Deadly Embrace (21 page)

At two-fifteen Tommaso emerged, setting off along the sidewalk with a
purposeful stride.

Crossing the road, Michael fell into step beside the heavyset man.
"Tommaso," he said. "Long time outta sight."

"Jesus Christ!" Tommaso said, startled. "I thought you got eight
years."

"Y' know how it is," Michael said. "Out in five for good
behavior."

"So," Tommaso said gruffly, "you're back."

"Looks like it." A beat. "I, uh, tried to see Mr. G., got told he
was busy."

" 'S right," Tommaso said, nodding his bullet head. "Mr. Giovanni
is a
real
big shot now. You gotta plan a meet six or seven
weeks ahead of time."

"I do, huh?"

"That's the way it is," Tommaso said, still walking.

Michael lit up another cigarette. "I got a coupla questions for
you."

"Yeah?"

"I had a lot of time t' think, bein' locked away for five years.
Y'know what it's like—a man's got nothin' much else to do."

"What questions?" Tommaso said abruptly.

"It's like this," Michael said, expelling a stream of smoke. "When
I met with Mr. G.'s lawyer, he informed me Mr. G. knew zilch about
the truck thing. Now ain't that somethin'?"

"There was a truck thing?" Tommaso said, staring straight ahead as
he continued to trudge down the street.

"The truck hijacking
you
sent me out on," Michael said.
"Remember?"

"Dunno what you're talkin' about," Tommaso replied, a totally
blank expression on his beefy face.

"You don't, huh?"

"Got no clue."

"You
prick
," Michael said in a low and steady voice as he
grabbed the big man by the collar. "You set me up to get me outta the
way. Why? 'Cause I was gettin' too close to Mr. G.? Is that how it
went down? Is that fuckin'
it
?"

Roaring with anger, Tommaso shoved him away. "Mr. Giovanni don't
have time for punks who go off on their own an' pull shit-ass jobs,"
he said, red in the face. "He don't like it when you try draggin'
his
name into it. So don't come near him again. An' sure as shit
don't bother me, 'cause if you do, you got my word you'll be
real
fuckin' sorry."

"I will, huh?"

"Wanna try it?"

"Fuck you," Michael said, and walked away, smart enough to know
that at this particular moment it was a no-win situation.

But revenge would be his. In jail he'd become a patient man. And a
much smarter one. One day Tommaso and Roy would pay the price. Oh
yes, they certainly would.

The teenage boy hovering outside the stage door was shaking with
nerves. "Excuse me, miss—can I have your autograph?"

"Certainly," Dani replied graciously. "What's your name?"

"M-mark," the boy stuttered, hardly able to believe his luck.

"Nice name," she said, accepting his rather battered autograph
book.
To Mark, with love, Dani Castle
, she wrote with a
stylish flourish, using her professional name, because "Dani Froog"
had hardly seemed suitable, and Sam hadn't minded that she'd chosen
not to use his surname. "Castle" had a nice ring to it; she'd gotten
it out of a travel magazine.

"Gee ... thanks," the boy stammered, blushing beet red.

"You're welcome," she said, flashing him a warm smile.

Dani was now one of the lead showgirls in the Krystle Room at the
Magiriano—an enormous luxury hotel where they treated their
talent like human beings and paid them well too. Working at the
Magiriano was a big step up from dancing in the chorus at the
Estradido. The show was a lavish extravaganza, and the costumes quite
amazing. Every day she realized how fortunate she was to have landed
such a dream job.

After giving birth to her son, whom she'd named Vincent, she'd
returned to work at the Estradido.

Shortly after that, she'd been plucked from the chorus by a talent
scout from the Magiriano, who'd immediately hired her. It had taken a
lot of work and endless rehearsals, but gradually she'd risen to be
one of the main showgirls— a coveted job.

Her life was her son and her work. And then there was Sam, her
husband, who went on drinking binges on a regular basis.

Not only did Sam drink, he'd also taken up gambling too, and with
her money.

She kept him on a strict allowance, refusing to let him get his
hands on her paycheck. After putting a down payment on a small house,
she was saving her money to make sure that Vincent received the
education
she'd
never had. And she was entitled to save,
because now
she
was the family breadwinner since Sam had given
up work altogether.

This suited her fine, because it meant he was there to look after
Vincent, who was now almost five, and the most gorgeous child in the
world. She couldn't take him out without people stopping her to
admire his long, silky eyelashes and dark, deep-set eyes. "He's going
to be a lady-killer when he grows up," was the general comment.

Not if she had anything to do with it.

He looked exactly like Michael, which in a way was good, because
he was so handsome. In another way it was bad, because he was a
constant reminder of her one-night stand.

As far as she was concerned, Michael was dead, and she hoped she'd
never have to set eyes on him again.

She was twenty-two now, not so naive, and quite well versed in the
ways of men.

When she looked back, she saw herself as an innocent lamb being
led to the slaughter. How Michael must have laughed at her naivete.
Pretty virgin Dani. I'll take her by the hand and lead her up to
my hotel room. She'll love every minute of it. Then I'll move on to
the next innocent flower
.

Damn him!

But she'd had the last laugh—she'd gotten married, given
birth to a healthy son, and had a rewarding job. What more could she
ask for?

A little love and romance. Because after their one jackrabbit
sexual encounter, Sam had never made love to her again. He'd tried a
few times but had been unable to maintain an erection.

It didn't bother her; in fact, she was relieved. Sex did not
interest her. She was perfectly content with the way things were.

The good news was that Sam truly believed Vincent was his.

The bad news was that when he was drunk, he was unreliable, and
she couldn't trust him with her boy.

The only person who knew that Vincent was not Sam's son was
Angela, and ever since Angela had left the Estradido chorus line,
they'd lost touch, although Dani had heard that her ex-roommate had
given up dancing and taken to hooking full time. Apparently she was
doing very well at it.

Dani had acquired a new best friend—Gemini, a pretty French
brunette who performed alongside her. Gemini was a divorced mother
with a son, Nando, who was a few months older than Vincent. The two
children often played together, and Dani and Gemini had plans for
them to attend the same nursery school.

Sam didn't like Gemini; he wasn't fond of anyone he considered a
threat. He wanted Dani and Vincent to himself and was fiercely
jealous of outsiders. His jealousy manifested itself in an occasional
petulant outburst, which Dani tried to ignore.

Basically, Sam was on a downward spiral. He'd never gotten over
Emily's disappearance, and there was nothing she could do to help him
forget. Emily was always there, hovering between them. Dani had
learned to accept that this was the way it was.

Vincent was her savior. To look into his handsome little face and
see the love there was everything she'd ever needed. "Love you,
Mommy," he said every night when she tucked him into bed and read him
a story before going off to do her show.

"Thank you, sweetheart," she said, kissing him. "Mommy loves you
too. In fact, Mommy loves you the whole wide world!"

Sometimes, when Sam was on one of his drinking jags, she hired a
baby-sitter to stay with her son.

Sam didn't approve. "Are you saying I'm not capable of looking
after the kid?" he yelled.

"If you want to go out, there
has
to be someone here," she
said. "You
cannot
leave Vincent alone."

He'd done it one night, and when she'd come home and found her
child alone, she'd been hysterical. She was determined that it would
never happen again. Sometimes she wondered how things might have
turned out if Emily hadn't vanished. Would Emily and Sam have
remained a happy couple? Would Sam have started drinking? And would
she
have gotten pregnant with Vincent? Because with Emily to
advise her, she probably would've been smarter and wiser.

It wasn't worth thinking about, because it didn't matter. She had
Vincent, and he was everything to her.

One day, while walking home from the market with Vincent, she
thought she saw Manny Spiven. It was a horrible moment. She clutched
on to Vincent, tightening her grip on his small hand.

"Wassamatter, Mommy?" he asked, big eyes gazing up at her.

"Nothing," she answered as Manny Spiven scurried past, barely
noticing her. Of course he wouldn't recognize her. It was years later
and she looked quite different. Onstage she was a gleaming goddess.
Offstage she tied her long, blond hair back, put on no makeup, wore
granny glasses and understated clothes.

Seeing Manny brought back all the memories. The night she'd
spotted him in the audience with Michael, and then the next day
Michael repeating the horrible lies Manny had made up about her. Then
Michael returning a few weeks later, and their one night of
unforgettable passion. Damn! She had to stop thinking about him.
You think about him because he's Vincent's father
, her inner
voice informed her.
And you named him after Michael. I did
not
.

Yes, you did. Surely you remember that when you were sitting
with Michael in the coffee shop at the Estradido, he told you that
his given name was Vincenzio Michael Castellino
? Yes, she
remembered, but it had nothing to do with her naming her son Vincent.
It simply happened to be a nice name, a popular name.

When she got home, Sam greeted her full of enthusiasm. "I've come
up with a scheme," he announced excitedly. "We're gonna make
millions."

This was his new thing, coming to her with schemes that he tried
to persuade her to invest in.

"What is it this time, Sam?" she asked, unloading the groceries in
the kitchen as Vincent played on the floor with his train set.

"Windmills," he said. "Everybody wants windmills. It's a new tax
dodge. And—" A triumphant pause. "Guess what?
I'm
gonna
build 'em."

"You're going to build windmills?" she said patiently.

"Yeah," Sam said, pacing up and down. "I met this guy an' he's
gonna show me how to do it."

"You're going to build windmills with your own hands— is
that what you're telling me?"

"No. I'll put together a team, an' I'll supervise."

"It sounds like a good idea," she said, thinking it was a stupid
idea.

"Pleased you like it," he said, beaming. " 'Cause all you gotta do
is hand over ten grand."

Oh yes, naturally it involves me and my money
.

"I don't have that kind of money, Sam," she said evenly.
And
even if I did, I certainly wouldn't be giving it to you to put into
windmills
.

"No, no, honey, you don't get it," he said, waving his arms in the
air. "Windmills are gonna be big. Like I told you—we'll make
millions."

She didn't say a word. They were headed for another fight and she
hated him for doing this in front of Vincent.

"So," he said belligerently, "you gonna come up with the money, or
not?"

"I told you," she repeated, wishing he'd stop this nonsense. "I
don't
have
ten thousand dollars."

"You must have," he said, beads of sweat glistening on his upper
lip. "You sock it away every week, an' you're getting paid top
dollar. You sure as hell don't spend it on me."

"I told you what I do with my money," she said quietly. "I put it
in the bank for Vincent's college education."

"Why you wanna send him to college anyway?" he demanded.
"
We
did okay without goin'."

"Maybe
you
did, only I would've given anything to have gone
to college."

He threw a malevolent glare her way. "So you're not gonna help
me?"

"It's not a question of helping you."

"I'm outta here," he said, scowling. "Get a baby-sitter for the
night." And he slammed his way out the door.

She couldn't win with Sam. It was quite obvious he didn't want
them to be happy. The only time she saw a smile on his face was when
he took Vincent to the park and played ball with him, and he didn't
do that too often.

"Daddy's cross," Vincent said, zooming his train around the wooden
track.

"No, he's not," she assured him, cheerful as always.

"Cross! Cross! Cross!" Vincent singsonged.

She didn't know what their future held. She refused to allow her
son to grow up in an atmosphere where there was no love or respect,
and as each day passed, she and Sam seemed to argue more and
more.

She had to make a decision. And the sooner she made that decision,
the better it would be for all of them.

"I can't breathe," Natalie said, gasping for air. "I think I'm
about to faint."

"Don't!" Madison said. She was equally scared, only desperately
trying not to show it. Her face was splattered with blood and there
was a tight knot of horror in her stomach from the senseless murder
she'd just witnessed. She kept on thinking of Jake, and wishing he
were there to protect them.

The gunman—in a fit of anger and frustration—suddenly
ripped off his ski mask and threw it on the ground. He was pale and
thin faced, with pointed features and a long nose. His hair was cut
close to his head, marine style, his skin was shiny with sweat, and
he had wild, staring, stoned eyes.