Goddess of Vengeance (19 page)

‘Very fine, thank you for asking,’ Fouad replied.

‘I only wish Armand would find a nice girl and settle down,’ Peggy sighed. ‘You are a shining example, Fouad. I admire you.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Dunn.’

‘Why this sudden interest in coming to Vegas?’ Armand asked, his tone brusque.

‘Why not?’ Peggy said, delighted she’d made the decision to accompany her only child to Vegas. ‘It was once my home, you know,’ she added, looking forward to revisiting the city she’d been plucked from as an eighteen-year-old girl.

Forty-two years had passed, but Peggy had never forgotten her life back then. As a dancer in one of the most popular shows in town she’d received more than her share of attention. With her red hair and delicate white skin she’d been quite the stand out; men could not get enough of her. And then King Emir Amin Mohamed Jordan had swooped into town and claimed her for himself. He’d plied her with gifts and jewellery, and she’d allowed herself to be swept up in the dazzle. It was mysterious and exciting, like a fairytale. Without much thought she’d accepted the King’s proposal, and gone with him to his country, leaving behind her pit boss boyfriend, Joe Piscarelli, whom she’d always suspected was mob connected. After telling Joe she was leaving, he’d flown into a vile rage, called her a gold-digging cunt, and warned her to never set foot in Vegas again.

She hadn’t until now.

Where was Joe Piscarelli forty-two years later?

Probably dead
, Peggy thought with a frisson of satisfaction.
Buried in a ditch somewhere in the desert. That would teach him to call her names.

Back in the day Vegas was quite the place to be if you were a girl with big dreams. Her dreams had certainly materialized – marriage to a King, an enormously rich second husband, and a billionaire son. Not too shabby for a girl who’d come from nothing.

*   *   *

The landing in Vegas was quite turbulent. Armand was never bothered by things like that, but ever since becoming a father to his two children, Fouad hated turbulence. He white-knuckled his way to landing, then set about organizing the luggage to the stretch limousine waiting on the tarmac alongside the plane.

Armand was annoyed that Peggy had brought so many suitcases with her. He sat in the back of the limo and fumed. ‘We’re only here for a day or so,’ he muttered. ‘Why did you feel the need to bring so much?’

‘You never know,’ she answered, with a vague wave of her hand. ‘I might stay a while.’

Her statement alarmed Armand, for when he purchased The Keys, the last person he wished to have hanging around was Peggy. His mother belonged in New York, and that’s exactly where he expected her to stay.

‘What meetings do you have here, Armand?’ she asked, as the limousine sped away from the airport.

None of your damn business
, he would say if Peggy was a normal woman.

But she wasn’t normal.

She was his mother.

The only woman he had ever feared.

*   *   *

Armand was situated in the Presidential Suite at The Keys. Four bedrooms, two living rooms, a sauna, a steam shower, five bathrooms, a fully equipped bar, a pool table, a game room, and a private rooftop swimming pool and Jacuzzi. It was more luxurious than his New York apartment, and he decided that when he bought the place, he would use this suite as his own pied-à-terre while he built himself a magnificent mansion on the property.

There was no doubt in his mind that The Keys would be his. No doubt at all.

‘Make certain Peggy stays elsewhere,’ he’d instructed Fouad before arrival. ‘Book her into another hotel. Tell her The Keys is full.’

‘Are you sure?’ Fouad had asked.

‘Of course I’m sure,’ Armand had replied, annoyed that Fouad would question him.

Fouad had managed to arrange a one-bedroom suite for Peggy at The Cavendish, a neighbouring hotel to The Keys. She was surprised when the limousine dropped her off first.

‘No room at The Keys,’ Armand said brusquely, shooting Fouad a
why didn’t you tell her?
look. Jesus Christ! Did he have to do everything himself?

‘The whole point of my coming here was to spend more time with you, Armand,’ Peggy complained, quite disappointed. ‘There are things we need to discuss.’

‘It’s unfortunate, but there is a big convention at The Keys,’ Fouad explained, attempting to smooth things over. ‘No more suites available. And of course Armand did not wish to put you in a room. He requires only the best for you.’

Little did Peggy suspect that Armand would be occupying a suite with four bedrooms. If she’d known that, she would have insisted on staying with him.

‘Very well,’ she said, pursing her lips. ‘And what time will you be picking me up for dinner?’

Armand had not factored in taking Peggy to dinner. This was Vegas, home of the most expensive and inventive call girls in America. Girls who never balked at any request, however out of line. As long as the money flowed, anything was possible, and he’d been planning on taking full advantage. Armand’s line of credit in Vegas was limitless, plus he always travelled with a suitcase full of cash in case of an unforeseen emergency.

Yes, he was ready to indulge himself, and now Peggy expected dinner? Goddamnit! This was not the trip he had imagined.

‘I thought you would be tired after the flight,’ he said tersely. ‘Perhaps room service?’

Peggy threw him a scornful look. ‘Tired, Armand? Me? How
old
do you think I am? Eighty?’

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Pick me up at eight,’ she ordered, cutting him off. ‘And make sure we go somewhere fancy. I plan on dressing up.’

The moment Peggy was out of the limousine, Armand issued more instructions. He handed Fouad an engraved card stamped with the name
Yvonne Le Crane
, a phone number and an email address. ‘Book two women to be in my suite at five. An Asian and a black girl, both under twenty-five,’ he ordered. ‘I will keep them for two hours. Then at midnight, three more girls. White, preferably from Texas, with blonde hair.’

Fouad was almost speechless. Since when had he been appointed head pimp? He was not an assistant, he was a Chief Officer at Jordan Developments, a man who deserved at least a modicum of respect. Now Armand was instructing him to order up hookers? This was a ridiculous situation.

‘I suggest you might want to make this phone call yourself,’ Fouad said, swallowing his anger. ‘There could be questions I cannot answer. And I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed.’

Armand considered Fouad’s words and surprisingly agreed. Yes, he was specific when it came to the women he paid.
He
would call Yvonne Le Crane – that way he would get exactly what he required. No mistakes.

After all, he was a Prince among men, and he expected only the best.

Chapter Twenty

A
text from Bobby informed Max that she and her friends should meet in the private sector of LAX at noon the next day to take the Stanislopoulos plane to Vegas.

She was excited to go on Bobby’s plane, even more excited to spend time with her big brother whom she adored.

As luck would have it, after agreeing that Cookie could bring Frankie to Vegas, Cookie announced that they would be driving, since Frankie wanted to have his car there. Max considered this to be perfect timing, because turning up to meet Bobby with Frankie in tow might’ve been major awkward.

Harry was delighted about being invited on the private plane, even more so when he mentioned Paco had a gig in Vegas, so could he hitch a ride too?

Max agreed, and then she thought –
Oh great, everyone will have someone in Vegas except me.

No time to think about that; her main concern was planning the perfect outfit to wear to Billy’s house. Her closet contained a ton of options, none of them quite right. After rummaging through everything she possessed, she finally settled on skinny black jeans, a simple white tank top, and a black cashmere dance hoodie. Tough but cute. It was her look, especially when she added a dozen thin studded bangles, big earrings, a long leather necklace with crosses and sharks’ teeth hanging from it, and a low-slung belt.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror she wondered if she looked any different.

Would anyone be able to tell that she’d finally done the deed?

No way.

‘But I can tell,’ she whispered to herself. ‘And it feels so right.’

Then Ace ruined everything by texting that he was driving into L.A. so that they could celebrate her birthday together.

Crap! She hadn’t told him about Vegas. And she certainly wasn’t planning on telling him about Billy. What was a girl supposed to do?

She quickly texted him back, hoping that he wasn’t already on the road.
My mom wants me in Vegas
, she tapped out, keeping it vague.
Call you when I get back.

That should stop him. And when she did get back she would give him the news that it was over between them.

Sorry, Ace. Too bad. It was fun while it lasted.

Meanwhile, she had Billy on her mind. She couldn’t stop reliving their night together, their long conversations, the feel of his body next to hers. It was like some kind of awesome dream, a dream she never ever wanted to stop.

Billy Melina. Who would believe it?

*   *   *

‘Billy Melina. Who would believe it?’ the reporter said, as Billy slid into the booth beside her. The girl was in her late twenties, pretty in an aggressive way, with big boobs and an ultra-short skirt. She was on assignment from
Rolling Stone
, and she didn’t seem to care that he was three hours late for their sit-down interview.

Bambi, his personal publicist, cared. So did the studio publicist. So did the groomer – hired for the day to make sure Billy looked his best at all times. They all hovered anxiously by the table, until Billy waved them away and told them to come back in an hour.

The girl reporter, whose name was Melba, repeated her words.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Billy said, leaning back and ordering a Diet Coke. ‘Got hung up at the beach.’

‘Were you getting laid?’ Melba asked, licking her lips and giving him a flinty stare as if she knew everything about him, or was about to.

‘’Scuse me?’ Billy said, narrowing his blue eyes. This one was determined to be confrontational, and he didn’t like it. Dealing with female reporters could sometimes be dead tricky.

‘I always like to start an interview off with a bang,’ Melba said with a half-smirk.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, I like to get down early on. Move in real close to my subject. The closer the better.’

Was she propositioning him? Probably. Now that he was a big star all the girls did. And the guys too, because naturally gay rumours abounded – as they did with every other young male star. He wasn’t gay. Never tried it. Never had any desire to do so. Not that there was anything wrong with it.

Normally he might’ve contemplated taking this girl back to his house for the old blow-job by the pool routine. But after being with Max he wasn’t feeling it. There was something about Max that was incredibly fresh and appealing, and he’d begun to think that it might be nice to get to know her. But there was a big problem – she was Lucky and Lennie’s kid, and with the whole Venus divorce drama going on, dating Max was hardly about to fly.

He’d have to let her down easy; she was young and vulnerable, and seemed to like him a lot. He didn’t want to hurt her, so he decided that when she came to pick up Lucky’s Ferrari, he’d tell her he had another PR gig to go to and send her home.

‘What’s on your mind, Billy Melina?’ Melba asked, licking her lips yet again. ‘You’re not concentrating.’

‘What’s on yours?’ he countered. Sit-down interviews were not his strong suit, and he had a bad feeling about this one.

‘Your divorce,’ Melba said, anticipating a juicy reply. ‘How nasty will it get?’

‘Not on my part,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘I’m fine with it all.’

‘No gory details?’ Melba pressed. ‘Some salacious tidbit that nobody else knows?’

‘Sorry to disappoint – no.’

‘Shame. I would’ve thought being married to a controlling older woman would’ve produced all kinds of problems.’

‘You heard it here first,’ Billy said, keeping his cool and wishing he hadn’t sent the PRs away. ‘No problems. And uh . . . shouldn’t we be talking about my movie?’

*   *   *

Sometimes Denver felt that she could cheerfully murder her family. They never let up on her all night with questions about Bobby.

When’s he coming?

Why is he so late?

Who is this guy?

What exactly does he do?

You like him, you really like him.

She’d received a series of texts from Bobby full of excuses about cancelled and delayed flights, but she was disappointed by the time she headed home. Couldn’t he have made more of an effort to meet her family for the first time? It pissed her off that he hadn’t done so.

Amy Winehouse greeted her as if she’d been gone a year. A rush of happy barking, followed by wet doggy licks and kisses all over her face. It was comforting to feel wanted.