The Santangelos

  “Hey,” she said into her cell phone. “It’s me, your long-lost daughter.”

  “Kiddo,” he responded affectionately. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “How are you?”

  “Breathing.”

  “I want to see you. I miss you. It’s been weeks.”

  “You miss me, huh?” he said, sounding pleased.

  “You know I do. I hate that you’re stuck out in the desert.”

  “Then whyn’t you haul your pretty ass to Palm Springs an’ come visit, ’cause I’m sittin’ here doin’ shit.”

  “I’m so not into Palm Springs,” she said. “It’s way too quiet for me, I don’t know how you stand it. Aren’t you bored? Everyone’s either on their way to being dead or totally gay.”

  “Well, since I ain’t gay, kiddo, I guess that makes me on my way to bein’ dead.”

  “Ha-ha!”

  “You’ve always pushed t’ be smack in the middle of the action, ever since you were a little kid.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  Gino gave a hearty laugh.

  “Okay, let me run this by you,” she said enthusiastically. “Why don’t you haul your pretty ass to Vegas next weekend? You’re just like me, and I know you miss the action. Plus I’ve got exciting new plans to tell you about.”

  “How exciting?” he rasped.

  “Plenty exciting,” she responded.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “C’mon, Gino,” she urged. “Don’t think—do. You know you want to.”

  “Lemme check with Paige.”

  “Oh come on! Since when did you have to check with the wife?”

  “Since I got old,” he said ruefully.

  “You’re not old, and Paige doesn’t have to come.”

  “I’ll tell her you said so.”

  “Don’t do that,” Lucky said quickly. “She’ll be pissed. Anyway, is it wrong that I want you all to myself for a change?”

  “Okay, kiddo,” Gino said, chuckling again. “You got yourself a date.”

  “Promise?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Lucky clicked off her phone with a smile on her face. Gino, Gino, Gino. There were times she really missed him. They had to get together more often. He was getting older every day; who knew how long he’d be around?

  She started thinking about the time—way back—when he’d married her off to boring Craven, Senator Richmond’s son, right after her sixteenth birthday. Oh yes, she’d been a wild one, and Gino had thought that was the only way to control her. How wrong was that? She’d been a baby, a teenager he’d delivered to a political family for his own gain. But she’d showed everyone a few years later when she’d gotten a divorce and taken over Gino’s business while he was out of the country on a tax evasion deal.

  Screw getting trapped in a dull marriage. She was a true Santangelo, exactly like Gino. She’d seized her future and run with it.

  It was all light-years away, so why was she thinking about it now?

  Because she couldn’t help herself. Memories—even the bad ones—kept her strong, kept her going.

  Oh Gino. You were a tough father, but you made me the woman I am today. And I love you so much.

  Danny was waiting outside, sitting patiently in the back of a dark blue town car.

  “We’re off,” Lucky said, jumping in next to him. “L.A., here we come.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Hello,” the woman in the red dress murmured in a low, husky voice. “Would it bother you if I sat with you for a moment?”

  Bobby glanced up. He was in no mood to be polite and make small talk. However, the young woman standing by his table was the Latina Michelle Pfeiffer clone he’d noticed earlier, so what was he supposed to do?

  “Uh … hi,” he responded.

  The woman didn’t hesitate. Without waiting for Bobby to invite her, she slid into the booth next to him.

  He took a quick look around, searching for M.J., who was nowhere in sight. Then he spotted his partner on the dance floor making out with a girl in tight pink jeans and a backless top. M.J. was obviously busy. No help there.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” he inquired, uncomfortable, yet at the same time intrigued. What man wouldn’t be?

  “I’m sorry to say that it’s my cousin,” she said, her accented voice soft and alluring. “He is a very controlling man, always telling me what I can and cannot do.”

  “That doesn’t mean you have to listen, does it?” Bobby said, perplexed.

  “I am his cousin. He is a man,” she said with a helpless shrug of her bare shoulders. “There is nothing I can do.”

  “What exactly is he telling you?”

  “He warned me that I should not marry my fiancé—the man I love. He insists that I should break up with him.”

  Bobby frowned. How the fuck had he gotten involved in this conversation? The woman might be a beauty, but he wasn’t interested in her story. He had Denver, and as work-obsessed and annoying as his girlfriend could be, he still loved her, and he certainly had no plans to be unfaithful—even though after almost two weeks apart, he was horny as hell. Not that this delectable creature seemed to be coming on to him. She was engaged, and she’d just told him that she was in love too. Someone had probably pointed him out as one of the owners of the club, so she’d figured he was safe to talk to.

  “Okay, so how can I help?” he asked.

  “Nobody can help me,” she said with another small, hopeless gesture. “I must learn to stand up for myself, although I know that is not easy.” Her soft brown eyes filled with tears. “I am Nadia,” she added.

  “Bobby,” he said, inhaling her musky scent, which he had to admit was intoxicating.

  “I know,” she said, big brown eyes fixed on his.

  “How do you know?”

  “Bobby Santangelo Stanislopoulos. Our waiter told us that you own this club.”

  “That’s right,” he said, reminding himself to write a stern memo to all staff members about giving out personal information. It pissed him off.

  “I didn’t mean to bother you…” she said softly.

  “No bother.”

  Her eyes stayed on his, holding the gaze a moment too long.

  “It’s simply that—” she started to say.

  “What?”

  “Oh, it is nothing. I should go back to my table.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes, thank you. My cousin will calm down. Underneath all the macho gesturing, he is a good man. The problem is, he has a bad temper when he doesn’t get his own way, especially when he drinks too much.”

  “As long as he doesn’t take it out on you.”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” she murmured. “I am his family.”

  “You’re sure?” Bobby said, realizing that there was something about her that was bringing out the protective streak in him.

  “Yes, I am sure,” she said, sliding out of the booth, a heady combination of demure and seductive, her red dress clinging to every curve. “Thank you for listening to me, Bobby. I should get back to my cousin.” Then she was making her way across the club to her table, a vision in red.

  M.J. left the dance floor and came rushing over, trailed by the girl in the pink jeans. “What was that all about?” he wanted to know.

  “Beats me,” Bobby said, trying to figure it out for himself.

  “She was all over you, man,” M.J. pointed out.

  “Not really,” Bobby answered vaguely.

  “I got eyes,” M.J. said.

  “It was nothing.”

  “Yeah? Didn’t look like nothin’ to me.”

  Before they could get into it further, there was a commotion at Nadia’s table. Her surly cousin was standing over her, screaming in Spanish while shaking his fists in her face.

  Bobby was instantly on his feet, followed by M.J., who was trailed by the girl in the pink jeans.

  Shit! Bobby thought. The last thing we need is a
scene on our opening night.

  He rushed over to her table, quickly grabbing the Latin man’s flailing arms. “Cool it,” he warned sternly. “You’re about to get thrown out on your sorry ass.”

  The Latin man glared at him, mean eyes glittering with anger, garlic breath filling the air. “You can keep the puta here,” he snarled. “I’m leaving.” Then, hurling a stream of expletives at Nadia, he shook free of Bobby and headed for the staircase.

  M.J. went to go after the man. Bobby stopped him. “Don’t even bother,” he said. “No scenes. Let the asshole go.” He turned to Nadia. “What the hell happened?”

  Lowering her eyes, she looked away. “I warned you he had a bad temper,” she muttered. “He was upset that I was talking to you. He was under the impression that I was flirting.”

  M.J. threw Bobby a knowing look. “This one’s all yours, Bobby,” he said, hanging on to the girl in the pink jeans, obviously his captive for the night. “Trouble, trouble, trouble. I don’t want no part of it.”

  “Get lost, then. I’m not asking you to get involved,” Bobby said, sitting down beside Nadia.

  “Suits me,” M.J. said, adding a succinct, “Oh yeah, an’ don’t forget you got a girlfriend at home.”

  Bobby threw him a warning look, and M.J. and the girl in pink jeans took off.

  “Well,” Bobby said to Nadia, “seems like your cousin’s a real charmer.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

  “Not your fault.”

  “No,” she said, quickly agreeing. “It is not my fault.”

  “Do you live with him?” Bobby asked.

  She shook her head, thick hair swirling. “We are in Chicago visiting his mama—my mama’s sister. He is staying with her. I am at a hotel.”

  “Okay, this is the deal,” Bobby said, deciding that M.J. was right, Nadia was trouble waiting to happen. “I’ll put you in a cab, and the two of you can work out your problems in the morning. Sound good?”

  “Please,” she said, hesitating for a moment. “Can you come with me?”

  “That’s not possible, Nadia. I’m kinda busy—” he began to say.

  “Please,” she implored once more, her brown eyes gazing into his. “I would feel so much safer. I am a little afraid of being alone.”

  He was torn. What was he supposed to do? Nadia was obviously upset, so how could he simply dump her in a cab and leave it at that? Denver would probably want him to make sure the woman got home safely. Denver was all about treating women with respect.

  “Okay,” he said, a tad reluctantly. “I’d better tell my partner, then I’ll drop you at your hotel.”

  She touched his arm, her eyes wide and grateful. “Thank you so much, Bobby.”

  M.J. took the news with a cynical laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’ll be no more than fifteen minutes.”

  “Is that how long it takes you to get laid?”

  “C’mon, M.J., it’s not what you think,” Bobby explained. “She’s engaged, and she’s upset. So I’m playing Good Samaritan. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Yeah,” M.J. replied, rolling his eyes. “An’ I got property I can sell you in Afghanistan.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Enjoy.”

  “Double fuck you.”

  Outside the club, the parking valet brought Bobby’s rental car to the front. Nadia climbed in. Bobby noticed a flash of bare thigh, and hurriedly averted his eyes. He thought of Denver and how much he missed her. They’d be reunited soon, and all would be right in the world. He’d call her as soon as he was back at the club.

  He got behind the wheel and started the car. “How come the man you’re engaged to isn’t here with you?” he asked.

  “It’s a family trip,” she replied. “My fiancé lives in New York. He’s an architect, a wonderful, kind man. You would like him.”

  “Seems like a great profession. Why doesn’t your cousin approve of him?”

  “Because, unfortunately, he is divorced,” she sighed. “And divorce is frowned upon in our culture. My cousin is a very proper man. All he wants is the best for me.”

  “I get it.”

  “And you?” she asked. “What is your situation? Are you married?”

  “Almost. I live with the greatest girl, the love of my life.”

  “She’s a very fortunate woman.”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence until they reached her hotel. There, a doorman stepped forward and opened the passenger door.

  Bobby waited for Nadia to get out. She didn’t move.

  “Uh, we’re here,” he said at last. “You’ll be okay now. I’ll say good night.”

  “Bobby.” Her voice was no more than a whisper.

  “Yes?” he said patiently.

  “Would you mind coming upstairs with me?”

  “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “The thing is, I’m in a hurry. I’ve got to get back to the club pronto. It’s opening night and they need me. M.J. is waiting.”

  “It’s simply that … well, I do not wish to sound like a foolish little girl, but when I was very young, a man molested me in a hotel, and ever since then…” She trailed off.

  Oh yes! Bobby thought. She might look like she has it all together, but this is one broken bird. Shit!

  “Maybe you can ask security to escort you,” he suggested.

  “I can’t do that,” she said, her lower lip trembling. “It was a security guard who molested me. I was only thirteen at the time, too young to understand what was happening.”

  “Where was your mom? Wasn’t she watching out for you?”

  “She was waiting for me in our room. I was molested in the elevator on my way downstairs to buy a candy bar. It was a terrible experience.”

  “Jesus!” Bobby exclaimed. Beauty on the outside, a frightened little girl within.

  “I know,” she said softly. “Ever since then…”

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “I’ll take you up.”

  He wasn’t pleased, but then again, she was genuinely upset. How in all good conscience could he abandon her?

  The valet took his car, and he escorted Nadia to the elevator. She clung to his arm as if they were a couple. And what a couple! Heads turned.

  He was getting impatient, yet at the same time he couldn’t help noticing the rise of her breasts in the slinky red dress and how enticing she smelled.

  Calm down, he told himself. You’re simply being Mr. Good Guy. Nothing’s going on here.

  Once they reached the door of her suite, he once again attempted to say good-bye. Nadia was having none of it. “Please, Bobby,” she pleaded. “Can you come in for a moment and check out the closet and bathroom? I know I sound crazy, but anyone could be hiding.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “It was a frightening experience, the thing that happened to me—I fear I’ll never get over it.”

  Checking his watch, Bobby realized that it was past eleven. He’d already been gone for half an hour, and if he didn’t get back soon, M.J. would definitely accuse him of getting laid. That’s all he needed.

  Tomorrow morning he’d tell Denver what happened, and how innocent it all was. She’d understand; she always did.

  Reluctantly, he entered Nadia’s suite, dutifully checking out the bathroom and opening the closet doors. By the time he was finished, she was standing in the living room proffering him a drink.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Vodka,” she said boldly. “For luck. For love. For the future of our loved ones. And,” she added quietly, “for me to thank you so very much. If my fiancé was here, he would thank you too.”

  She picked up her own glass and clinked it with his.

  One drink. What could it hurt?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Hyton Abbey was Athena’s family’s ancestral home. Located several miles from Windsor Castle, it was a magnificent if somewhat crumbling country estate. Half of the abbey was open to the pub
lic on weekends, while the rest of the time Athena’s esteemed parents, Lord and Lady Hyton-Smythe, lived there in solitary splendor. Well, not exactly splendor, because money was extremely tight—currently they were down to employing a measly four servants to take care of the rambling abbey, which boasted fourteen bedrooms, numerous bathrooms, and a couple of random ghosts.

  The first time Max visited, she’d had an “encounter,” which had totally freaked her out. She was washing her hands in one of the downstairs powder rooms when she’d sensed someone standing behind her while fingertips played tag on her shoulders. Startled, she’d spun around, only to find that there was no one there. Running from the room, she’d bumped straight into Lord Henry Hyton-Smythe, who’d chuckled when she’d told him what had happened.

  “No worries, child,” he’d boomed with a rakish leer. “We have a couple of resident ghosts here. They’ll do you no harm, although I must say, they certainly enjoy frightening our guests.”

  Max was speechless. Ghosts! Why hadn’t Athena warned her?

  That evening while they were all sitting in the dining room, the entire Hyton-Smythe family had enjoyed a hearty laugh at her expense.

  “I wonder if it was Great-aunt Sephora. Or perhaps it was the stable boy,” Athena giggled. “The story is that Sephora stabbed him with a pitchfork back in the eighteen hundreds, and they’ve both been hanging around ever since.”

  “I bet it was the stable boy,” Tim, Athena’s brother, intoned, his thin face lighting up. “Nothing he likes better than watching a pretty girl pee!”

  Lady Harriet Hyton-Smythe roused herself from a half-drunken stupor, her dangly silver earrings clinking below her droopy earlobes. “Stop being so disgusting,” she slurred. “Max is a guest in our home.”

  Athena was totally into spending weekends at the abbey with her family. They were an eccentric group—her brother, Tim, was a cross-dresser who refused to admit he was gay. Lady Harriet started drinking in the morning and was never finished until she slumped her way up to bed past midnight. Lord Henry spent most of his time checking out his gun collection, going hunting with his cronies, and ogling the prettiest tourists who visited to take the tour.