Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge (28 page)

“They could be connected,” Boogie said.

She frowned. “Connected? How?”

“When you hear what I have to say, you’ll understand.”

She felt a shudder of apprehension. “Go ahead.”

“I found out about Donna Landsman—the companies she’s involved with, the takeovers she attempted and didn’t succeed at. The ones she won. I also have information about her personal life.”

“Yes?”

“She’s married to George Landsman.”

Lucky took another gulp of hot black coffee. “Is he an active business partner?”

“Very active. He manages the money. He’s also a former accountant with a surprising history.”

She leaned across the table. “Like what?”

“Like he was Santino Bonnatti’s accountant.” A long, silent pause. “Lucky—Donna Landsman is Santino Bonnatti’s widow, Donatella.”

A chill pervaded her body. “Oh, my God!” she exclaimed.

And suddenly, everything became startlingly clear.

AFTER WALKING OUT ON HIS MOTHER, ALEX
drove directly to his beach house. This house was his private domain—pristine and modern. He never allowed anybody to visit. Women, he took to his apartment; business meetings were office affairs; and since he never entertained, the house was his—no intruders.

He’d made the mistake of bringing his mother here once. That was enough. “It’s cold,” she’d said, inspecting everything with a critical eye. “You need a woman’s touch.”

What did she know? She lived in an apartment that was so overdecorated it was ridiculous. The minimalist style he’d settled on suited him. He liked clean-cut lines and flowing rooms.

He employed a Japanese couple who lived on the property. They never disturbed him unless he requested their presence.

The house stood on a high bluff overlooking the ocean. It was spacious, with a huge terrace that swept around in a half circle incorporating two waterfalls, lush greenery, and a pond full of exotic fish. When he had time to meditate—which wasn’t often—this was where he came.

Alex considered his house to be the most peaceful place on earth. It was his private retreat, where he could not be touched by the outside world.

Although he’d had several martinis at lunch, he’d promised himself to never drink at the beach house. Today he made an exception, pouring himself a large vodka. Then he picked up a copy of his script, and strolled out to the terrace.

He hadn’t realized it before he got her private number, but Lucky also lived at the beach. This did not exactly make them neighbors, as he’d found out her house was in Malibu. His was farther along the coastline, at Point Dume. Still…it was nice to know that she probably enjoyed the ocean as much as he did.

He’d left several messages on her answering machine; so far, she’d failed to call back.

He pulled out a lounger, took off his shirt, and began going through his
Gangsters
script with a red pencil. He drove his production people crazy. Every day he made changes, and he’d continue to do so throughout the movie.

At around five o’clock, the doorbell rang. He let it ring three times before he got up, put on his shirt, and went to the door.

Standing there was Tin Lee.

“What the
hell
are you doing here?” he asked, frowning ferociously.

“Alex,” she said, standing her ground. “Your mother was worried about you. She insisted I come.”

“What
is
this shit?” he roared, furious at her intrusion. “That woman doesn’t run my life. She has no right to tell you where I live.
Fuck!
”

Tin Lee stood up for herself. “What do you mean, Alex—no right? We have been lovers. How can you be so cold toward me?”

Goddamn it! This was just what he didn’t need.

“Sorry,” he muttered, realizing it wasn’t her fault. “My mother drives me insane—you know that—you’ve seen what she’s like when she’s in action.”

Tin Lee stretched out her hand. “Alex, this is a tense time for you. Your movie is starting, everything is happening. Please…may I come in for a moment?”

He did not want his house invaded. Yet how could he send her away? She’d driven over an hour to get here. “Sure, come in,” he said reluctantly.

She stepped into the front hall, pretty and petite in her white sundress and strappy sandals. “This is wonderful!” she exclaimed, looking around. “Why do you not live here all the time?”

“It’s my weekend retreat,” he said. “I come here to think, to work.”

“I’m sorry if I’m intruding.”

“Hey, listen—it’s not you. I’m fucked up because Dominique drives me so goddamn crazy.”

Tin Lee was sympathetic. “Why do you let her drive you crazy, Alex?”

“Because she’s my mother. Don’t you understand, it’s like a conundrum. There’s no rhyme or reason for it.”

He walked out onto the terrace. Tin Lee followed him.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked, thinking about another vodka for himself.

“No, Alex,” she said boldly. “I would like you to make love to me.”

It was the last thing he felt like doing.

Before he could stop her she unzipped the back of her white sundress. It fell in a heap at her feet.

“No!” he said.

“Yes, Alex,” she said persuasively. “Why shut me out, when you
know
you want me?”

She moved toward him—a perfectly formed, exquisite
creature in white bikini panties and nothing else, her small breasts bouncing only slightly, the dark brown nipples startlingly erect.

He shouldn’t have drunk so much. He felt himself becoming aroused.

Her hand reached for the zipper on his pants, quickly pulling it down.

What was that famous expression? Ah yes
…A standing prick has no conscience
.

Hey—he was free, white, and over twenty-one—he could do what he liked. He didn’t have anyone to be faithful to.

Tin Lee sank to her knees, grappled with his belt, and pulled his trousers and underwear down around his ankles.

He placed his hands on the back of her glossy black hair, driving himself hard into her petite mouth.

She almost gagged, managed not to, pulled back, and said, “Please, Alex, can we go in the bedroom?”

“No,” he said, as hard as the proverbial rock. “I like it out here.”

She’d come to him, he hadn’t invited her. Now she could take the consequences.

The music was loud, throbbing and sensual, the set smoky and dark, with moody lighting creating just the right decadent atmosphere.

Venus was high on the adrenaline of performing, she loved what she did. The only problem was, this was their eighth take, and Rodriguez was blowing it every time. He simply wasn’t a professional.

“Honey,” she said, drawing him to one side, thinking she had only herself to blame for including him. “You’ve
got
to relax. All you have to do is stand at the bar while I slither down your body, rip off your shirt, and kiss you.
Now, we’ve done that enough times in real life, so what’s the big deal?”

He was embarrassed. Rodriguez liked to excel at everything, and this was not turning out well. “I’m sorry,” he said, eyes downcast, long lashes casting a faint shadow.

“Think of me, baby,” she purred seductively. “Forget about the camera and concentrate on
me
.”

“I will,” he assured her.

“Oh, and Rodriguez. Whatever you do
—don’t
stare into the camera lens. Okay?”

“Yes, my darling,” he said. “Next time will be perfection.”

“It better be, ’cause you’re wearing me out,” she muttered under her breath as she went over and conferred with Dorian.

“We can’t replace him now,” Dorian said. “We have to finish shooting this setup today.”

“I know.”

“When
are
you girls going to learn?” Dorian sighed, pursing his lips. “There’s only one place for a hard cock—and that’s at home.”

Venus couldn’t help giggling. “Maybe I should take him to my trailer and fuck him,” she mused. “That’ll relax him!”

Dorian raised a startled brow. “Ooh, you’ve got a mouth on you, girl!”

“And I suppose
you
don’t,” she retorted sharply.

Finally, after another two hours, Rodriguez got it. Everyone sighed with relief.

As soon as they were finished, Venus rushed to the phone and spoke to Freddie. “I was supposed to hear from you today,” she said accusingly.

“I’m waiting to get a call from Alex,” he said. “With the changes at Panther, everything’s chaos.”

“I know, Freddie, but
Gangsters
starts shooting any minute. I have a schedule to work out.”

“As soon as I reach Alex, I’ll contact you.”

She wasn’t satisfied with his reply. “Is it Mickey Stolli?” she demanded. “Is
he
against using me?”

“I haven’t discussed it with Mickey.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him. “Okay, okay—call me when you hear.”

One of the background dancers passed by. “Just wanna say it was a pleasure working with you, Venus,” the guy said with exactly the right amount of reverence in his voice.

“Thanks,” she replied, checking him out. He was almost as good-looking as Rodriguez.

What was this thing she had about handsome men?
All package and no calories—
that’s what Ron said. She stifled a giggle, observed Rodriguez chatting up the makeup girl, and beat a hasty retreat.

Her car and driver were waiting outside the studio. “Home!” she exclaimed, collapsing on the backseat. She wasn’t in the mood for sex or conversation. Every muscle in her body ached—all she wanted to do was soak in a hot tub.

As they entered her driveway, the same guard who’d stopped them before waved the limo to a halt.

Venus wound down her window. “What now?” she asked impatiently.

“Your husband, Cooper Turner, is here.”

“Where?”

“I thought it was all right, since he’s your husband, to let him in the house.”

Her green eyes narrowed with fury. Was this guy the moron of the century or what? “You’re fired,” she said.

“You havin’ a good time?” Isaac asked.

“I’m having a
great
time,” Brigette said, and giggled.

And, yes, she was having a good time. Sitting in a
crowded restaurant with Isaac, eating soul food, surrounded by his friends. She’d downed a couple of vodkas and shared a joint with one of the girls in the ladies’ room.

She’d started off the evening uptight, but the drinks had relaxed her, and the joint had made her feel a lot more at ease with this new group of friends.

“Hey, you gotta get down,” Isaac said. “You got this uptight thing goin’.”

“That’s ’cause I usually mix with uptight people.”

“Yeah, well, now you gotta hang loose, y’know what I’m sayin’?” He handed her a sparerib. “Chew down on it, girl, get your hands good an’ greasy. Y’know how to do that, doncha?”

“I know how to do that,” she replied, picking up a sparerib, suggestively sucking off the meat.

“That’s more like it,” Isaac said, laughing.

An hour later they piled out of the restaurant and made their way to a private club. Brigette had been to several of the more upscale Manhattan discotheques, but the one Isaac took her to was down in the Village, dark, smoky, and very funky.

He had not gotten her a gun. “I’m workin’ on it,” he’d assured her.

By this time she didn’t care.

The group they were with consisted of Isaac, two anorexic black models, one spaced-out white guy, one overexcited Puerto Rican, and a gay Chinese dancer in drag. Nona wouldn’t approve. Nona liked to run with the more successful crowd. This group was on the edge—exactly where Brigette had decided she belonged.

They stayed at the first discotheque until three in the morning, then they moved on to another place in Manhattan, which didn’t start until dawn. On the way they stopped at a coffee shop, devouring pastrami sandwiches and cheesecake all around. “We need our strength,” Isaac
joked. “You’re gonna be dancin’ all night, girl—an’ then some!”

He was very cute and friendly. When he kissed her on the dance floor, it seemed totally natural. She responded with plenty of heat.

“Wanna come back to my place?” he whispered in her ear.

She didn’t know what time it was. She didn’t care. “Yes,” she said.

They took a cab back to his one room in the Village. As soon as he closed the door, he began kissing her. Starting with her mouth, quickly moving down to her neck. His hands were all over her, and she could feel his urgent desire.

She responded eagerly.

She wanted to be with a man.

She wanted to be with Isaac.

It was the only way to block out all memories of Michel and the humiliating things he’d forced her to do.

Isaac began peeling her dress off. She didn’t mind at all. In fact, she was into it.

They fell on the bed, and he was on top of her, his hands on her breasts, luring her to the point of no return.

Just as he was about to enter her, she had a hazy thought. “Do you have…protection?” she gasped.

“Sure, baby,” he responded, not stopping what he was doing for one moment. “Around here there’s a dude with a gun on every street corner.”

He laughed. She giggled.

Who cared anyway?

She gave herself up to the night.

GINO WAS RELEASED FROM THE HOSPITAL A WEEK
after being shot. His doctor remarked that he had the constitution of an ox.
Yeah
, Lucky thought,
he should only know. It would take a lot more than a couple of lousy bullets to finish Gino Santangelo
.

Lucky hadn’t wanted to tell Gino what was going on while he was in the hospital, but as soon as they got him home and settled in his own bed, she laid out the facts.

“Santino Bonnatti left a widow,” she said, restlessly pacing up and down next to his bed. “Donatella.”

“So?” Gino said.

“So,” Lucky continued, “Donatella resurrected herself. After Santino died, she married his accountant, got herself an education and a makeover, and today she’s a successful businesswoman going by the name of Donna Landsman.”

“What’re you tellin’ me?” Gino said, struggling to sit up.

“It’s Donna who’s carrying on the vendetta against the Santangelo family.”

“A goddamn
woman
?” he bellowed, his face grim.

“Yes, Gino, a woman.”

“Are you sayin’ the bitch put a hit on me?” he said heatedly.

“I’m certain she did,” Lucky replied. “It was her who plotted to take over my studio. And somehow she arranged to have Lennie killed.” A beat. “That car crash was no accident.”

“What’re we gonna do about it?” Gino said furiously. “What the fuck we gonna do?”

Lucky’s eyes were black and deadly. “There’s no
we
, Gino. You’re eighty-one years old. You’ve just been through a very traumatic experience. You can’t be involved.”

Gino clenched his jaw. “Says who?” he demanded.

“Says me, Gino.”

Their eyes locked. Once he would’ve tried to control his willful daughter. Now he had no chance.

“I’ve sent Maria, the baby, and Cee Cee to stay with Bobby and his relatives in Greece,” Lucky continued matter-of-factly. “This time I’m dealing with things
my
way.”

“What’s your way?” he asked warily, knowing full well what a wild one his daughter was.

She laughed mirthlessly. “Remember the family motto—‘Don’t fuck with a Santangelo.’”

He shook his head. “Whaddya think you’re gonna do, Lucky? Blow this fuckin’ bitch away?”

“No…not yet, anyway. Right now I’m working on regaining control of enough shares so I can throw her out the same way she did me.”

“Listen t’me, Lucky,” he said warningly. “Things are not like they used to be. This ain’t the old days when violence ruled.”

“I know,” she said, thinking to herself that he was finally growing old.

“Paige tells me there’s some detective poking his dick into our business, tryin’ to find out things. In your position, you gotta be careful.”

“Detective Rollins,” she said dismissively. “Don’t
worry about him, he’s an asshole. He’s under the impression this was a mob hit.”

“In a way it was, huh?” Gino shook his head disbelievingly. “How
about
that?”

“The main thing is that you’re protected. I’ve arranged for round-the-clock guards. Now that you’re safely home, I’m leaving for L.A. this afternoon. You still have your gun, don’t you?”

“Does the Pope keep a Bible?”

She smiled in spite of everything. “You take it easy, Gino. Remember, you’re not as young as you used to be, even though you
think
you are.”

He laughed ruefully. “In my mind I kinda stopped at thirty-five. Hey—kid—I was pretty hot at thirty-five.”

“You’re pretty hot now,” she said, going over to the bed and kissing him.

“Listen,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “One phone call an’ this bitch is taken care of. Not one fuckin’ problem.”

“No, Gino. That’s not the way I want to handle it.”

“It’s the clean way.”

“It’s not my way.”

“Okay, okay.”

She stood back from the bed and repeated a phrase from her childhood. “So I’ll see ya, Gino.”

He grinned, remembering. Then his black eyes met her black eyes, a match in every way, and he said, “So I’ll see ya, kid. Don’t do nothin’
I
wouldn’t do.”

She grinned back at him. “That’s what I like—plenty of leeway.”

Boogie was waiting downstairs. He already had her luggage loaded in the trunk of the car and was ready to go. Lucky slid into the passenger seat. “You drive,” she said, impatient to get back to L.A.

Boogie had put together an excellent team of security. Two armed men were on alternate duty at the Palm
Springs estate; Enrico had accompanied the children and Cee Cee to Greece; and Dean was staking out her beach house.

On the ride back, she tried to sleep—a useless exercise, for she had too many thoughts buzzing around in her head.

Donna Landsman née Donatella Bonnatti. The woman had waited four years to exact revenge for her low-life, child-molesting husband’s death, and she’d done it in a clever and devious fashion. As far as Lucky was concerned, Donna was a far more dangerous adversary than the male Bonnattis had ever been.

However, clever as she was, she had no idea how swift and deadly Santangelo justice could be.

Lucky relived the scene in her office. She should have known, she should have seen it in Donna’s eyes. Why hadn’t she noticed the hate there? Why hadn’t she realized before?

She killed Lennie. My Lennie. My love
.

Donna Landsman doesn’t deserve to live
.

Lucky knew she was going to have to take care of her personally. Whatever Gino said, there was no other way.

First she’d get her studio back.
Then
she’d exact the appropriate revenge for the shooting of Gino, and Lennie’s death.

Boogie drove fast, respecting her silence. She reflected that in times of trouble, Boogie always came through, he’d proven himself so many times in the past. He was also the best investigator in the business; within forty-eight hours he’d discovered everything there was to know about Donna Landsman. He’d accessed her tax returns, bank statements, credit lines. He knew who her doctors were, her dress size, where she lived, what cars she drove. He even came up with a full record of all the plastic surgery she’d undergone. “You know me,” he’d said with a modest shrug. “Once I start digging, it’s all over.”

He’d also found out that Morton Sharkey kept a very young girlfriend. Her name was Sara Durbon, and she lived in an apartment Morton paid for.

The lawyer in Pasadena who looked after Mrs. Smorg’s shares had refused to give up the address of his client. “Don’t sweat it,” Boogie assured Lucky. “I’ve got someone on it. We’ll be into his files any moment.”

As far as Conquest Investments were concerned, Boogie’s contacts were still digging through reams of red tape, trying to find out exactly who controlled the company.

They arrived at the Malibu house just past noon. Boogie followed her into the front hallway. “What’s our first move?”

“When I have all the information in front of me, that’s when I’ll strike,” Lucky said. “Today I have to take care of some personal business. Tomorrow I’ll visit Sara Durbon—see what she has to tell us about her very married boyfriend.” She paused for a moment, reaching for a cigarette. “Y’know, Boog, Morton Sharkey is the key to my getting back the studio.”

“There’s somebody I’d like you to see later,” Boogie said. “I can have him here at six.”

“Who?” she asked curiously.

“A person you’ll be interested in talking to.”

She’d learned never to question Boogie.

It was a relief being home, even though her mailbox was full, and the answering machine jammed with messages, including several from Alex Woods.

She summoned Kyoko, who hurried over, anxious to return to work. He’d quit Panther the same day Lucky left. The good thing was, he knew everything that was going on there due to the fact that a close friend of his still worked at the studio. According to all reports, Mickey Stolli was running riot like a crazed despot, firing people and replacing them with his own team as swiftly as possible.

“Is he changing the schedule?” she asked.

“Not on anything in actual production,” Kyoko replied.

“How about
Gangsters
?”

“It’s still a go.”

“And the Landsman woman, is she around?”

“Lunches every day in the commissary at your table.”

Lucky burned with fury, imagining Donna sitting there, gloating, thinking she’d won, thinking she’d outsmarted Lucky Santangelo.

Not for long…

Oh, no, not for long…

And retribution will bring with it a taste of hell.

Never fuck with a Santangelo
.