Goddess of Vengeance (42 page)

And with that she stormed off, leaving an open-mouthed Cookie in her wake.

Chapter Forty-Seven

A
s they reached Armand’s villa, Annabelle was more or less sure that tonight she would be able to cement herself firmly into his life. This time she was not letting him slip away – he was too valuable a prospect.

She’d allowed him to finger-fuck her on the walk to his villa, now it was time for her to exhibit her considerable bedroom skills. When she was living with Frankie Romano, he’d often told her that her blow-jobs were superlative – the best he’d ever had. Now she had the opportunity to show off her technique (learned from a gay friend when she was fifteen) to Armand. Men loved nothing better than a woman going down on them. Annabelle knew that they considered it the ultimate power trip – a beautiful woman on her knees servicing them, their hands pressed firmly on her head. It was the best.

She recalled that when she and Frankie were running their call-girl business in New York, the girls were always full of outrageous stories about their clients and the things they were into. Blow-jobs were the number one topic. It seemed that once a man got married, the blow-jobs suddenly stopped. Too bad, because there were always plenty of working girls ready and able to pick up the slack.

These were the thoughts running through Annabelle’s head as they entered the villa, but they came to an abrupt halt when she saw the two half-dressed women lounging on stools by the bar.

‘Good evening, ladies,’ Armand said, not at all surprised that he had company.

Ladies! Was he kidding? These two were straight off Forty-Second Street on a bad night.

‘Hello there,’ Luscious said, greeting the client in what she considered a suitable manner. ‘Nice t’meet you.’

Seducta, who’d imbibed a little too much free vodka, burped discreetly.

Armand gave Annabelle a sly look. The expression on her face was all that he needed to fuel his sexual desire. He walked behind the bar and opened a bottle of champagne. Had to celebrate, for this was about to be an evening to remember. It was his personal celebration of what he knew was destined to happen to Lucky Santangelo.

Eventually.

It was a done deal.

All he had to do was arrange it.

*   *   *

The phone rang in Peggy’s suite. She immediately thought it was the messenger service she’d ordered to transport her samples to the DNA testing lab, who, for a price, had agreed to work on a weekend, enabling her to get fast results. Only in Vegas.

However, it was not the messenger service, it was Paige Santangelo.

‘I wanted to make sure you got back to your room safely,’ Paige said, her voice husky and intimate.

‘I certainly did,’ Peggy replied. ‘And thank you so much for a delightful dinner.’

‘I’m glad you were able to join us,’ Paige said. ‘It’s always nice to have new company. Spending time with Gino can sometimes be . . . difficult.’

‘Difficult, how?’

‘Gino is old, he’s set in his ways. When he was younger he was quite a dynamo.’

Oh yes, I know!
Peggy thought.

‘Anyway,’ Paige continued with a deep sigh, ‘Gino’s not the man he used to be – if you understand where I’m going.’

Where are you going?
Peggy wondered.

‘Can I be frank?’ Paige said after a long pause.

‘Certainly,’ Peggy replied, wondering if the messenger was on his way.

‘The sad fact of life is that sexually Gino no longer satisfies me.’

And here it comes
, Peggy thought.
She’s been heading in this direction all night, and I was too preoccupied to get it.

‘I see,’ Peggy said calmly.

‘Do you?’ Paige asked, sounding anxious.

‘Do I what?’

‘Do you understand that I have needs that are not being fulfilled, and I am getting the feeling that you might be in the same position.’

Peggy realized that she was being propositioned, and although it was not by a man, it was flattering all the same. Her sex-life had been dead on arrival since Sidney’s passing, so what would be wrong with indulging in a little Sapphic lovemaking? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t experienced another woman before, albeit a long time ago – during her fantasy life in the King’s palace. Paige might be older, but so was she. And they were both attractive, well-preserved women.

‘Your silence is making me uneasy,’ Paige said. ‘So why don’t we forget I said anything. I will—’

‘No,’ Peggy interrupted, a sudden recklessness flooding her senses. ‘I . . . I understand exactly what you’re saying . . .’ A long pause. ‘If you care to drop by for a nightcap, I would be delighted to see you.’

*   *   *

‘I didn’t know you were expecting company,’ Annabelle said, pointedly waving a stream of smoke away from her face as Seducta blew a series of smoke rings into the air.

‘These women are not company,’ Armand replied, drinking champagne. ‘They are paid-for whores here to entertain us. They will do whatever we want.’ A beat. ‘Does that excite you, Annabelle?’

She thought for a moment, realizing that she was heading onto dangerous ground. This was not what she’d expected, not at all. However, if she planned on nailing Armand, it seemed as if she would have to join the party or make a fast exit.

‘’Scuse me,’ Luscious said, hopping off her bar stool with an indignant expression. ‘We’re paid for, but that don’t mean you gotta ignore us. We’re people too . . .’

‘Take your clothes off and keep your mouths shut,’ Armand ordered. ‘Do it now.’

And without waiting for a reply, he turned to Annabelle and once again stuck his hand roughly up her skirt.

She automatically pushed his hand away. This was all happening too fast.

‘More champagne, please,’ she said, trying to appear cool in the face of such disturbing circumstances.

‘I’ll offer you better than that,’ he said, marching into the bedroom and returning with several small glassine bags of cocaine.

‘Shall we?’ he said, walking toward the glass-topped coffee table.

Damn!
Annabelle thought.
Another Frankie Romano scene. I sure can pick ’em.

Meanwhile the two hookers were disrobing in a desultory fashion across the room, flinging their clothes in a corner until they were bare-assed naked except for their shoes. Then they hovered, waiting for instructions.

By this time Armand was alternating swigging champagne and snorting lines, feeling no pain, feeling as if he could take control of the entire world. And he would. When he’d disposed of Lucky Santangelo, there would be no one to stop him.

On his alcohol- and cocaine-fuelled high, Armand was becoming more and more determined that Lucky had to be . . . what was the word that lingered in his mind? Ah yes – assassinated.

The word thrilled him, it revolved in his brain like a mantra. The whore bitch deserved to die. And he would be the one to make it happen.

If they were in Akramshar he could arrange to have her stoned to death. Buried in the ground up to her neck while big jagged rocks were thrown at her until she died a painful and slow death. Unfortunately that wasn’t possible in America. What a shame, because Lucky Santangelo was the slut whore of all women, who deserved many punishments.

Lucky was his dear mother pushing her breasts up against him when he was a child, before beating him with a leather strap while her friends looked on.

Lucky was all the whores he’d ever had sex with, the dirty, filthy, disgusting, money-hungry whores.

Lucky was his dumb wife who’d given birth to children he’d never wanted.

Oh yes, Lucky Santangelo was the woman who deserved to be punished for all of them.

It was only fitting.

And when she was gone, The Keys would be all his, and life would finally be perfect.

Chapter Forty-Eight

T
he moment Lucky spotted Alex entering the club with an attractive Asian girl on his arm, was the moment she decided it was time for her and Lennie to split. By this late hour she knew that Alex would’ve had quite a few drinks, and when Alex had been drinking, anything could happen, so she figured it was wise to get out while the going was good.

But Lennie had other ideas. He wanted to stay.

Lucky knew better than to try and change his mind. Like herself, Lennie did what he wanted, and he wouldn’t budge until he was ready to leave.

He and Alex had an edgy relationship filled with macho posturing, for not only did they both have a thing about Lucky, but it didn’t help that they were both director/producer/writers. Not that they were in competition with each other. Lennie made low-budget independent movies, while Alex went the studio route and put together big high-profile movies – usually controversial and generally critically savaged or acclaimed, depending on the critic. The fact that they both did the same thing always made it interesting. They argued all the time – about other people’s movies, politics, books, sports, anything they could think of.

Lennie was well aware of how Alex felt about his wife, but he did not possess the knowledge that once, long ago, during the time he’d been kidnapped and Lucky had thought he was dead, she’d actually slept with Alex. One time. One time only. Alex had never forgotten their one night together. Lucky had tried to put it behind her. In her mind it was a regrettable mistake.

‘There you all are,’ Alex said, walking straight over to their cabana, the pretty Asian girl trotting behind him. ‘Can we join?’

‘Sit right down,’ Lennie said, making a magnanimous gesture. ‘Room for everyone.’

*   *   *

Prowling around the edge of the dance floor, Bobby was experiencing an emotion that was new to him. Jealousy. He was actually jealous! He could hardly believe it himself. There was Denver, the woman he loved – the woman who professed to love him – and she was dancing closely with another man, handsome and muscular.

The deejay was playing some kind of slow smoochy sound, and the dude on the dance floor was taking full advantage. He had Denver pulled in close, and it looked like she was enjoying it.

Fuck it! Bobby was livid. He hit the deejay stand in a hurry.

‘What’s this slow-assed shit you’re playing?’ he demanded. ‘Change it to something fast now! You’re turning this place into a morgue!’

Startled, the deejay switched to Pitbull, and Bobby nodded his approval. He glanced over at the dance floor to watch them separate, but they didn’t.

What the fuck? Was the dude deaf? He still had Denver pulled in close and she was making no move to get away.

Bobby felt the burn, a jealous burn he’d never felt before, and he didn’t like it. The burn was mixed with a slow rising anger, an anger that was telling him to do something. But what? He’d never found himself in this position before. Ever since he could remember, girls were always fighting over him. Girls in high school, girls in Greece where he’d spent the summers with his father’s family, girls in college, girls in clubs. Girls, girls, girls. Bobby Santangelo Stanislopoulos. He was always the prize, always the guy they wanted.

So no, he had never actually found himself in this position, and it was a pisser.

He circled the floor, hoping that Denver would notice him. But she didn’t, because the dude she was dancing with was talking into her ear while pressing up against her. Meanwhile, everyone else on the floor had split apart.

‘What’s up, Bobby?’ Gia asked, appearing beside him. Sexy Gia with whom he’d once spent several memorable nights.

‘Nothing much,’ he said.

Gia got it immediately. ‘Your girlfriend looks like she’s having a good time,’ she murmured with a spiteful gleam in her eye. ‘Who’s the guy? He’s cute.’

Bobby narrowed his eyes. ‘Do you know him?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Gia replied with a low laugh. ‘But I’d like to.’

In a fit of pure frustration Bobby took Gia’s arm and pulled her onto the dance floor.

Let’s see how Denver would like
this
turn of events.

*   *   *

Max took a cab to The Cavendish where Billy had informed her he was staying in one of the high-roller villas. Of course he was – he was a movie star, and movie stars always scored the best accommodations.