The Santangelos

  Well.… almost. If everything went according to plan, then she could pay off her mom for good.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Reaching everyone in the family was not easy, but as Lennie had pointed out, the news was more palatable coming from her than from the Internet, so even though she didn’t feel like talking to anyone, Lucky steeled herself and called her half brother, Steven, in Brazil.

  Steven was devastated, especially since he hadn’t seen Gino in two years, although he’d been planning a trip to California. “Goddamn it, I loved that man,” Steven said, his voice breaking with emotion.

  “I know,” Lucky answered softly, feeling his pain.

  “It’s hard to believe,” Steven said flatly. “Gino was the man.” After a long beat, he added, “Who did this to him?”

  “I wish I knew, but you can bet that I’m sure as hell going to find out.”

  “Knowing you, it won’t be a problem.”

  “No it won’t, Steven. ’Cause when I find who did this, they’ll wish they were dead, and then they will be.”

  “Hard words.”

  “True words.”

  “What can I do?”

  “You can fly here and be with the family. The funeral service is going to be in Vegas. He always said that’s where he wanted to spend his last day, so that’s what’s happening.”

  “I get it,” Steven said. “Vegas has special memories for all of us.”

  “It sure does,” Lucky agreed, aware that like her, Steven was reflecting on their colorful past. New York, Vegas, L.A. It had taken years before she’d found out that Steven was her half brother—the result of a one-night stand Gino had had with a beautiful black woman, Carrie. And when they’d discovered they were half siblings, they’d bonded as if they’d always known. She loved Steven dearly.

  “My assistant, Danny, will make all the hotel and flight arrangements,” she said. “It won’t be a funeral, it’ll be an amazing celebration of Gino’s life, ’cause here’s the deal—first we have a very special service, then later we party.”

  “Sounds like exactly what Gino would’ve wanted.”

  As soon as she’d finished speaking with Steven, Lucky called Max, then Bobby. Neither of them picked up their phones. It seemed nobody ever did anymore—it was all about texting. She left them both a terse message to call her back.

  Meanwhile, Danny was busy contacting the head of Gino Junior and Leo’s summer camp. He told the man in charge that he’d be sending a car to pick the boys up. “I’d appreciate it if you can keep them away from any news stories,” Danny requested, although he knew it was a futile request, since the boys were bound to find out.

  Later, Lucky bid good-bye to Lennie. He was reluctant to leave her, although he understood. Lennie always understood, which is why she loved him so much.

  With Lennie on his way back to L.A., she went into Gino’s study feeling a strong urge to be alone. Detective Allan and his partner were still around, waiting to question Paige further when the widow emerged from her bedroom. Lucky had already sussed out that they had nothing. No clues. No eyewitnesses. No shit. She wasn’t surprised. Whoever had done this was a professional.

  Shutting the study door, she settled into Gino’s well-worn leather chair behind his desk and took a deep breath. She noted that the room smelled of her father’s favorite cigars—Cubans, of course. Only the best for Gino Santangelo. The aroma still lingered in the air, while the stub of a cigar rested in a marble ashtray next to Gino’s usual drink—a Jack and Coke—the glass almost empty.

  For a brief moment she closed her eyes, trying to picture Gino the night before, sitting at his desk, smoking his cigar, nursing his drink, never imagining the unspeakable violence that would take place the following morning.

  Violent death never gives you a warning, it simply takes you—just like that.

  Thank God she’d spoken to him the previous day. He’d promised to come see her in Vegas without bringing Paige. Time alone with Gino was precious.

  She’d been so revved up about sharing her plans for the new hotel with him. She could just imagine what he would’ve said. He would’ve told her she was crazy—what did she need it for? The Keys is spectacular, he’d have said with an affectionate chuckle. My daughter—the overachiever. Then he would’ve gotten into it, going over every detail of what she planned to create.

  Since he was a big fan of movies, he would’ve really loved the idea of incorporating a movie studio. Anything with Pacino, De Niro, or Nicholson and he was there. He’d always harbored a big crush on Sharon Stone and often commented that Sandra Bullock reminded him of Maria.

  Ah, Maria, Lucky’s beautiful, gentle mother.… Lucky still missed her so very much. She often daydreamed about how different her life might have been if Maria had lived.

  There was a solitary silver photo frame on Gino’s desk containing a photo of her father and mother on their wedding day, arms entwined, the two of them so happy and in love.

  Lucky wondered how Paige felt about that.

  Then she started wondering if perhaps Paige had any motive for wanting Gino dead.

  It was a wild thought. Still … always expect the unexpected, as Gino often said.

  She knew her father had taken care of Paige in his will. However, she also knew that by no means did Paige inherit everything. According to Gino, he’d left Paige a few million dollars plus the Palm Springs house. The rest of his estate—and it was substantial—was in trust for his grandchildren. Or at least that’s what he’d told her.

  Maybe Paige had persuaded him to change his will. It was possible. Anything was possible. Gino might have been old, but he certainly hadn’t been senile; he’d remained as sharp as ever.

  Paige would not have been able to get anything past him.

  Or would she?

  Lucky wasn’t at all sure. Right now she trusted no one.

  * * *

  When Paige finally emerged, Lucky immediately noticed that her stepmother had applied fresh makeup, styled her hair, and put on a pencil skirt, a fancy silk blouse, and high heels.

  Is this what grief looks like? Lucky thought, her suspicions building.

  Paige Wheeler. Gino’s fourth wife. A short, tough redhead with a pocket-Venus body. Years ago, Gino had caught Paige in bed with his previous wife, Susan Martino, and after that it had been all systems go. He’d divorced Susan and married Paige. Lucky had never really warmed to her.

  “You’re still here,” Paige exclaimed, finding Lucky in Gino’s study.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Lucky responded, picking up an engraved silver paper opener and transferring it from hand to hand. “I thought you’d want to talk about what happened.”

  “Of course, dear. However, first I must speak with the detectives,” Paige said, seemingly calm and in control, unlike the hysterical wreck from earlier. “I’ve already told them everything I know, but it seems they would like me to go over every single detail one more time.”

  Hmm. From hysterical wreck to lady of the manor, Lucky thought. What’s that about?

  “Sure,” Lucky said. “I’ll be around. I’ve decided to stay the night.”

  “Oh,” Paige said, raising a surprised eyebrow. “I must tell the housekeeper to make sure the guest room is ready for a visitor.”

  Lucky glowered. A visitor! Was she fucking kidding? A fucking visitor indeed!

  I’m not a visitor, she felt like yelling. I’m Gino’s daughter.

  However, controlling her emotions in times of stress was something else Gino had taught her, among many other things.

  Gino is dead.

  Murdered.

  Shot.

  Assassinated.

  Too bad for whoever did it. Too bad, for she would make sure that they burned in hell.

  Paige trotted off to speak with the detectives, while Lucky stayed put. It occurred to her that it might be a smart move to check out the drawers in Gino’s desk, try to find out if anything was going on that he hadn’t mentioned to h
er. He was supposed to have given up all business dealings ten years ago, only knowing Gino, it was probably not the case. He was always involved in something—whether it was helping old friends or investing in a project that interested him. Gino was an easy touch; he’d always had compassion for friends in need. Nothing wrong with that, although he’d lent money as if it were going out of style.

  The desk drawers were jammed with miscellaneous papers, bills, and receipts. Organization had never been his thing.

  She started a methodical search, stacking the papers she took from the drawers on the desktop, trying to sort them into piles. Somebody had to do it, and it might as well be her, for she didn’t want a stranger going through Gino’s private papers, and Paige would never have the patience.

  There was nothing of real interest. A stack of IOU’s. No surprise. When Gino lent money, he never expected to get it back. She had no doubt that he’d want her to tear them up, so she did so, placing the torn pieces of paper in her purse. If Paige got hold of them, she might insist that the debts be paid.

  The lower-right-hand drawer was locked. Gino, a creature of habit, always kept his keys in a hidden compartment located at the bottom of his maple-wood cigar humidifier. Sure enough, the key was there, along with the keys to a couple of safe-deposit boxes only she and Gino had access to.

  “Anythin’ ever happens t’ me, kiddo,” he’d told her many times, “you go to the bank an’ clear out those boxes. Just you, nobody else. Got it?”

  Yes. She got it.

  The locked drawer contained a Glock, a small hand pistol, and several boxes of bullets. Probably both guns were unlicensed. Best to get them out of here.

  She dropped them into her oversized purse. There were also stacks of hundred-dollar bills held together with elastic bands. Gino had always kept plenty of cash on hand. Finally, she came across an envelope addressed to Gino Santangelo and family. The envelope was pale beige and there was no postmark or return address. It had obviously been hand delivered.

  Lucky felt a sudden chill. Was this the clue she’d been looking for?

  She slipped the expensive note card edged in gold from the envelope and quickly scanned the one-word message.

  It was printed.

  And it read VENGEANCE.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  All dressed up and ready for anything, Willow joined Alejandro in his penthouse, where he was busy snorting mounds of coke off a glass-topped coffee table before they set off for Club Luna.

  “Come join me, my little rabbit,” he sang. “We get happy before dinner.”

  She didn’t need to be asked twice. Cocaine was her drug of choice—it filled her with a warm, cozy feeling of total confidence. On a coke-fueled high, she could rule the world. Besides, she needed something to forget about the conversation with her damn mother. The woman was a blood-sucking leech. Why couldn’t she just leave her alone?

  Alejandro threw Willow a snakelike grin. “You ready for tonight?”

  “Of course,” she said, bending down and snorting a line. “Are you ready to be a major Hollywood producer?”

  “I will be the best,” Alejandro boasted, a flurry of white powder decorating his nose.

  Willow snorted another line. “I know,” she murmured, savoring the moment. “Together we will rule this fucking town.”

  * * *

  Rafael was a reluctant dinner guest. He had no idea why Alejandro had been so insistent that he join him tonight. They didn’t usually socialize, which suited Rafael, because he had no interest in hanging out with Alejandro unless it was business related.

  Earlier, he’d met with Alejandro and informed him what had gone down in Chicago, and how the deputy DA would now have other, more pressing things on her mind. Alejandro had not seemed as grateful as Rafael had thought he would be. He, Rafael, had executed an elaborate plan to stop the DA in her tracks, although he had not ordered it to end in the girl’s death. She was supposed to be beaten, not killed. Collateral damage. Rafael would not use that contact again.

  Unfortunately, it was what it was, so surely this was the perfect opportunity for Alejandro to think about returning to Colombia while he could?

  But no, Alejandro was settled in L.A. and he had no intention of going back to his homeland.

  Rafael decided to raise the subject again at dinner.

  However, this was not to be, for Alejandro arrived accompanied by one of his whores. Rafael considered most American girls to be whores. The way they flaunted their bodies in almost nonexistent outfits, while drinking too much liquor and falling about drunk, disgusted him.

  This one clinging to Alejandro’s arm was no different. Clad in a skimpy purple dress that almost exposed her breasts, she had long pale red hair and a pretty face.

  Willow greeted him with a widemouthed smile. Perfect teeth and pouty lips. “Hi, Rafael,” she cooed. “It’s so nice that we get to spend some time together. Usually you’re all business. Tonight it’s all about fun.”

  Rafael was startled. Alejandro’s girls never acknowledged him, and this one actually knew his name. Then he realized that this was the famous one—the girl Alejandro enjoyed accompanying to premieres and Hollywood events. The girl with the bad reputation.

  Rafael did not care about fame; it failed to impress him. Whereas Alejandro enjoyed seeing his photo on the Internet and splashed all over the trashy magazines.

  “Tonight we celebrate,” Alejandro roared, waving over the table hostess, a sleek Asian girl clad in silver satin shorts and a matching halter top. “Champagne, my dear, and tequila shots all round.”

  The Asian girl allowed herself a thin smile; she knew a good tipper when she saw one.

  “What are we celebrating?” Rafael inquired, quite uncomfortable.

  Alejandro thought for a moment, then it came to him. “Chicago, of course,” he said, throwing his arm around Rafael’s shoulder. “You protect me as if you were my brother. And for that, my friend, you deserve a big reward.”

  * * *

  Three hours later, Willow and Rafael were finally alone together in a guest bedroom in Alejandro’s penthouse. As far as Willow was concerned, it had not been an easy ride. First off, Rafael had refused to drink, and she’d had to use all her persuasive powers to convince him that not toasting Alejandro with a glass of champagne was unlucky.

  So … one glass of champagne had led to another. After which came the tequila shots, followed by more champagne.

  Gradually Rafael had loosened up, helped by Willow turning on the flattery big-time. She was an expert at making men feel good about themselves, and after a lot of work, Rafael was no exception.

  By the time the three of them left the club, Rafael was no longer the man who was always in control. He was about as drunk as he’d ever been, unaware that Alejandro had dropped a quaalude into his final drink.

  “Gotta go home,” he’d mumbled, outside the club. “Don’ feel so good.”

  “No, sweetie,” Willow had said, hanging on to his arm. “There’s something I wanna show you at Alejandro’s apartment.”

  “What? What you wanna show me?” he’d said, stumbling against her.

  At which point she’d shoved him into the back of Alejandro’s Bentley—one of his many cars. “You’ll see,” she’d purred, jumping into the front passenger seat next to Alejandro.

  Once they’d reached Alejandro’s apartment, she’d steered Rafael into the guest bedroom, where, unsteady on his feet, he’d fallen on top of the oversized bed with the faux fur cover, still mumbling to himself.

  Willow had him exactly where she wanted him.

  She glanced at the clock above the TV facing the bed. The tiny red light was flashing in the concealed camera Alejandro had set up.

  Time for …

  ACTION.

  Very slowly, she began stripping off her clothes in the most sensuous way possible. She’d perfected the routine, and it always impressed.

  First one shoulder strap, then the second.

  Slowly ??
? slowly …

  Taking her time was the key. Never rushing it. Making it last.

  “What’re you doing?” Rafael slurred, trying to sit up, but failing to make it.

  “Showing you something I know you’re dying to see,” Willow murmured, using her best husky voice while revealing one breast, nipple erect. It was a magnificent breast with no enhancements. Proud and perky. Tempting and luscious.

  Rafael let out an involuntary groan. The groan encouraged Willow. She hadn’t even touched him, yet she knew he was ready. She could see he was ready, his erection quite obvious.

  Allowing her slip of a dress to fall to the ground, she approached the bed wearing what she’d had on earlier while getting ready—a barely there purple thong, her Tiffany diamond earrings, and her sky-high Louboutins. This was her sex outfit. It never failed. She never failed.

  Rafael put up no objections when she crawled on top of him, straddled his waist, and began loosening his belt, her breasts dangling tantalizingly close to his mouth.

  “How would you like to suck my nipples?” she whispered, working on removing his pants and shorts, startled to notice how big he was. He was way bigger than Alejandro, a fact that she knew would not please Alejandro.

  “Sí, Elizabetta,” Rafael muttered.

  Willow fumed. Who was Elizabetta? A man should not be thinking of another woman while he was with her. It was disrespectful.

  She pushed her nipple into his mouth to shut him up.

  He sucked on it like a baby, unlike most men, who were inclined to be fast and rough. No, Rafael sucked as if he meant it.

  Unexpectedly, she felt herself warming up, especially when he started with a certain amount of tongue play.

  Don’t start enjoying this, she warned herself. You’ve got a job to do. Now get on with it.

  Reaching down, she grabbed his erection, guiding it between her legs. Her thought was that she’d stay on top, ride him like a pony, then he’d climax really fast and she’d be on her way.

  As it turned out this was not to be, for Rafael suddenly seemed to come alive. He flipped her over so that she was flat on her back and before she could object, he began thrusting inside her with long deep strokes, all the while muttering, “Elizabetta, Elizabetta” and a whole lot of other things in his mother tongue that she didn’t understand.