The Santangelos

  Had she made a mistake coming?

  Hell no. This dinner was in her honor, so screw the lot of them. She could play too.

  Leaning across the table, she managed to attract Carlo’s attention. Unfortunately, that wasn’t saying much because he was on the way to being totally drunk. And when Carlo drank—as well she knew—he turned into an obnoxious fool.

  “Our little Dolcezza girl wishes to speak to you, mio amore,” Natalia sneered, nuzzling even closer to Carlo while caressing his face.

  Max had a distinct feeling that she and Natalia were not about to bond.

  Staring glassy-eyed across the table, Carlo threw Max a crooked smirk. “Ciao, bella,” he said, his words on the verge of slurring. “You like our photo?”

  “Of course she likes it,” Natalia snapped. Then, staring at Max, she added a snippy, “Carlo can make anyone look bene. It is his special genius.” And with those words she lunged at Carlo, kissing him full on the lips just in case Max hadn’t realized that they were indeed a couple.

  “Excuse me,” Max said to no one in particular. “I’m going to the restroom.” She added a silent, And I might stay there for the rest of the night.

  Pushing her chair away from the table, she got up.

  Lorenzo caught up with her at the door leading into the main restaurant. “Is everything fine?” he asked, seeming to actually care.

  “Oh yeah, it’s totally great,” she said, her voice thick with sarcasm. “I’m stuck next to an old man who barely speaks English, and on my other side is Dante the major freako. Things couldn’t be more awesome.”

  “I am so sorry,” Lorenzo said, genuinely upset. “I told Dante I should be seated near to you so I could translate. He informed me it wasn’t necessary.”

  “I’m sure he did,” Max said, rolling her eyes. “He wants me to feel left out. He hates me and I hate him.”

  “Understandable,” Lorenzo said. “Dante is not a popular man.”

  “There’s no way I’m letting him get to me,” Max said. “When we go back to the table, I’m sitting next to you.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good—”

  “Where’s the restroom?” she interrupted. “I need to pee.”

  “Follow me,” Lorenzo said, realizing that when Max set her mind on something, there was no talking her out of it.

  The restroom was unisex, something Max discovered when she entered and encountered two men standing at the urinals.

  Lorenzo could’ve warned me, she thought. This is totally bizarre and kind of crazy.

  The men zipped up and left, barely glancing in her direction. Someone else was entering and she quickly ducked into a stall and tried to lock the door, only the lock didn’t work and she wasn’t about to be caught peeing by some hairy Italian man—or even worse, Dante.

  Thoughts ran through her head. Lucky, the funeral, Bobby. She missed her family and friends in L.A. Both Cookie and Harry had promised to come to the funeral. Ace? Maybe, although she’d heard he had a new girlfriend.

  Sticking one leg against the door should anyone try to enter, she quickly peed and exited the stall.

  A man was standing at the urinals.

  Trying to avoid looking at him, she moved over to the sink and began to wash her hands.

  The man finished what he was doing and turned around.

  Their eyes met in the mirror above the sink.

  Max gasped.

  The man stopped in his tracks.

  They both spoke at once—

  “Max?”

  “Billy?”

  And for one brief second, everything was right in the world.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Alejandro had a perversion that never failed to give him a charge. And with Willow off somewhere doing her own thing and Rafael out of town, Alejandro gave Matias an order to bring him the girls.

  Locked in his office above the club, he swilled vodka from the bottle while crushing up an ecstasy pill, which he proceeded to mix with a gram of coke.

  He was in the mood for some entertainment. It was too bad the Puerto Rican girl hadn’t stuck around. The two blondes bored him. The Puerto Rican with her sassy attitude and big ass presented far more of a challenge. He bet she would’ve gotten off on the show he was about to view. Yeah, she would’ve loved it.

  Lying back on his couch, he buzzed Matias to bring in the girls.

  There were two of them. Two nondescript girls who nobody would ever suspect were drug mules. One tall. One short. Not pretty. Not ugly. Girls who transported heroin and cocaine affixed to their bodies in plastic baggies, sometimes jammed inside their bodies.

  Alejandro knew them both. They had been working for him for several months, and neither of them had ever gotten caught.

  Every other Monday the girls came in and did their thing. Alejandro got off on the show, and the girls got off on the money they were making.

  The only other person—apart from Matias—who knew about his interaction with the girls was Frankie. Frankie had been into it just as much as he was.

  “Ladies,” Alejandro said, stroking his chin.

  “Boss,” the tall one replied. She had stringy brown hair and thin lips.

  “How was your trip?” Alejandro inquired, like he gave a damn.

  “Easy,” the short one boasted. She had permed hair and rosy-red cheeks.

  The two of them were paid excellent money. And if they were caught, they had no idea who he was. Every time Matias brought them to his office, they were blindfolded and taken upstairs through a back entrance. They only knew Alejandro as the boss.

  The two girls lived deep in the Valley. Matias had recruited them—he was adept at that sort of thing. Girls trusted Matias, being that he was young and not bad-looking. After six months, he would dump these two and recruit two new girls.

  “Let the show begin,” Alejandro said, leaning back on his couch, his hand lingering near his crotch.

  The girls knew the routine only too well. They stood in front of the boss and slowly began to disrobe. The tall one wore baggy jeans and an oversized T-shirt. The short one wore a loose dress. Under their clothes—from thighs to chest—were bags of heroin strapped to their bodies.

  Alejandro ordered them to get completely naked except for the drugs. They obliged—willingly—for the money they got paid was more than they’d ever imagined.

  When they were both naked, Alejandro hauled himself off the couch and approached them. His kick was removing the packets of drugs from their bodies himself—ripping away the tape, getting off on the way they squealed like two little piglets.

  Two verging-on-plain naked women. And yet they gave him more of a sexual charge than all of the beautiful starlets put together.

  Satisfaction guaranteed.

  * * *

  Sam’s puppy was driving Willow nuts with its constant whining and scratching at the floorboards.

  I am not a dog person, she thought, tossing around on her bed with restless abandon. I hate dogs, and I hate Sam’s script. This movie is my big comeback. Can I pull it off? Will it ever happen?

  Eddie Falcon had told her what to do. “Tell Sam you love his script,” he’d instructed. “I’ll have someone do a fast rewrite, an’ we’ll use Sam’s name—which right now means something.”

  “I promised him he could direct,” she’d informed Eddie, who’d snapped back that it was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.

  “It was the only way I could get him to commit,” she’d countered, annoyed that Eddie was insinuating that she was dumb.

  “Sam’s a naive schmuck,” Eddie had said. “All we need from him is his name. I’ll get up a deal memo you’ll have him sign.”

  “What if he wants a lawyer involved?” she’d asked, well aware that she had to trust Eddie.

  “He won’t,” Eddie had said brusquely.

  Since it was past midnight, she wondered if Sam was back. She called him on his cell. “Where are you?” she asked.

  “LAX. Landed five minute
s ago.”

  “Then get your ass in your car an’ come pick up your mutt,” she said impatiently. “Your little puppy is cute, but it’s driving me loco. It misses you.”

  “Did you feed her?” Sam asked.

  “With what?” she asked, frowning. “It’s not as if you left me any dog food.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m on my way.”

  * * *

  Arriving in Colombia in the middle of the night, Rafael was tired and irritable. One of Pablo’s many guards met him at the airport and drove him in a bulletproof sedan to Pablo’s enormous estate outside of town.

  The estate was a fortress, surrounded by high walls topped with barbed wire, mounted security cameras, guard stations, and several fierce pit bulls locked in cages—cages that could be opened by the press of a button should Pablo even suspect there was an intruder on the premises.

  Pablo ruled his empire with an iron fist, instilling fear in all who worked for him. He had only one weakness, and that was women. Unlike his son, Alejandro, he truly loved them. However, his love was transient, depending on how long they satisfied him. This meant that women came and went as if they were revolving doors.

  Pablo favored beauty queens. Young beautiful girls with flashing smiles, endless legs, long luxuriant hair, and taut big-breasted bodies.

  “I surround myself with exquisite things, including women,” he often boasted. And when there was not a woman in residence, he fucked his long-suffering housekeeper, Eugenia, Rafael’s mother.

  Once a beauty queen herself, Eugenia was no longer beautiful. This did not bother Pablo, for he owned her, therefore he treated her like a comfortable old couch that was always ready for him to collapse on top of whenever he was in the mood.

  Unfortunately for Rafael, his mother worshipped Pablo, and refused to even contemplate leaving the drug lord’s employ. This infuriated Rafael, for his dream was to take off with Elizabetta, Rafael Junior, and Eugenia, and get as far away from Pablo as possible.

  In his heart he knew that his mother was serious. She would never leave Pablo, and it saddened him that his mama was a slave to such a tyrant.

  Because of the late hour, Rafael realized that he would not be able to visit Elizabetta and his son until the next day. They did not live in Pablo’s closely guarded compound; they resided with Elizabetta’s mother in a small house a twenty-minute drive away.

  Rafael was relieved that they had no immediate contact with the arrogant and dangerous drug lord. On the other hand, he was puzzled that Pablo had no wish to keep his grandson close. The truth was that if Pablo refused to acknowledge that he, Rafael, was his son, then why would he give a second thought to young Rafael Junior?

  “Señor Diego will see you at the stables at eight A.M.,” the driver informed him, stopping the car outside steep marble steps that led to the massive bulletproof front door.

  Rafael got out of the car and climbed the steps, and even though it was late, Eugenia was there to greet him. She opened the front door, flung her arms around him, and began whispering words of love and affection.

  Eugenia was not an educated woman, but she was his mama, and in his own way, he loved her very much.

  He often wondered if she would still love him back if she knew some of the things he’d done. The call girl in Chicago came to mind. The man he’d hired had never offered an explanation as to why he’d found it necessary to kill her. The man had simply collected his money via a bank transfer and vanished back into the army of faceless people who were prepared to commit heinous crimes for money.

  Frankie Romano was supposed to be next. Rafael was well aware that Alejandro expected him to orchestrate Frankie’s punishment in prison. So far he’d done nothing. He didn’t have the stomach to arrange another beating that could so easily turn into murder.

  Eugenia was carrying on about how grateful she was to have him home, asking why he couldn’t visit more often.

  Because I’m forced to babysit my douche of a brother, he wanted to say. Because Pablo insists that I stay by his side to watch over Alejandro, making sure he stays out of trouble. That’s why.

  Eugenia was full of gossip about how Pablo had recently gotten rid of his latest girlfriend—a Colombian TV star whom Eugenia referred to as a lowlife puta.

  Rafael decided that this was excellent news, for if Pablo was without a permanent female in residence, then perhaps he’d be more open to sampling the luscious female fruits of Los Angeles.

  Yes, Rafael thought, this was the way to persuade Pablo. The lure of fresh pussy and being around a movie set.

  It was a long shot that might just work.

  * * *

  Willow answered her front door wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt bearing the slogan If you’re gonna suck it—swallow. The slogan was accompanied by the image of a cartoon girl licking a phallic-looking lollipop.

  “Where’s Lady Gaga?” Sam asked, insinuating himself into her house, his eyes searching for his puppy.

  “She’s running around somewhere,” Willow said matter-of-factly. “What do you want with a dog anyway?”

  “I like animals,” Sam replied. “They can be a lot nicer than humans. And they’re loyal.”

  “I’m loyal,” Willow said, pulling on the hem of her T-shirt, which was threatening to expose more than the top of her thighs.

  Lady Gaga appeared and threw herself at Sam, barking and licking his face as he picked her up.

  “I’m gonna have to get a new carpet,” Willow complained, coming up behind him.

  “Did you read my script?” Sam asked, trying to keep his eyes off her erect nipples, which were offering themselves up like headlights through her almost see-through T-shirt.

  “Yes,” she responded. “And I had a fantastic meeting with Eddie Falcon. He wants to fast-track this as an indie project. No studio involved. No agent. No lawyers. He’s getting up a letter of intent for you to sign so we can get started immediately.”

  “As the director, I’m going to need six weeks’ prep time,” Sam said. “And casting is imperative.”

  “Yeah, yeah, Eddie understands all of that,” Willow said dismissively. “Eddie knows how to get things done fast with no interference.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Course I’m sure,” she said with a confident smile. “This’ll be a movie you’ll be proud of. I’ll get you the deal memo tomorrow.” She stretched her arms above her head, revealing her shaved pussy in all its girlish glory.

  Sam barely looked. In spite of the erect nipples and exposed pussy, Willow Price was simply not his type. Denver was his type, and he wondered what was going on with her. One moment she was into him, the next—nothing. It was confusing.

  “Since you’re here, wanna have a drink?” Willow offered, thinking that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to seal the deal sexually with Sam. The thing was, once they got a taste of what she had to offer, they always came back for more.

  Sam demurred. “I’m tired,” he said. “Long day.”

  “I could help you relax,” she said with a suggestive wink. “We could both do with a little R and R.”

  “Not tonight,” he said.

  “‘Not tonight,’” Willow repeated, pouting. “Then when?”

  “I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  “That’ll be tomorrow.”

  “Good,” Sam said. “Because if this is going to happen, I have a lot to get organized. I’ll need preproduction office space, an assistant, and an experienced line producer who can put together a budget and a top-rate crew.”

  “You got it,” Willow said. “Like I told you—Eddie will handle everything.”

  “Okay, then,” Sam said.

  “You sure you don’t want to stay a while?” she asked, giving him a provocative half smile—the kind of smile most men couldn’t resist. After all, she needed him to be on her side when he got the news that she intended to star in his movie. Well, technically it wouldn’t be his movie anymore because there would be a whole new script—although m
aybe he’d still want to direct considering his name would be on it.

  “I’ll take a pass, Willow,” he said, heading briskly for the door.

  “Why?” she said, her smile quickly replaced with a sulky frown. “You’re not seeing anyone, are you?”

  Sam—who had a kind heart—let her down easy. She seemed so eager, almost pathetic in a way. “I’m beat,” he explained, managing a fake yawn. “Maybe another time.”

  “Your choice,” she said, shrugging. “Although I can assure you that you have no clue what you’re missing.”

  He had a feeling that he knew exactly what he was missing.

  Before she could say another word, he and Lady Gaga were out the door.

  * * *

  Rafael lay on top of the bed in the guest room rehearsing in his mind what he would say to Pablo.

  Your son wishes to become a movie producer.

  It is an excellent way to launder money.

  Your son requires millions of dollars to achieve this.

  Fine. Yes, he would say these things, because if he didn’t, Alejandro would send the filthy sex tape to Elizabetta. Although what he really wanted to say was:

  Your son is a sex-crazed fool.

  Your son is a blackmailing sick pervert.

  Your son is heading toward big trouble.

  You picked the wrong son to inherit your kingdom.

  Unfortunately, he couldn’t say those things. He was forced to eat shit and convince Pablo to hand over enough money to keep Alejandro satisfied.

  Life was unfair, and nobody realized it more than Rafael.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  “I can always depend on you,” Lucky said, offering Chris a cold beer. “You never let me down.”

  “I try not to,” he replied, twisting the cap off the bottle. “It’s all a question of reading people. Cops don’t have the time to get into it, especially when they’ve got dozens of houses to canvas.”