The Santangelos

by Jackie Collins

  “Huh?”

  “I knew him back in the day,” Beverly continued. “He was a great man.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bobby said, alarm sweeping over him. “Has something happened to Gino?”

  For a few moments, Beverly almost lost her composure as it occurred to her that Bobby was unaware of the tragedy that had taken place. “He was … uh … shot,” she said at last. “I thought you knew.”

  “Gino was shot?” Bobby said feverishly. “How the hell would I know? I’ve been locked up here all night.”

  “I was under the impression that you’d spoken to Lucky. Surely she must have told you?”

  “No,” he said, the knot in his stomach becoming unbearable. “I haven’t spoken to anyone. They only allowed me one phone call. All I got was Lucky’s voice mail, so I left a message.”

  “I see,” Beverly said.

  “Tell me about Gino,” Bobby said urgently. “Is he doing okay? Where was he shot? How serious is it?”

  “He’s gone, Bobby,” Beverly said quietly, lowering her voice. “I’m so very, very sorry.”

  Realization dawned. Was this woman telling him that Gino was dead?

  It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. Gino was a survivor—an unstoppable force of nature.

  “How did it happen?” he asked, choking back his emotions. “Who did it?”

  “Lucky thinks it was a hit. An assailant shot him execution-style while he was out walking with his wife. It was no accident.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Bobby exclaimed as a black rage overcame him. Here he was stuck in jail for a murder he hadn’t committed. Now Gino was dead? Assassinated. Was this a conspiracy against the Santangelos? It sure as hell seemed like it was. And he was trapped in jail, unable to do anything.

  “You’ve got to get me out of here,” he said forcefully. “My family needs me.”

  “I’m on it,” Beverly said, nodding. “I’ve already set up a meeting with the DA, and after the story you’ve told me, I’m almost sure I can get the charges dropped, or at least get you out on bail.”

  “When?” he demanded, grief and frustration mixed with a hard cold anger.

  “Soon.”

  “Soon’s not soon enough,” he said, the words sticking in his throat as he imagined what Lucky must be going through.

  “Unfortunately, there are hoops to jump through,” Beverly explained. “The positive news is that I’m tight with the ringmaster, so let’s see if I can speed up the process. Going to the emergency room and getting tested for drugs was the best thing you could’ve done. I’ll be back this afternoon. Hang in there, Bobby. You know that’s what Lucky would want.”

  Beverly was right: Lucky would expect him to stay strong.

  He thought about Denver. Did she know about any of this? And Max, his kid sister, where was she? Still in Europe? Or had Lucky summoned her home? And how about his two younger brothers. Where were they?

  Jesus Christ! So much to deal with, and here he was languishing in jail, unable to do anything.

  For the first time in his life, he felt powerless. All the money in the world and yet he couldn’t buy himself out of this one.

  He had to believe in Beverly Villiers. He had to get the fuck out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Sam was standing on her doorstep, surprising Willow, because even though she’d given him her cell number, she hadn’t given him her address, so how had he found her?

  Not that she minded. Sam turning up at her house was an excellent omen. It meant that he was indeed interested in her proposal that he write and direct his own movie. Well, not really his movie—more like her movie. Although what was his movie about anyway? When they’d worked together, she’d had a vague recollection of him telling her it was the story of a young man’s journey toward career and love. Hmm … maybe he could change it to a young woman’s story and she would star alongside Billy Melina.

  She’d already placed a call to Eddie Falcon. He’d agreed to meet with her later. This was a good sign, since Eddie was one of the hottest agents in town. During the time he’d represented her, they’d shared many an intimate moment. That is, until he’d informed her he could no longer be her agent due to her latest brush with the law—a stupid incident when, high on drugs and tequila, she’d run over a paparazzo with her car, smashed the asshole’s camera, and spat at the cops when they’d arrived on the scene. It had not been her finest moment.

  Anyway, that was back during her days of really bad behavior. Now she was clean and sober. Well, kind of sober—not exactly, because life without booze would be boring beyond.

  “What’s up?” she asked Sam. “Are you here to tell me that you’ve made a decision?”

  “Not exactly,” he said. “Thought you might do me a favor.”

  A favor. Oh yes, she’d do him a favor all right, if it meant him getting on board with her project.

  “Okay,” she said, spotting a lone paparazzo taking shots from a distance. “You’d better move your ass inside before we’re all over the tabloids.”

  Sam quickly made his way into her small, cluttered house. The last thing he needed was to be pictured in the tabloids alongside Willow Price.

  Her house was a mess. There were empty wine bottles, trashy magazines, piles of shoes, and random clothes thrown everywhere. There were dirty dishes on the coffee table, and an orchid plant by the window that had seen better days. Worst of all, there was a dead fish floating in a glass bowl full of murky water.

  It didn’t take a genius to realize that Willow Price was no housekeeper, she was a slob. Immediately Sam had second thoughts about asking her to look after Lady Gaga. Would Gaga end up like her fish? Dead on arrival?

  “Can I get you a drink?” Willow offered.

  “It’s kind of early.”

  “Stop being such a tight-ass,” she said, giggling before adding a flippant, “Just f-ing with you. What’s the favor?”

  “Have you ever had a dog?” Sam inquired.

  “Oh yeah,” Willow answered enthusiastically. “There was this one dude who—”

  “I mean an animal,” he interrupted.

  “Trust me,” she said, rolling her eyes. “This guy was a total animal. He—”

  “A puppy,” Sam said, interrupting her again. “A real live puppy.”

  “What?” Willow said blankly.

  “I’m asking if you can look after a puppy for me. I have a meeting in San Francisco. I’ll be gone until late tonight. I’ll pick her up tomorrow morning.”

  Willow was no slouch in the one favor deserves another department. She thought for a moment, then said, “If you drop off your script so I can take a read, it’s a done deal. Oh yes, and the puppy better be cute.”

  Sam hesitated. He had no desire to get into business with the likes of Willow Price, even though she had made him a very tempting offer. His script. He could direct. A million bucks. No agent or studio involved. What could be wrong with that? A small interesting detour from his career path. A vanity project in which he would have full control. The money did not tempt him. The full control did.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll get you my script.”

  “Today, before you go.”

  “Okay.”

  “Where’s the puppy?” she asked.

  “In my car.”

  “Bring it in, then,” Willow said, concealing a satisfied smile.

  With Sam’s script in hand, they were about to be in business. Alejandro should be kissing her ass.

  * * *

  Alejandro was not kissing anyone’s ass. He was involved in a verbal skirmish with Rafael, who’d come storming into his living room at noon demanding to know why he’d woken up naked in Alejandro’s guest bedroom.

  “You were drunk, my man,” Alejandro informed him. “You were out of your head. I couldn’t allow you to drive, so I brought you here. You should be thanking me instead of screaming.”

  “Who removed my clothes?” Rafael demanded.

  “Ho
w the fuck would I know,” Alejandro responded, relishing the fact that he’d finally got something over on Rafael.

  “Surely you’re not saying that I did it myself?”

  “Let’s hope not,” Alejandro said with a knowing sneer. “Let’s hope that for once you got laid instead of saving yourself for that puta back in Colombia.”

  “Do not call Elizabetta names,” Rafael spat. “She is a fine woman. The mother of my son. And one day she will be my wife.”

  “I doubt it,” Alejandro sneered.

  “Why do you say that? Are you jealous of what we have because you surround yourself with women who use you for what they can get out of you? Money, drugs, mindless sex—you are incapable of having a real relationship. I feel pity for you, Alejandro. You will never know true love.”

  “Ah,” Alejandro sighed, raising his eyebrows. “True love. How romantic. You have that with Elizabetta, do you?”

  “You know I do,” Rafael said.

  A snarky smile crossed Alejandro’s face. “I will show you true love,” he offered. “I will show you a man so enamored of his woman that he would never touch another.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Be patient,” Alejandro said, reaching for the remote control to switch on the large flat-screen TV that covered one wall of the room.

  “I am not interested in watching one of your porno movies,” Rafael said, shaking his head in disgust. “You should be thinking of getting yourself out of here before that DA nails your dumb ass.”

  “My dumb ass? I will show you whose ass is dumb,” Alejandro said, his eyes glittering venom as he activated the TV screen, whereupon an image emerged of Rafael lying on a bed, with Willow straddling him.

  Rafael let out a snort of disbelief. “What is this?” he demanded, an angry flush rising from his neck.

  “What does it look like?” Alejandro responded with an obsequious smile. “To me it looks like you could be enjoying yourself for once.”

  “I … I don’t understand,” Rafael stammered as the film continued. “It is not possible.…”

  “Ah, but it is very possible,” Alejandro said, enjoying every second of Rafael’s discomfort. “Look at you, loving the sex, loving the pussy. You can’t get enough. We are not so different after all. Perhaps we are brothers.…”

  Rafael glared at him. Alejandro got off on pulling this shit—hinting that they might be brothers, then denying it, although he had to know it was true.

  On the screen, Rafael watched himself flip the girl over and begin to make love to her. He was sickened by what he saw and heard. The sex sounds, the groans, flesh against flesh, then his anguished shout—“Elizabetta! Elizabetta!”

  “Turn it off,” he said harshly.

  “Surely you want to see everything?” Alejandro taunted.

  Snatching the remote from Alejandro’s hand, Rafael hurled it across the room. The TV screen went blank.

  “Too bad,” Alejandro said. “The climax is the best part.”

  “What do you want?” Rafael said flatly.

  “Why would you think I want anything?”

  “Cut the shit and tell me what it is.”

  “Something simple,” Alejandro said, a malevolent gleam in his eyes. “I want you to convince my father to give me twenty million dollars. I am about to become a very famous Hollywood filmmaker, and you are going to help me do it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Receiving the news about Bobby hit Lucky hard. She could barely take it in, it was so shocking. Not that she believed for one moment that her son was guilty of such a crime. Still … Bobby had been arrested. He was locked up in jail, which explained why he hadn’t returned her calls.

  She was desperate to speak to him, yet she knew that flying to Chicago was premature until she discovered exactly what was going on.

  After listening to Bobby’s urgent message, she’d immediately contacted an old acquaintance, Beverly Villiers. Way back, Beverly—who was now a prominent defense attorney in Chicago—had dated her half brother, Steven. Lucky always kept tabs on people—where they were and what they were doing. It often paid off, and Beverly’s reputation was stellar.

  “Don’t worry about a thing,” Beverly had assured her over the phone. “I’ll get right on it.”

  Lucky trusted Beverly to find out exactly what was going on, then she would decide what her next move should be.

  Palm Springs beckoned, although it occurred to her that there was nothing to do there except sit around the house with Paige, and the thought of spending time with her stepmother disgusted her. Paige had turned out to be an unfeeling bitch, and Lucky hated the way she was behaving.

  She called Detective Allan.

  Big surprise, he had no news.

  “As soon as you release Gino’s body, let me know,” she instructed the detective. “I’ll be flying him to Vegas for the funeral.”

  “You do know there’ll have to be an autopsy,” Detective Allan warned her.

  “I understand,” she said, trying not to think about her father’s lifeless body lying on a cold slab in the morgue waiting to be carved up. It was simply too much to contemplate. “How soon can that happen?”

  “We’re making it a priority,” Detective Allan assured her.

  “Keep me informed,” she said, all business. “And if you come up with any new leads,” her voice faltered for a moment. “Anything at all—”

  Detective Allan promised he would be in daily contact.

  His words were hardly encouraging. It was time to get serious about finding out who had executed Gino. There was a murderous son of a bitch out there, and Lucky had every intention of tracking him down.

  She needed help, so she contacted Chris Warwick, a private investigator who’d done work for her in the past at the Keys.

  Chris was the real deal. Before setting up his own one-man practice as a PI, he’d completed two tours of duty in Afghanistan, and also worked as private security for a construction company in the Middle East. He was tough and smart, plus he excelled at his job. Over the years, he’d never failed her—whether it be tracking someone’s cheating husband or persuading a gambler on a losing streak to pay up, he always got the job done.

  Within the hour, he arrived at the Malibu house.

  Chris looked nothing like people expected a PI to look like. He was tall and well built, with honest brown eyes and sandy hair. In his early forties, he had an unthreatening, easygoing stance that worked well for his job. Upon meeting Chris, everybody trusted him—which sometimes led to their downfall, because behind the cheery façade lurked a wily mind and a body of steel well versed in martial arts.

  Sitting down with Chris, Lucky told him everything she knew about Gino’s murder. “The cops have come up with nothing,” she said. “And I have a strong suspicion that’s the way it’ll stay.”

  She showed him the note card with the one printed word: VENGEANCE.

  “I’ll look into it,” Chris said. “In the meantime, I should take a trip to Palm Springs, find out if there’s anything the cops missed.”

  Lucky agreed.

  Shortly after Chris left, Gino Junior and Leo arrived at the house. Lucky grabbed the boys in a bear hug, happy to see them. She’d always treated both boys the same, even though Leo was the result of a one-night mistake Lennie had had with an Italian girl, now deceased. Leo was a Lennie look-alike, and Lucky had accepted him into the family when he was very young. Gino Junior, the son she’d had with Lennie, was now a teenager, and resembled a much taller version of his grandfather.

  The boys were upset by the news; they clamored for answers that neither she nor Lennie were able to supply. She told them nothing about Bobby—what was the point in drowning them with more bad news? After a while, they drifted off to their rooms, texting friends and playing video games. Later, Lennie took them out for lunch, while Lucky sat down with Danny and began planning Gino’s funeral service. She’d already decided that it had to be a huge and memorable event. A
day so special that everyone would remember Gino with nothing but love in their hearts.

  First she had to work on the guest list. Apart from immediate family, there were so many people who would expect to be invited. Gino had made plenty of friends in high places over the years. Famous, rich, political—Gino had known them all.

  Second, she had to decide who she would ask to speak. Steven, of course, and Bobby. Lennie would want to contribute, director Alex Woods, and perhaps talk-show host Jack Python, legendary movie star Charlie Dollar, maybe even Nick Angel, and certainly Venus and Gina Germaine, for Gino would relish plenty of sexy famous women saying wonderful things about him. Important and powerful men too. Why not? This was going to be a party to remember.

  The Magiriano Hotel—built by Gino and Lucky way back with love and affection—was where it would all take place. It was the perfect venue. Lucky still owned the hotel, and a management company ran it for her.

  At the back of the hotel were beautiful gardens filled with lush greenery and a profusion of flowers. An elaborate fountain stood at the center. Behind the fountain was the Santangelo family mausoleum, where Maria, Dario, and one of the true loves of her life, Marco, had been laid to rest.

  Lucky knew for sure that this was where Gino would want to be—next to his beloved wife, his casket forever locked into the cool marble walls of the mausoleum.

  To Lucky, the Magiriano would always be a special place. She would never sell it, even though she’d had many offers.

  * * *

  Danny was busy. He’d hired security guards to be at the house—per Lennie’s instructions—and also three assistants to help out. The phone was ringing nonstop. Lucky had instructed him to take messages unless it was close family, so when Denver, Bobby’s girlfriend, called, he wasn’t sure how to handle it. He put Denver on hold and consulted with Lucky, who agreed to take the call.

  Lucky appreciated the fact that Bobby had hooked up with a strong woman, not some sexy wannabe model or actress. Not that Denver wasn’t sexy—in her own way she was extremely attractive, with a great body. But there was more to her than simply good looks. Denver was supersmart, and Lucky identified with smart women.