take off for another hour, he made his way through security and found a quiet corner to wait in until his flight was called. He contemplated texting Denver back before deciding it would be easier to explain everything when he got home.

  There were texts on his phone to be read, but he wasn’t in the mood to open them. The whole being drugged scene was beginning to freak him out.

  Jesus Christ! What if he’d died? The doc had said that there was a strong possibility that it could’ve been fatal.

  What if they’d stolen an organ from him? He’d read about that happening to innocent people.

  Shit! What the fuck.

  He couldn’t stop his mind from racing. Who the hell was Nadia and what was her damn motive?

  Had she targeted him specifically?

  Yes. It seemed as if she had.

  Why? That was the question.

  * * *

  Max took a quick glance at her phone. There was a message from her mom, and two from her agent.

  Hmm … whom to answer? Her agent, of course. Lucky could wait.

  Like all teenage girls, Max had a love/hate relationship with her parents. While Lucky was constantly encouraging her to have a plan career-wise, Lennie was more into lecturing her about boys and how they only wanted one thing.

  Duh! Yes, Daddy. That’s a well-known fact.

  Lucky was always after her to pursue an interesting and fulfilling career. But how could she ever hope to compete with her dynamic mother? Lucky had done so many things, all of them successful. No way could Max ever hope to reach such dizzying heights. Business wasn’t her thing. She had no interest in building hotels or running a movie studio—she was no mirror image of her mom. Besides, there were other paths to success, and modeling was one of them. Athena made a ton of money and she was famous as the current European “It” girl. Max realized that if the Dolcezza campaign was a hit, she too could become a force in the modeling industry. After all, Gisele, Cindy, and Kate hadn’t done too badly. And they were old now, but still going full speed ahead.

  Full of excitement, she called Melissa, who told her to grab her passport, pack a bag, and come in to the office immediately. According to Melissa, the contracts had arrived and the Dolcezza people were anxious to get Max on the next plane to Italy.

  Talk about things happening fast. She could barely breathe.

  It was unexpected and crazy, but she was on for the ride all the way.

  * * *

  Closing his eyes, Bobby found himself nodding off in the departure area—the result of being drugged, not to mention the extreme stress of the situation he’d been trapped in. When he opened his eyes, it was in time to see the American Airlines girl who’d issued him his ticket heading in his direction. She was accompanied by two uniformed cops, and a heavyset man in a brown sports jacket. She looked nervous.

  Bobby frowned. He had a gut feeling that something was up.

  The group stopped a few feet away. The girl pointed at him before scuttling off, while the cops and sports jacket guy continued toward him.

  Bobby got to his feet just as the men reached him.

  “Bobby Santangelo Stanislopoulos?” the burly one barked, glaring at him with hard eyes.

  “Yeah, that’s me,” he said, glancing around. “Is there a problem?”

  “You’re under arrest for the murder of Nadia Sharai Gómez,” the burly one said in a flat monotone. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say…”

  Suddenly everything took off like a blaze of fireworks in his head. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. It was all some insane nightmare from which he would eventually awaken.

  Arrest … murder … Were they fucking kidding?

  The detective continued to drone on in an emotionless voice. “… you have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have…”

  Bobby tuned out. He was spiraling into shock. He heard Lucky’s voice clearly in his head—You need a lawyer. I’ll get you the best. Understand me. Do not say anything.

  He felt dizzy and nauseated. People were staring. Strangers, their mouths hanging open. Everyone was watching him.

  Was it possible that in his drugged-out state he’d killed the psycho in the red dress?

  No. No. NO. It wasn’t possible.

  Next he was being handcuffed, his arms pulled roughly behind him, and with a feeling of dread, he knew that his life would never be the same.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “I thought you told me this Sam guy was a sure thing?” Alejandro complained, not happy when things didn’t go his way.

  “He is,” Willow replied.

  “Then how come this asshole isn’t jumpin’ up an’ down to see you today?” Alejandro added, fixing her with a baleful glare.

  “Oh,” she replied, determined that nothing was going to screw up her big opportunity to coproduce a movie and maybe even star in it, “you gotta realize that creative types are majorly flaky. They have to ge
t their head around what’s going on before they’re ready to commit. Besides, when I talked to Sam on the phone he was way into the idea of directing his own project, which means that when I meet with him tomorrow morning and he realizes the potential of what we’re offering, he’ll be all over me.”

  “Maybe I should come to the meeting,” Alejandro suggested with a creepy smile. “I have ways of being very persuasive. Does he have a family?”

  No way! Willow thought. One look at Alejandro and Sam will run for the hills.

  “Don’t worry,” she said tartly. “I’ve got it covered.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m very sure.”

  Alejandro ran his tongue across his lips. The thought of producing a movie was making him horny. “Blow me,” he said, his voice thickening along with his cock.

  “Excuse me?” Willow said.

  “Blow me, my little movie star, then I’ll take you to Tiffany’s and buy you something nice.”

  “How nice?” she demanded, immediately tempted, although she would’ve sooner he’d offered to pay her massive late tax bill.

  “I’ll allow you to choose whatever you want,” Alejandro said, unzipping his pants.

  Launching into action, she decided that some offers were too good to turn down.

  Blowing Alejandro involved plenty of tongue play and much cradling of his small, tight balls. She knew exactly what he liked. And what he liked was spreading his legs, leaning back, and reveling in her ministrations. Alejandro enjoyed nothing more than taking his time getting off. The upside for Willow was that as soon as he was done, he was into spending money.

  Later they had lunch on the patio of the Polo Lounge—where on her way to the ladies’ room, Willow ran into Billy Melina, who was sitting outside with her former agent, Eddie Falcon.

  This is meant to be, Willow thought as she sauntered past their table. “What are you two handsome men plotting and planning?” she cooed flirtatiously.

  Billy flashed her a smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said.

  “Yes, I would,” Willow replied.

  “You’ll read all about it on Deadline Hollywood,” Eddie said, barely glancing up.

  “How exciting. I can’t wait!” Willow exclaimed, blowing Billy a kiss before returning to her table and Alejandro, who was guzzling a vodka martini.

  “Who was that?” Alejandro asked.

  “Only one of the most important agents in town. And Billy Melina—movie star Billy Melina. I made a movie with him, you know.”

  “Yeah?” Alejandro said. “Didja fuck him?”

  “No,” Willow replied. “His loss. He was married to Venus at the time, and boringly faithful.”

  Alejandro beckoned for the waitress and ordered another drink.

  Willow’s mind was abuzz. Surely if she told Eddie about her project, he’d want to get involved? Maybe he could even persuade Billy to commit. How great would that be? She could just imagine the movie posters and how insane they’d look together. Billy Melina and Willow Price. A dynamite combination.

  Ah yes, Willow Price is on her way back to the top, exactly where I belong.

  An hour later she was prancing around Tiffany’s searching for something really expensive, finally settling on a pair of forty-thousand-dollar diamond earrings.

  Her purchase did not faze Alejandro at all. He threw down his black AmEx and the earrings were hers.

  She’d already made up her mind to wear them once before selling them and putting the money toward her tax bill. Or maybe she should pay her lawyer, to whom she owed thousands on account of several DUIs.

  “Y’know,” she said to Alejandro, climbing into the passenger seat of his illegally parked Maserati, purposefully flashing her pantyless crotch at the pack of paparazzi who’d materialized out of nowhere, “we should have start-up money. Cash we can use to bring the best people aboard.”

  A couple of passing tourists recognized Willow. They began waving excitedly and calling out her name.

  “What people?” Alejandro said, revving the engine of his powerful car.

  Ignoring her fans, Willow said, “A cinematographer, a production manager. I can reach out to those people. If we put a hold on their services, they can’t accept other jobs.”

  “Sounds like a smart idea.”

  “We should start with Sam,” Willow said, full of enthusiasm. “We’ll pay him cash for his script. Nobody can resist cash.”

  “How much?”

  Willow thought for a second or two. “A million should do it,” she said guilelessly. “With more to come when he signs up.”

  Alejandro nodded. He knew nothing about the movie business, which in his mind was okay, because Willow had been working in it since she was eight and she obviously had it all down.

  “I’ll put it together,” he said, realizing that now was the time to get Rafael on his side.

  Willow smiled and shivered with anticipation.

  “First,” Alejandro added, “there’s a little something I wish you to do for me.”

  Willow’s smile faded. Not another blow job. Surely one a day was enough. It wasn’t that she minded blowing him, although having his cock shoved down her throat wasn’t exactly her favorite pastime. Once their movie was up and running, she’d have more important matters to take care of, such as hiring a top publicist and getting her name out there again as a serious actress, not some fucked-up party girl with a penchant for coke.

  “What?” she asked sweetly.

  “Rafael,” Alejandro said.

  “What about Rafael?”

  “I want you to fuck him,” Alejandro announced. “And I want you to leave him begging for more.”

  “I thought he had a girlfriend back in Colombia,” she said, chewing on her lower lip.

  “He does,” Alejandro said, carelessly running a stop sign.

  “So…”

  “So what?” Alejandro said sharply. “He’s a man, isn’t he? And you’re a very skillful girl.”

  Sometimes a setback or two got in the way. It didn’t faze her. She was prepared for anything, because soon she’d be a star again. And when she was, she could tell them all to go take a hike.

  Screwing Rafael was a small price to pay.

  * * *

  Alejandro was not a patient man. When he wanted something done, he wanted it done immediately. After dropping Willow at her house, he’d informed her that tonight they would dine with Rafael at Club Luna, and that after dinner she was to seduce Rafael.

  Willow laughed to herself as she stalked around her house wearing nothing but sky-high Louboutins, a purple thong, and her new diamond earrings. Seduce! Alejandro had actually used the word seduce. Where the hell had he come up with such an old-fashioned word?

  Was Rafael even vaguely seduceable? She barely knew him, and the few times they’d met he’d seemed extremely uptight. Although as Alejandro had said, he was a man, wasn’t he? He had a penis, didn’t he? And most men were ruled by their dicks.

  Was Rafael any different?

  Hmm.… she’d never met a man she couldn’t seduce.

  Her cell rang and she picked it up without checking who it was.

  Bad move, for it was her mother, Pammy, who lived in Palm Desert and only called when she needed money.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said, experiencing that familiar trapped feeling.

  “I’m broke,” Pammy whined, not a woman to make polite conversation. “You gotta send me a check, an’ make it fast, ’cause they’re gonna turn off my electricity.”

  “I sent you a check last month,” Willow said tightly.

  “It wasn’t enough.”

  It was never enough. Ever since Willow had fired her mother as her manager, Pammy was always after more money. Willow often wondered what Pammy had done with all the money Willow had made as a child actress. When she’d asked, years ago, Pammy had claimed it had all gotten eaten up by taxes and living expenses.

  Willow knew this was a blatant lie. It had all gotten eat
en up by her mother’s various loser drug addict boyfriends over the years. Willow’s dad had taken a hike when she was two. She couldn’t blame him; her mom was a nightmare.

  Thank God she’d had the smarts to dump Pammy as her manager and take control of her money and her life when she reached eighteen. At least now when she blew a paycheck, it was all hers to blow.

  “How much do you need?” she sighed.

  “Ten thousand,” Pammy said briskly, as if it was nothing.

  “No way,” Willow said, frowning.

  “Why not?” Pammy said, reverting to her whiney voice. “You owe me big-time. If it wasn’t for me, you’d have no career.”

  “If it wasn’t for you, I’d have savings in the bank,” Willow snapped back. “You spent all my money back in the day when I was too young to know what was going on. I made millions, and you blew through it all.”

  “Jesus, why’re you moanin’ ’bout that again?” Pammy grumbled. “I told you—it all went to the tax man, an’ he’s a greedy son of a bitch.”

  “Tax man my ass,” Willow muttered.

  “Wash out your mouth. I didn’t teach you no bad language.”

  “Oh, please!” Willow said, rolling her eyes.

  “I’m your mother. You should have more respect.”

  “Leave me alone, Mother. I’m not a frigging bank.”

  Silence. Then, “I’ve had an offer to sell my story.”

  “What story?”

  “The one about you.”

  So … the veiled threat. Pammy was an expert at veiled threats.

  “Okay, okay. I can send you a thousand,” Willow said, eager to get off the phone. “That’s it, though. I’m not exactly rolling in money right now.”

  “FedEx me two thousand, and I won’t take the offer from the magazine that wants to know all about your teenage years.”

  “Oh for God’s sake,” Willow said bitterly. “I’ll send you the damn check, and that’s it.”

  The last thing she needed was her stoned mother revealing all her past indiscretions. And she had a few. More than a few. A quickie marriage at fifteen, which was annulled. Two abortions. An affair with a powerful married man decades older than her. No, this was not the time for Pammy to be selling stories. Not when her career was all set to rise again.