Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge

  “This kind of random crime happens all the time.”

  “Was it a robbery?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly.

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Uh, ma’am,” the cop called after her. “Detective Rollins would like to speak to you.”

  “Not now,” she said. “I’m on my way back to the hospital. Have him contact me tomorrow.”

  Her mind was considering all possibilities. First Lennie’s death, then the loss of her studio, now Gino getting shot. This was starting to look like more than just a run of bad luck. Something was going on, and she was determined to find out what.

  She drove Maria back to the house, made sure she was all right, then left her and the new puppy with Cee Cee and immediately rushed back to the hospital, where Gino was still in surgery.

  Paige was huddled on a seat in the corridor, her face streaked with tears. She stood up as soon as she saw Lucky and clung to her. “Why would anyone shoot my Gino?” she sobbed.

  “Nobody seems to know, Paige.” She hesitated before continuing. “Uh…was he involved in any new business dealings?”

  Paige shook her head.

  “Do you know if he has any enemies?”

  “The police were here asking the same thing.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “That he’s an old man who loves his garden.”

  “Right,” Lucky said thoughtfully. She knew what Gino would say if he were around. You heard of criminal justice, kiddo? You know what that means? Justice for the freakin’ criminals. You gotta keep the cops out of it. We’ll deal with it ourselves.

  Ah, yes, he’d taught her well. The police would never catch the man who’d shot him; therefore, it was up to her to track him down.

  If he lived, she’d have the strength.

  If he didn’t…

  After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor emerged from surgery. He had gray hair and hangdog bushy eyebrows. At least he looked capable, not like some slick-haired TV actor.

  Lucky tried to read his face as he approached. Was it good news? Bad? She couldn’t tell. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself and stood up to greet him, for Paige was immobile.

  “We were able to remove both bullets,” the doctor said in a deep, sonorous voice. “However, there was considerable loss of blood, and due to your father’s age…”

  Her stomach dropped. She was icy cold with the fear of losing him.

  Gino…Daddy…I love you so much….

  Paige suddenly sprang into action. “Is he alive?” she cried, jumping to her feet.

  “Yes,” the doctor said. “Depending on his constitution, there’s a possibility he’ll pull through. I advise you not to get your hopes up. We’ll do our best.”

  Their best might not be good enough, then what? Lucky knew Gino couldn’t live forever, but she’d never imagined the end would come with an assassin’s bullet.

  “He’ll make it,” she said, a determined thrust to her jaw. “Gino’s strong.”

  “I hope so,” the doctor said, his eyes revealing that he didn’t think so.

  “When can we see him?” Lucky asked.

  “He’s in recovery now. We’ll keep him there for a few hours. If all goes well, we’ll transfer him to intensive care later. You can visit him then.”

  Lucky took her stepmother’s arm. “C’mon,” she said, noticing how pale Paige looked. “I’m taking you home for an hour.”

  Paige shook her head. “I’m not leaving,” she said stubbornly. “I have to stay close to Gino in case he needs me.”

  Lucky understood. “Okay, I’ll be back soon. Is there anything I can get you?”

  “No, nothing.”

  Lucky hurried from the hospital, her mind in overdrive. As soon as she got in her car, she picked up the phone and called Cee Cee. “I’m on my way home,” she said. “Try to reach Boogie on his pager. When he calls back, keep him on hold until I get there.”

  Gino’s words repeated in her head. Thought the wars were long over…

  What did he mean? What wars? He’d made a certain amount of enemies over the years, but that was long ago. Gino had been a legitimate businessman for at least thirty years. They’d had a lifelong battle with the Bonnatti family, but when Carlos Bonnatti had fallen from the nineteenth floor of his Century City penthouse, the battle was finally over, for Carlos was the last of the Bonnattis.

  She couldn’t get a handle on it. Who would want to shoot an old man?

  Hmm…she thought, maybe the police were right and it was a random crime, a robbery gone wrong.

  Only what were they robbing Gino of? He was an old man driving a station wagon, accompanied by a child and a puppy. He was hardly a potential victim dressed the way he was, in casual shorts and a shirt. He wasn’t even wearing a watch.

  As she drove toward the house, it occurred to her that Gino might not be safe in the hospital. Should she put a guard on him? If it wasn’t a random crime, and somebody had been out to get him, they’d be monitoring his progress. Yes, it would be prudent to have somebody at the hospital and another armed guard at the house, especially as her children were alone with only Cee Cee and Inca to protect them.

  She shuddered when she thought of what could have happened. If Maria had gotten in the line of fire…If the bullet had smashed into her little girl…

  It didn’t bear thinking about.

  Cee Cee greeted her at the door. “I gave Maria a mild sedative and put her to bed.”

  “How’s she been?” Lucky asked anxiously.

  “The puppy kept her distracted.”

  Lucky sighed. “I guess she’s too young to understand what really happened.” Cee Cee agreed. “Did Boogie call back yet?”

  “He’s waiting on the line.”

  Lucky hurried into the library, sat behind Gino’s desk, and picked up the phone.

  “I had to be sure of my facts before I contacted you,” Boogie said.

  “Forget it, Boog, Gino’s been shot.”

  “What?”

  “He’s in recovery. They removed two bullets. I want guards at the hospital and at the house. Arrange it immediately.”

  “It’s done, Lucky. I’m on my way there. I have a lot to tell you.”

  “Everything else can wait,” she said. What did her studio matter when her father was lying in the hospital battling for his life?

  She put down the phone and methodically began opening the drawers of Gino’s desk, searching for a clue—some indication that he was involved in any kind of business venture.

  There was nothing to be found except a pile of betting sheets. She picked one up and studied it. Gino enjoyed betting on basketball, two hundred here, three hundred there—he’d never been a big gambler; after all, he’d owned hotels in Vegas and seen how recklessly people could lose their money.

  So…it wasn’t like they were after him for an unpaid gambling debt, this was minor stuff.

  Inca knocked on the door. “Miss Lucky,” she said hesitantly, “there’s a Detective Rollins here.”

  “Show him in.”

  Detective Rollins was a balding middle-aged man with an unfortunate smirk. He spoke in a gruff voice. “Sorry about your father,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “You are Lucky Santangelo?”

  “That’s right,” she replied, wondering how he knew her name.

  “I’ve been looking up the family history,” he said with a smug little sneer. “Thought there might be something you wanna share with me.”

  “Like what?” she said blankly, drumming her fingers on the desk.

  Detective Rollins shrugged. “You know…”

  “What?” she repeated, fast losing patience with this jerk.

  He managed to wipe the smirk off his face long enough to say, “If this is a mob hit, we don’t appreciate it around here. This is a quiet community.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” she said sharply, black eyes flashing.


  He moved closer, leaning across the desk, his big, fat fingers splayed across the dark wood.

  “I’m talking about your family’s reputation. I got a file on the Santangelos from the FBI.”

  She was outraged. “My father’s lying in the hospital, and all you can do is get files from the FBI. Why aren’t you out finding the man who shot him?”

  The sneer was back. “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me who that might be.”

  She jumped up. “I don’t believe this!” she exclaimed angrily. “My father isn’t connected in any way, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “C’mon, Lucky,” he said, like she was the biggest liar he’d ever come across.

  “Miz Santangelo to you,” she said icily.

  The detective shifted his weight and glared at her. “Okay, Miz Santangelo, your father has a rap sheet. He fled the country on tax avoidance. He’s done jail time for murder. You wanna tell me this wasn’t mob related?”

  She hated this man, he was a moron. “If you were doing your job, you’d be telling me what happened. Not making dumb assumptions.”

  He backed off. “Okay, okay, I know you people went legit years ago, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have enemies.”

  Yeah, right, like she’d tell him. “Detective Rollins, if that’s all you have to say, I suggest you leave.”

  He walked to the door and stopped. “If Gino comes out of this, we’ll be watching him,” he said, wagging a warning finger at her.

  “Fuck you,” she said.

  “Yeah, you’re a Santangelo, all right,” he sneered.

  She slammed the door behind him. She didn’t need some moronic detective poking his long nose into their affairs. Everything was legitimate, and had been for years. It wasn’t fair that Gino got shot and the cops regarded him as the criminal. We’ll be watching him. What kind of shit was that?

  “I’m going back to the hospital,” she informed Cee Cee. “When Boogie gets here, send him over.”

  She stopped in Gino and Paige’s bedroom and grabbed a sweater for Paige. On the way out, she went by the bar and took a swig of Scotch from the bottle. She needed something to keep her going.

  At the hospital, there was no change in Gino’s condition. “He’s fighting,” Paige said, her eyes puffy and red-ringed.

  “He’ll win,” Lucky assured her, putting a comforting arm around her stepmother’s shoulders. “Here, I brought you a sweater. Put it on, you’re shivering.”

  “Will he be all right?” Paige asked hopefully. “Will he, Lucky?”

  “Of course,” she said, more confident than she felt. “You know Gino, he’s not going out this way. Gino will go in his own bed, most likely making love to you.”

  “That’s a cheerful thought,” Paige said, summoning a weak smile.

  “And he’ll probably be around ninety-eight at the time,” Lucky added. “Yeah, ninety-eight and as feisty as hell.”

  She used her influence and commandeered a small office with a phone. Then she sent out for food and forced Paige to eat. Around seven o’clock Boogie arrived, accompanied by two men, both in their early thirties.

  “This is Dean, and Enrico,” Boogie said. “Dean will stay here, Enrico’s gonna cover the house. They’re both aware of the situation.”

  Lucky nodded her approval.

  “We must talk,” Boogie said.

  “Drive Enrico over to the house,” Lucky instructed. “When you get back, we’ll sit down.”

  “Who were those men with Boogie?” Paige asked as soon as they’d left.

  “I’m putting a little protection in our lives,” Lucky explained, trying not to alarm her. “Y’know, Paige, we’re both aware of my father’s uh…colorful past. This is called taking precautions.”

  Paige plucked a Kleenex from her purse and blew her nose. “I don’t understand any of this.”

  “I’m being extra careful,” Lucky continued. “Gino would do the same if it were me lying in that bed.”

  When Boogie returned, he and Lucky took the elevator down to the hospital cafeteria. Lucky sat at a Formica-topped table while Boogie went up to the counter and got two cups of coffee. He came back and handed one to her.

  She sipped the hot liquid. “I’m anxious to know about Donna Landsman,” she said. “Only I’m not sure if this is the time for you to fill me in. It’s more important that you find out who shot Gino, and why.”

  “They could be connected,” Boogie said.

  She frowned. “Connected? How?”

  “When you hear what I have to say, you’ll understand.”

  She felt a shudder of apprehension. “Go ahead.”

  “I found out about Donna Landsman—the companies she’s involved with, the takeovers she attempted and didn’t succeed at. The ones she won. I also have information about her personal life.”

  “Yes?”

  “She’s married to George Landsman.”

  Lucky took another gulp of hot black coffee. “Is he an active business partner?”

  “Very active. He manages the money. He’s also a former accountant with a surprising history.”

  She leaned across the table. “Like what?”

  “Like he was Santino Bonnatti’s accountant.” A long, silent pause. “Lucky—Donna Landsman is Santino Bonnatti’s widow, Donatella.”

  A chill pervaded her body. “Oh, my God!” she exclaimed.

  And suddenly, everything became startlingly clear.

  39

  AFTER WALKING OUT ON HIS MOTHER, ALEX drove directly to his beach house. This house was his private domain—pristine and modern. He never allowed anybody to visit. Women, he took to his apartment; business meetings were office affairs; and since he never entertained, the house was his—no intruders.

  He’d made the mistake of bringing his mother here once. That was enough. “It’s cold,” she’d said, inspecting everything with a critical eye. “You need a woman’s touch.”

  What did she know? She lived in an apartment that was so overdecorated it was ridiculous. The minimalist style he’d settled on suited him. He liked clean-cut lines and flowing rooms.

  He employed a Japanese couple who lived on the property. They never disturbed him unless he requested their presence.

  The house stood on a high bluff overlooking the ocean. It was spacious, with a huge terrace that swept around in a half circle incorporating two waterfalls, lush greenery, and a pond full of exotic fish. When he had time to meditate—which wasn’t often—this was where he came.

  Alex considered his house to be the most peaceful place on earth. It was his private retreat, where he could not be touched by the outside world.

  Although he’d had several martinis at lunch, he’d promised himself to never drink at the beach house. Today he made an exception, pouring himself a large vodka. Then he picked up a copy of his script, and strolled out to the terrace.

  He hadn’t realized it before he got her private number, but Lucky also lived at the beach. This did not exactly make them neighbors, as he’d found out her house was in Malibu. His was farther along the coastline, at Point Dume. Still…it was nice to know that she probably enjoyed the ocean as much as he did.

  He’d left several messages on her answering machine; so far, she’d failed to call back.

  He pulled out a lounger, took off his shirt, and began going through his Gangsters script with a red pencil. He drove his production people crazy. Every day he made changes, and he’d continue to do so throughout the movie.

  At around five o’clock, the doorbell rang. He let it ring three times before he got up, put on his shirt, and went to the door.

  Standing there was Tin Lee.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, frowning ferociously.

  “Alex,” she said, standing her ground. “Your mother was worried about you. She insisted I come.”

  “What is this shit?” he roared, furious at her intrusion. “That woman doesn’t run my life. She has no right to tell you where I l
ive. Fuck!”

  Tin Lee stood up for herself. “What do you mean, Alex—no right? We have been lovers. How can you be so cold toward me?”

  Goddamn it! This was just what he didn’t need.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, realizing it wasn’t her fault. “My mother drives me insane—you know that—you’ve seen what she’s like when she’s in action.”

  Tin Lee stretched out her hand. “Alex, this is a tense time for you. Your movie is starting, everything is happening. Please…may I come in for a moment?”

  He did not want his house invaded. Yet how could he send her away? She’d driven over an hour to get here. “Sure, come in,” he said reluctantly.

  She stepped into the front hall, pretty and petite in her white sundress and strappy sandals. “This is wonderful!” she exclaimed, looking around. “Why do you not live here all the time?”

  “It’s my weekend retreat,” he said. “I come here to think, to work.”

  “I’m sorry if I’m intruding.”

  “Hey, listen—it’s not you. I’m fucked up because Dominique drives me so goddamn crazy.”

  Tin Lee was sympathetic. “Why do you let her drive you crazy, Alex?”

  “Because she’s my mother. Don’t you understand, it’s like a conundrum. There’s no rhyme or reason for it.”

  He walked out onto the terrace. Tin Lee followed him.

  “Do you want a drink?” he asked, thinking about another vodka for himself.

  “No, Alex,” she said boldly. “I would like you to make love to me.”

  It was the last thing he felt like doing.

  Before he could stop her she unzipped the back of her white sundress. It fell in a heap at her feet.

  “No!” he said.

  “Yes, Alex,” she said persuasively. “Why shut me out, when you know you want me?”

  She moved toward him—a perfectly formed, exquisite creature in white bikini panties and nothing else, her small breasts bouncing only slightly, the dark brown nipples startlingly erect.

  He shouldn’t have drunk so much. He felt himself becoming aroused.

  Her hand reached for the zipper on his pants, quickly pulling it down.