The Santangelos (17 page)

“Sure,” Lucky said. “I’ll be around. I’ve decided to stay the night.”

“Oh,” Paige said, raising a surprised eyebrow. “I must tell the housekeeper to make sure the guest room is ready for a visitor.”

Lucky glowered.
A visitor! Was she fucking kidding
?
A fucking visitor indeed!

I’m not a visitor,
she felt like yelling.
I’m Gino’s daughter
.

However, controlling her emotions in times of stress was something else Gino had taught her, among many other things.

Gino is dead
.

Murdered
.

Shot
.

Assassinated
.

Too bad for whoever did it. Too bad, for she would make sure that they burned in hell.

Paige trotted off to speak with the detectives, while Lucky stayed put. It occurred to her that it might be a smart move to check out the drawers in Gino’s desk, try to find out if anything was going on that he hadn’t mentioned to her. He was supposed to have given up all business dealings ten years ago, only knowing Gino, it was probably not the case. He was always involved in something—whether it was helping old friends or investing in a project that interested him. Gino was an easy touch; he’d always had compassion for friends in need. Nothing wrong with that, although he’d lent money as if it were going out of style.

The desk drawers were jammed with miscellaneous papers, bills, and receipts. Organization had never been his thing.

She started a methodical search, stacking the papers she took from the drawers on the desktop, trying to sort them into piles. Somebody had to do it, and it might as well be her, for she didn’t want a stranger going through Gino’s private papers, and Paige would never have the patience.

There was nothing of real interest. A stack of IOU’s. No surprise. When Gino lent money, he never expected to get it back. She had no doubt that he’d want her to tear them up, so she did so, placing the torn pieces of paper in her purse. If Paige got hold of them, she might insist that the debts be paid.

The lower-right-hand drawer was locked. Gino, a creature of habit, always kept his keys in a hidden compartment located at the bottom of his maple-wood cigar humidifier. Sure enough, the key was there, along with the keys to a couple of safe-deposit boxes only she and Gino had access to.

“Anythin’ ever happens t’ me, kiddo,” he’d told her many times, “you go to the bank an’ clear out those boxes. Just you, nobody else. Got it?”

Yes. She got it.

The locked drawer contained a Glock, a small hand pistol, and several boxes of bullets. Probably both guns were unlicensed. Best to get them out of here.

She dropped them into her oversized purse. There were also stacks of hundred-dollar bills held together with elastic bands. Gino had always kept plenty of cash on hand. Finally, she came across an envelope addressed to Gino Santangelo and family. The envelope was pale beige and there was no postmark or return address. It had obviously been hand delivered.

Lucky felt a sudden chill. Was this the clue she’d been looking for?

She slipped the expensive note card edged in gold from the envelope and quickly scanned the one-word message.

It was printed.

And it read
VENGEANCE
.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

All dressed up and ready for anything, Willow joined Alejandro in his penthouse, where he was busy snorting mounds of coke off a glass-topped coffee table before they set off for Club Luna.

“Come join me, my little rabbit,” he sang. “We get happy before dinner.”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Cocaine was her drug of choice—it filled her with a warm, cozy feeling of total confidence. On a coke-fueled high, she could rule the world. Besides, she needed something to forget about the conversation with her damn mother. The woman was a blood-sucking leech. Why couldn’t she just leave her alone?

Alejandro threw Willow a snakelike grin. “You ready for tonight?”

“Of course,” she said, bending down and snorting a line. “Are
you
ready to be a major Hollywood producer?”

“I will be the best,” Alejandro boasted, a flurry of white powder decorating his nose.

Willow snorted another line. “I know,” she murmured, savoring the moment. “Together we will rule this fucking town.”

*   *   *

Rafael was a reluctant dinner guest. He had no idea why Alejandro had been so insistent that he join him tonight. They didn’t usually socialize, which suited Rafael, because he had no interest in hanging out with Alejandro unless it was business related.

Earlier, he’d met with Alejandro and informed him what had gone down in Chicago, and how the deputy DA would now have other, more pressing things on her mind. Alejandro had not seemed as grateful as Rafael had thought he would be. He, Rafael, had executed an elaborate plan to stop the DA in her tracks, although he had not ordered it to end in the girl’s death. She was supposed to be beaten, not killed. Collateral damage. Rafael would not use that contact again.

Unfortunately, it was what it was, so surely this was the perfect opportunity for Alejandro to think about returning to Colombia while he could?

But no, Alejandro was settled in L.A. and he had no intention of going back to his homeland.

Rafael decided to raise the subject again at dinner.

However, this was not to be, for Alejandro arrived accompanied by one of his whores. Rafael considered most American girls to be whores. The way they flaunted their bodies in almost nonexistent outfits, while drinking too much liquor and falling about drunk, disgusted him.

This one clinging to Alejandro’s arm was no different. Clad in a skimpy purple dress that almost exposed her breasts, she had long pale red hair and a pretty face.

Willow greeted him with a widemouthed smile. Perfect teeth and pouty lips. “Hi, Rafael,” she cooed. “It’s so nice that we get to spend some time together. Usually you’re all business. Tonight it’s all about fun.”

Rafael was startled. Alejandro’s girls
never
acknowledged him, and this one actually knew his name. Then he realized that this was the famous one—the girl Alejandro enjoyed accompanying to premieres and Hollywood events. The girl with the bad reputation.

Rafael did not care about fame; it failed to impress him. Whereas Alejandro enjoyed seeing his photo on the Internet and splashed all over the trashy magazines.

“Tonight we celebrate,” Alejandro roared, waving over the table hostess, a sleek Asian girl clad in silver satin shorts and a matching halter top. “Champagne, my dear, and tequila shots all round.”

The Asian girl allowed herself a thin smile; she knew a good tipper when she saw one.

“What are we celebrating?” Rafael inquired, quite uncomfortable.

Alejandro thought for a moment, then it came to him. “Chicago, of course,” he said, throwing his arm around Rafael’s shoulder. “You protect me as if you were my brother. And for that, my friend, you deserve a big reward.”

*   *   *

Three hours later, Willow and Rafael were finally alone together in a guest bedroom in Alejandro’s penthouse. As far as Willow was concerned, it had not been an easy ride. First off, Rafael had refused to drink, and she’d had to use all her persuasive powers to convince him that not toasting Alejandro with a glass of champagne was unlucky.

So … one glass of champagne had led to another. After which came the tequila shots, followed by more champagne.

Gradually Rafael had loosened up, helped by Willow turning on the flattery big-time. She was an expert at making men feel good about themselves, and after a lot of work, Rafael was no exception.

By the time the three of them left the club, Rafael was no longer the man who was always in control. He was about as drunk as he’d ever been, unaware that Alejandro had dropped a quaalude into his final drink.

“Gotta go home,” he’d mumbled, outside the club. “Don’ feel so good.”

“No, sweetie,” Willow had said, hanging on to his arm. “There’s something I wanna show you at Alejandro’s apartment.”

“What? What you wanna show me?” he’d said, stumbling against her.

At which point she’d shoved him into the back of Alejandro’s Bentley—one of his many cars. “You’ll see,” she’d purred, jumping into the front passenger seat next to Alejandro.

Once they’d reached Alejandro’s apartment, she’d steered Rafael into the guest bedroom, where, unsteady on his feet, he’d fallen on top of the oversized bed with the faux fur cover, still mumbling to himself.

Willow had him exactly where she wanted him.

She glanced at the clock above the TV facing the bed. The tiny red light was flashing in the concealed camera Alejandro had set up.

Time for …

ACTION.

Very slowly, she began stripping off her clothes in the most sensuous way possible. She’d perfected the routine, and it always impressed.

First one shoulder strap, then the second.

Slowly … slowly …

Taking her time was the key. Never rushing it. Making it last.

“What’re you doing?” Rafael slurred, trying to sit up, but failing to make it.

“Showing you something I know you’re dying to see,” Willow murmured, using her best husky voice while revealing one breast, nipple erect. It was a magnificent breast with no enhancements. Proud and perky. Tempting and luscious.

Rafael let out an involuntary groan. The groan encouraged Willow. She hadn’t even touched him, yet she knew he was ready. She could
see
he was ready, his erection quite obvious.

Allowing her slip of a dress to fall to the ground, she approached the bed wearing what she’d had on earlier while getting ready—a barely there purple thong, her Tiffany diamond earrings, and her sky-high Louboutins. This was her sex outfit. It never failed.
She
never failed.

Rafael put up no objections when she crawled on top of him, straddled his waist, and began loosening his belt, her breasts dangling tantalizingly close to his mouth.

“How would you like to suck my nipples?” she whispered, working on removing his pants and shorts, startled to notice how big he was. He was way bigger than Alejandro, a fact that she knew would not please Alejandro.

“
S
í
, Elizabetta,” Rafael muttered.

Willow fumed. Who was Elizabetta? A man should not be thinking of another woman while he was with her. It was disrespectful.

She pushed her nipple into his mouth to shut him up.

He sucked on it like a baby, unlike most men, who were inclined to be fast and rough. No, Rafael sucked as if he meant it.

Unexpectedly, she felt herself warming up, especially when he started with a certain amount of tongue play.

Don’t start enjoying this,
she warned herself
. You’ve got a job to do. Now get on with it
.

Reaching down, she grabbed his erection, guiding it between her legs. Her thought was that she’d stay on top, ride him like a pony, then he’d climax really fast and she’d be on her way.

As it turned out this was not to be, for Rafael suddenly seemed to come alive. He flipped her over so that she was flat on her back and before she could object, he began thrusting inside her with long deep strokes, all the while muttering, “Elizabetta, Elizabetta” and a whole lot of other things in his mother tongue that she didn’t understand.

This was not the ride Willow had expected. This was a man who might be drunk and out of it, but he sure knew what he was doing. He wasn’t just fucking her, he was making love to her as if she actually was this Elizabetta woman, whom Willow figured must be the girlfriend Alejandro had told her about, the one back in Colombia who’d given birth to Rafael’s son.

Alejandro never made love to her like this. Alejandro was into blow jobs, anal, and threesomes, and if he
did
decide to fuck her, it was never more than a couple of quick jabs, and that was the sum of it.

Oh my God,
she thought.
I’m actually enjoying this. Rafael is taking his time and it feels amazing
.

It helped that he was extremely well-endowed and had a fit, strong body. Alejandro was inclined to flab around his middle and an unruly mass of body hair that he never thought of grooming.

Who’d have thought that out of the two of them, Rafael would turn out to be the better lover? Uptight Rafael was leading her all the way to an incredible climax—the kind she’d only ever experienced with the help of her trusty vibrator.

His hands reached up to fondle her breasts, while his cock kept up the deep thrusting she never wanted to end.

Willow let out a gasp of pure pleasure as she felt herself coming. At the same time, Rafael shuddered to a halt with another shout of “Elizabetta.” Then he rolled off her and fell into a restless half sleep, groaning to himself.

Willow jumped off the bed, grabbed her clothes, and made a fast exit. It wouldn’t do for Alejandro to realize that she’d actually enjoyed herself.

Oh no, that would not do at all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Max was psyched. An adventure.
Her
adventure. Not something she was sharing with Athena. No freaking way.

I, Max Santangelo Golden, am about to accomplish something on my own,
she thought.
And it’s about time
.

She hadn’t told anyone that she was off to Rome. It was her business, and she’d decided it might be wise to keep it that way. Just for a day or two, until she was sure it was all happening.

What if the Dolcezza people met her and changed their minds? What if she wasn’t the girl they had in mind?

Think positive,
she reminded herself.
You’re going to nail this. And if you don’t, something better will come along
.

Once again she considered that maybe she should’ve confided in Athena. Although maybe not. A warning voice in her head kept on urging her not to. Athena was her best friend, but Athena always expected to be number one, and she might not be thrilled that Max was about to score such a big opportunity.