Deadly Embrace (17 page)

"
Three
black eyes?" Jolie said, laughing.

"You know what I mean," Nando said irritably.

Jolie tapped her long, silver-painted nails on the table. "Why are
you
in a bad mood?" she asked.

" 'Cause Vincent drives me loco," Nando replied. "Could be our
partnership has gone on long enough."

"That's ridiculous," Jolie scoffed. "You love each other. You're
as close as brothers."

"Yeah," Nando said grimly. "An' sometimes one brother's gotta move
outta the house before they slit each other's throats."

* * *

After a lot of screaming and shouting, Sofia was getting nowhere with
the concierge, who was now threatening to call the police.

"Call 'em!" she yelled directly into his face. "I
want
you
to. I'm
begging
you to."

At which point a man appeared in the lobby—a tall,
well-dressed man in an expensive suit who spoke both English and
Spanish.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, with only the slightest of
accents.

"You bet your ass there's a problem," she said, her voice
rising.

"Please explain. Perhaps I can be of assistance."

So she told him her story, and without hesitation, he immediately
took command of the situation. Removing his jacket, he draped it
around her shoulders while urging her to calm down.

"I nearly
killed
myself escaping from those two assholes
upstairs," she spluttered. "Tell this moron to come with me, so I can
collect my purse without getting attacked again."

Calmly the man explained things to the concierge, who reluctantly
agreed to accompany Sofia upstairs.

"Will you come too?" she asked the tall stranger. "I need
protection."

"If you think it's necessary."

"Oh yes, I
do
."

The three of them got into the elevator and rode upstairs in
silence. When they reached the penthouse, Sofia began hammering on
the door with her fists.

Eventually Paco opened the door, security chain firmly in
place.

"You fucks are lucky I'm not
suing
your asses," she yelled.
"I had to jump out the fucking
window
to get away from you two
perverts
. How do you think
that
will look in
court?"

Paco responded in Spanish, gesticulating wildly. She didn't
understand a word he was saying.

"Where is your purse?" the man from the lobby asked.

"In there," she said, pointing past Paco into the living room.

The man spoke to Paco in Spanish. Whatever he said was obviously
effective, because before she knew it, the other would-be rapist
appeared at the door with her purse, shoved it through the crack, and
slammed the door shut.

"What did you say to them?" she asked. "Did you tell them they're
a couple of sick fucks who deserve to have their
dicks
cut
off?"

"What language!" the tall man said, taking her arm and guiding her
back to the elevator.

"
You
try jumping out a window and staying calm," she fumed.
"I'm lucky I didn't
kill
myself."

The elevator reached the lobby and they all stepped out. The
concierge practically ran back to the reception desk, anxious to be
rid of them.

"Do you have somewhere to stay?" the man asked.

"Of course I do," she said scornfully. "God! Morons like that
should be locked up."

"Perhaps I can drive you to your home."

"That's okay," she said, handing him back his jacket. "I'll call a
cab."

"Haven't you had enough drama for one night?"

"Hmm," she said reluctantly. "If you're sure you won't attack me
in the car, 'cause you can see what happens to people who get on my
bad side."

"Yes, I can see that," he said, slightly amused.

"Who are you, anyway?" she asked.

"Gianni," he replied. "Gianni Ruspeli."

"Oh God! You're that famous Italian dress-designing guy," she
said. "The one who makes those cool jeans. I
thought
you
looked familiar."

He laughed dryly. "We prefer to call it 'couture.' And the jeans
are merely a very lucrative amusement."

"Okay—couture. Whatever
that
means."

"And you are...?"

"Sofia."

"Ah ... Sofia. A beautiful name for a wild beauty."

"I'm not wild and I'm not a beauty. I'm merely pissed off."

"Then being pissed off, my dear, agrees with you."

He slipped the concierge some money and they stepped outside.
Parked curbside was a gleaming black Bentley. A uniformed driver
stood at attention, holding the door open for them.

"You'll hate me—'cause I'm about to drip all over your
upholstery," she said, gingerly climbing into the car.

"Lucky upholstery," he murmured, getting in beside her.

"Wow! A guy who doesn't go ape shit over his wheels.
That's
a first." She settled back into the luxurious leather and wondered if
she was making another mistake. Maybe this dude was a better-class
pervert in an expensive suit.

"Have you ever done any modeling, Sofia?" he asked.

"Oh, please!" she said, immediately suspicious. "Now I gotta
listen to your smooth lines. I
knew
this was a mistake."

"You have a very exotic young look. You might be the perfect model
for my new jeans."

"Here comes the bullshit," she sighed, rolling back her eyes.
"You'll give me a lift if I come back to your apartment and audition
my bare body—is
that
the deal?"

"Not at all," he said casually. "Besides, Sofia, you are too young
for me. I prefer my women to be at least
slightly
sophisticated."

"Ha! That's a new one."

"Why don't I give you my card?" he suggested. "And the next time
you are in Rome, you can call me."

"I'm not exactly on my way to Rome."

"Then maybe you should consider it."

"Why?"

"Because, my dear, it is quite obvious you have nothing to
lose."

* * *

Going to bed with Michael was as good as the first time, and Dani
clearly remembered the first time, even though it was over thirty
years ago. He'd been so handsome, she'd been so naive. And a virgin.
He'd treated her like a princess, and for one memorable night she'd
been in heaven.

"Why are you here?" she murmured as they lay in her king-sized bed
after making long, leisurely love. "Can't you get out of my life
permanently and leave me alone?"

"We have children together, Dani," he said quietly. "Even if we
didn't, I'd still want to be with you."

"If you'd
really
wanted to be with me," she said
accusingly, "you would never have married Stella."

"I married Stella because
you
rejected me—and in a
way she reminded me of you."

"That's comforting."

"Only physically. Stella had none of your sweetness, which is why
I've always come back to you."

"
No
, Michael," Dani sighed. "The only time you come back to
me is when you're in trouble."

"Not true," he said, reaching for a cigarette.

"True," she said, propping a couple of pillows beneath her head.
"Now tell me, Michael, what are you planning to do about your present
situation?"

"I have enemies," he said mysteriously. "They've tried for a long
time to bring me down."

"Why would anybody want to murder Stella and her boyfriend, then
make it look as if
you
did it?"

"People do things for many reasons. Revenge is one of them."

"Who wants revenge on you?"

"It's better you don't know." A beat. "And Dani, you have to be
more careful."

"Me?"

"If their thirst for revenge is strong enough to murder Stella and
her boyfriend, then I have to wonder if you're safe. Or even Madison
and Sofia."

"My God, Michael," she said, alarmed. "What are you saying?"

"Where
is
Sofia?"

"Still in Europe. I can't get her to come home."

"I need her here, Dani."

"Then
you
find her. She's a free spirit—just like
you. Totally different from Madison."

"Madison's the smart one," he said. "Did I mention that she met
Vincent?"

"When?" Dani asked, quite startled.

"A few months ago."

"How did they meet?"

"Madison was in Vegas, she needed a favor, and, uh ... Vincent was
able to take care of it."

"What kind of a favor?"

"Nothing you want to know about."

"Why didn't Vincent tell me?"

"That's between him and you."

"Oh God, Michael, you're too complicated for me to keep up with. I
only know you shouldn't involve Vincent."

"He's a big boy."

"Did you tell Madison that he's her half brother?"

"All she had to do was take a look at him an' she figured it
out."

"Was she upset?"

"Who knows?" he said, inhaling deeply. "The last time I spoke to
her she was in New York. When Sofia gets home, I think they should
meet."

"There's no need for Sofia to know you had another family that you
cared more about."

"Not true, Dani. I love all my children equally."

"You might think so, but Madison grew up with you. Vincent and
Sofia didn't. If Sofia felt you'd been there for her, she might not
have run off to Europe."

"So you're blaming me?"

"It would have been nice if they'd seen more of you."

"I did my best, Dani."

"Have you ever thought that your best might not have been good
enough?"

"Oh, for God's sake," he said angrily. "Don't give me more
problems."

"Fine," she said, equally angry. "I'll keep quiet. I always
have."

* * *

Vincent strode through the casino, his eyes scanning every table.
Eventually he stopped to talk to one of his pit bosses. "You know the
actor Andy Dale?" he asked brusquely.

"Sure, Mr. Castle."

"What table was he playing at?"

"Blackjack table number three."

"Did my wife happen to join him?"

"Yes sir. They left the table together."

"Find out what suite he's in."

"Certainly, Mr. Castle."

A few minutes later, armed with a passkey, Vincent was in the
private elevator to the penthouse suites.

How stupid could Jenna be? He'd married her because she was young
and innocent, not a tramp like so many of the girls, who soon became
corrupted by the Vegas lifestyle.

Was she
really
foolish enough to betray him?

No. He didn't think so.

The elevator came to a stop at the penthouse floor. He could hear
loud music, ice clinking in glasses, and the sound of laughter.

The elevator doors opened directly into the living room of
penthouse number two. He knew the setup well; he'd helped design
it.

The centerpiece of the living room featured a large, round, green
marble Jacuzzi. Vincent had ordered the marble imported from Italy.
He remembered the day it arrived and how pleased he and Nando had
been.

Sitting in the Jacuzzi was Andy Dale, with Anais lounging naked
along the side, her glistening body on full display.

Jenna was also in the Jacuzzi, next to Andy, her perky pink
breasts quite visible in the bubbling water. Jenna. His wife.

Vincent was filled with rage. A red mist began forming in front of
his eyes.

"Hey man," Andy said, totally stoned. "Why don't you drop your
pants an' join us?"

* * *

Four minutes passed and still no van. Five minutes, six minutes,
seven minutes.

The gunman was not patient. He was hot, agitated, and so pissed
off he could barely think straight. He lifted the Uzi, brandishing it
around the room. The only satisfaction he got was the frantic screams
of the terrified hostages.

"I warned 'em!" he yelled, throwing the Uzi down near his feet.
"Nobody can say I didn't warn the mothafuckers."

Then before anyone could stop him, he lunged at the short redhead,
grabbing her around the neck, pulling her back, and twisting hard
until she was unable to move. All she could do was let out a
strangled scream.

Madison felt sick. Violence was about to take place, and she was
powerless to stop it.

She glanced over at Cole, who seemed ready to make a move. Then
she began edging forward, desperately hoping she might be able to
talk some sense into the young gunman.

She was too late. Grabbing a pistol from his belt, he let out a
crazed yell and shot the redhead in the head. Blood splattered
everywhere. And then there was silence.

Michael had taken to spending more and more time in the company of
Vito Giovanni. Mr. G. had added him to the payroll, so now he was
official. It wasn't as if he was his bodyguard or anything, it was
simply that Mr. G. liked having him around. And Michael got off on
the reflected notoriety of being perceived as somebody Mr. G. had
regard for.

"Ya always gotta carry a piece," Vito informed him. "For your own
personal protection."

"I don't need no personal protection," Michael objected.

"When ya work for me, ya need it," Vito insisted.

So he carried a piece. And the truth was, it made him feel
important, gave him a feeling of power that was quite addictive.

Marnie resented Michael's newfound closeness with her husband.
"You got no time for me anymore," she complained. "Too busy with Mr.
So-Called Big."

Max also resented it, claiming that Michael was selling his soul
to the devil and that Vito Giovanni was an evil man who had no regard
for anything other than getting rich and stepping all over the less
fortunate.

Michael had laughed in his face and told him that he could
probably score him a job if he wanted it. Max declined the offer.

Max's big night in Vegas had turned out to be a memorable one.
First, he'd lost all his money at the crap table. Then, with
Michael's fifty bucks, he'd won it all back, and to celebrate he'd
gotten good and drunk on shots of tequila, which he'd insisted on
buying for everyone in sight until he ran out of money. Then Angela
had arrived at their table, and he'd gone after her big time, even
though she was obviously hot for Michael, who'd ignored her.