Authors: Jackie Collins
The Santangelos (18 page)
After leaving Melissa’s office, she took an Uber cab to the airport, and had to dash to make her flight. It was all exciting stuff, even more so when she discovered she’d been booked into first class on the luxurious Airbus A380. The Dolcezza people obviously meant business.
A friendly steward offered her a glass of champagne, which she happily accepted.
I’m on my own,
she thought,
and I’m loving it! No powerful mom for everyone to kiss up to. No movie-star dad. No Athena—full of attitude and demands. I’m me, and I’m getting the star treatment
.
For a brief moment her mind wandered toward Billy Melina, and how he would feel if she became famous.
Would he even remember her?
Of course he would. They’d shared such a traumatic experience in Vegas—something he couldn’t possibly forget.
She’d spoken to him once since then. Only one time. And that was that. No more Billy.
But there was no forgetting the fact that he was the first man she’d gone all the way with; there was no moving on.
He lingered in her head. Billy Melina. Her first.
* * *
Bobby stared at the detective, and Detective Cole—he of the burly build, bulbous nose, bushy unkempt eyebrows, and grayish brush cut hair—stared right back at him. The detective was chewing on a piece of gum, masticating loudly.
The two of them sat facing each other in a stripped-down interrogation room, a scratched-up wooden table separating them.
“Well,” Detective Cole said, placing his large palms flat on the table. “If you got any chance of this goin’ easy for you, I suggest you’d better start making a full confession.”
Bobby said nothing. He was still in shock that this was actually happening to him. Up until now he’d led a charmed life, full of privilege. How the fuck had he gotten himself caught in this nightmare of a situation?
Detective Cole gave a guttural cough. “You do know that we got enough evidence to toss you in jail an’ throw away the key, which means if you’re smart you’re gonna start talkin’.”
“When do I get my phone call and a lawyer?” Bobby asked, attempting to focus, although his mind was all over the place.
“Ah, he speaks,” Detective Cole sighed, bulbous nose twitching.
“When?” Bobby repeated, determined to stay strong.
Detective Cole clenched his teeth. He hated it when they knew their rights.
“Soon,” he muttered.
Desperately trying to get his head around what was going on, Bobby realized that one thing was obvious: he’d been well and truly set up.
Only why? That was the big question.
From the moment the detective had arrested him, he’d kept his mouth shut. After one of the uniformed cops had slapped handcuffs on him, the three of them—two cops and the detective—had marched him through the terminal to a waiting squad car, whereupon they’d shoved him in the back of the car, one of them clamping a not too gentle hand on his head. There followed a short ride to the precinct.
That’s when he’d started to realize the full severity of his situation—sitting in the back of a squad car on his way to jail.
Jail! Fucking jail!
Accused of a murder there was no way he could’ve committed. And nobody knew this was happening to him. He was completely alone.
One thing he was sure of: he’d stay silent until he had a lawyer sitting beside him.
At the precinct, he’d been fingerprinted, photographed, and relieved of his watch, wallet, cell phone, belt, and shoelaces, then thrown into a holding cell. His companions were an unruly drunk with a loud burping problem, and a six-foot-four black man dressed in shocking-pink hot pants and a purple tank top.
Now here he was in the interrogation room, and he was damn sure that by this time he should’ve been allowed a phone call.
“Guess you’re not plannin’ on cooperatin’,” Detective Cole said, a scowl covering his sallow face. “Guess you think you can get away with murderin’ a pretty little thing ’cause you got plenty of money to hire yourself some big fancy lawyer.”
Bobby was dying to answer him and tell his story, because once they found out he’d been drugged, he knew he would be absolved of all blame.
Or would he?
Yes. There was no way he could be involved.
And yet … he’d been seen at the hotel with her … he’d gone up to her suite … he’d accepted a drink. Then nothing, until he’d woken up in his rental car blocks away.
Nadia. He didn’t even know
how
she’d been killed, and he wasn’t about to ask.
Had she been lying to him?
Of course she had.
And somebody must have put her up to telling him stories, luring him up to her suite, then drugging him. Yes, he’d been set up big-time.
Jesus Christ!
Nadia was dead. He’d never get any answers from her.
He thought about her so-called cousin, the swarthy-looking man. Better start remembering what the son of a bitch looked like. Better remember every single detail. His life was on the line; it was time to start thinking straight.
* * *
By the time Max arrived in Rome, she was more tired and apprehensive than excited. Suddenly the adventure she’d always yearned for was happening, and she had no one to share it with. Maybe she should’ve told Athena. They always had exciting times together. Then she reminded herself that this wasn’t about having fun, this was the opportunity she’d been hoping for, and she’d better take it seriously and put all her energy into making it happen. No more farting around with Athena; it was time to concentrate.
A driver stood at the gate holding up a sign with her name on it. Next to him stood a bespectacled young man with sharp features. He was very thin and extremely fashionable in a tight brown suit and pointy-toed crocodile shoes.
“Signorina Max,” the young man said, stepping forward and proffering a formal handshake. “I am Lorenzo, your assistant.”
Assistant! Was he kidding?
“I am to escort you to your hotel,” Lorenzo said in perfect English, with hardly any trace of an accent. “Once we are there, we will go over your itinerary for tomorrow. It is a busy day for you. I hope it will not be too much.”
Max was in shock. She had her own assistant! This was insane!
“Sounds good,” she gulped.
“It is very good,” Lorenzo said. “And may I say that you are even more lovely than your photos. Welcome to beautiful Roma.”
Oh yes,
she thought,
I am going to enjoy every minute of this
.
* * *
Detective Cole led Bobby down a bleak hallway, at the end of which was a pay phone attached to the wall.
“One call,” the detective warned him. “That’s it.”
Yes,
Bobby thought.
One call. Better make it a good one
.
He debated whether to call M.J. or the real estate lawyer in Chicago who’d sold them the property for Mood. Or maybe he should reach out to Denver, who had her own connections? Or Lucky?
No contest. Lucky would know what to do; she always did.
He picked up the phone feeling like a little kid running to his mommy for help.
Hey,
he thought ruefully.
That’s exactly what I’m doing
.
“Hurry it up,” Detective Cole snarled, watching him as if he were about to make a sudden run for it.
Bobby did not need to be asked twice. This had been the longest day of his life.
Watching Paige, Lucky soon reached the conclusion that in no way was the woman behaving like a bereaved widow. Paige seemed to be everywhere in her tight skirt and high heels, a pocket-Venus pain in the ass—it was almost as if she were
enjoying
the attention.
It occurred to Lucky that she’d put up with her stepmother for years only because of Gino. The truth was that she actually couldn’t stand her.
After speaking with the detectives, Paige sauntered back into Gino’s study and announced that several friends and acquaintances would be stopping by later to pay their respects.
Lucky was outraged. Paige couldn’t wait a day? This was ridiculous. Gino had been shot that very morning, and now his grieving widow was about to entertain. What a fucking
bitch
!
“You’re kidding me, right?” Lucky said, glaring at her. “Surely you don’t want people over tonight?”
“Ah, but I do,” Paige sighed. “Company will soothe my nerves.”
Her
fucking nerves? What about Gino lying dead in the morgue? Didn’t she
care
?
This situation was out of control, and Lucky’s anger was building.
“May I ask what you’re still doing in here, dear?” Paige said, planting herself in front of Gino’s desk.
No, you may not. Back off. And stop asking dumb questions.
“I’m trying to find any indication of who might’ve done this,” Lucky said, remaining calm. “We have nothing to go on, yet someone was obviously holding a grudge.”
“You think so?”
“No,” Lucky drawled sarcastically. “Someone shot Gino just for the fun of it.”
“Not to worry,” Paige said, a tad impatiently. “The detectives are in charge now, and I really don’t think you should be going through Gino’s desk.”
“You don’t, huh?” Lucky said, her black eyes glittering dangerously.
“No, dear,” Paige said, pursing her thin lips. “It’s simply not appropriate. The lawyers would not approve.”
Lawyers? What fucking lawyers?
Lucky thought, overcome with even more anger. Anger and grief mixed together was a lethal combination.
Paige didn’t see it. She stood there in her high heels and fresh makeup, probably already planning her next husband, already spending the money she would inherit. It was as if she hadn’t watched her husband get gunned down that very morning.
“You know what—screw you, Paige,” Lucky suddenly exploded. “Just who exactly do you think you are?”
“Excuse me?” Paige said with a haughty toss of her head.
“C’
mon
,” Lucky said, seething. “I
know
who you are. You’re nothing but Gino’s fourth wife, a companion he pulled out of a lesbian tryst to amuse himself with in his old age. And let me tell you this: he
never
loved you like he loved my mother, Maria. No woman
ever
measured up to her, so get over yourself.”
“How
dare
you,” Paige spluttered.
“How dare I what?” Lucky challenged. “Gino was my father, and if I want to go through his things I’ll do so without any interference from you. You know Gino’s motto—‘Never fuck with a Santangelo’—and
I
am a true Santangelo. So unless you want big problems, stay out of what I do.”
Paige took a step back, trying to decide whether to retaliate or not.
Or not seemed to be the correct answer.
She turned to leave the room.
“As soon as they release Gino’s body, I’m taking him to be buried in Vegas at the family mausoleum,” Lucky said, her black eyes still afire. “After the funeral service there’ll be a big party—a celebration of his life. You can attend or not, I’ll leave that to you. But I’m warning you—do
not
fuck with me, or you’ll live to regret it.”
Paige was silent. Lucky on a rant was not a woman to be confrontational with.
“Of course I’ll be there,” she muttered before fleeing the room.
* * *
Paige was not kidding when she’d said that people would be stopping by the house to pay their respects. Lucky found it interesting observing the parade and the way everyone spoke so highly of Gino. It seemed he was a very popular Palm Springs figure—loved and admired by men and women alike. And why not? Gino had always been one of a kind. A true macho man.
As she looked around, she wondered if any of them were the author of the note she’d found. One word. Printed.
VENGEANCE.
Why hadn’t Gino mentioned the note to her? Why hadn’t he stepped up his security?
Damn Gino. He’d always been such a stubborn man.
Oh yes, he was stubborn, all right, but how she’d loved him, and how she’d fought with him over the years. They’d had such a complicated relationship, and now he was gone, and she knew that she would miss him forever. Gino Santangelo, her beloved father, would always be a part of her.
Famous people soon began dropping by. Al King, the soul singer, and his stunning wife, Dallas. They lived in a mansion nearby and were devastated by the news.
Nick Angel, the edgy movie star who couldn’t wait to inform Lucky that Gino had helped him research his role in a recent gangster movie he’d been nominated for. “Gotta tell you—Gino was such a character,” Nick enthused. “He knew it all. I could’ve listened to him an’ his crazy stories for hours. I wanted to make a movie of his life. We were gonna talk about it, figure out some kinda option deal.”
Yes, Gino would’ve loved having a movie made about him, especially one starring Nick Angel. She could just imagine him telling Nick his story, embellishing every detail.
She nodded, her watchful eyes checking out the room, wondering how many of the gathered guests had borrowed money from her generous father—money they’d conveniently forgotten to pay back.
A well-preserved Gina Germaine, sex symbol supreme, undulated around the open-plan living room, all bountiful bosoms and fluffy blond hair.
“Can I confess how much I loved your daddy,” Gina confided, pulling Lucky over to a corner. Then with a knowing wink and a soft whispery voice, she added, “Believe me, he loved me back. And how!”
An affair? Probably. Why not? Her father wasn’t known as Gino the Ram for nothing.
After a while, Lucky decided that there was no point in staying the night. She had a sudden urge to fly back to L.A. and Lennie. There was nothing more for her to do here.
Besides, she had to be with Lennie. He was her lifeline, and right now she needed him desperately.
* * *
Lennie was asleep when she finally arrived at their house.
Without waking him, she threw off her clothes and slid into bed beside him.
He groaned, imagining that he was dreaming.
