The Santangelos

by Jackie Collins

  “We all want that information.”

  “Yeah, but knowing you, I bet you have more info than you’re telling.”

  “You think so?” she said, her expression impenetrable.

  “Listen to me,” Bobby said tensely. “There’s no way you can keep me in the dark about this, ’cause believe me, I’m after revenge just like you.”

  Lucky was silent for a moment before saying a slow, guarded, “What makes you think I want revenge?”

  “Jeez, Mom,” he exploded. “You’re freakin’ Lucky Santangelo. You take no prisoners. You’re one kick-ass scary woman.”

  “Thanks for the compliment,” she said drily.

  “You get exactly what I mean. And whatever happens—I want in.”

  “Do you, now?” she said, thinking that Bobby was indeed a true Santangelo.

  “Yes, I do,” he persisted. “So fill me in. What have you found out?”

  “Right now, nothing. I’m waiting to hear from Chris Warwick.”

  “Where’s he?”

  “Chris is currently in Chicago, working on who set you up.”

  “Are you saying that you think me being drugged and Gino getting shot are connected?”

  “We don’t know,” Lucky said, wishing Bobby would back off. “Gino’s shooter was captured on a home security camera. Chris has someone working on face recognition.”

  “And then?” Bobby demanded.

  “I deal with it.”

  “No,” Bobby said, his dark eyes locking with hers. “We deal with it.”

  “There’s no way you can be involved,” Lucky insisted. “You’re in enough trouble.”

  “Screw that, Mom,” Bobby said, his anger bubbling up. “Don’t you get it? I am involved. Gino was my grandfather. I’m just as vested as you in catching whoever murdered him.”

  “And what exactly do you think I’m going to do, Bobby?” she said, studying the face of her handsome son, realizing that it was not going to be easy shutting him out. “Do you imagine I’ll catch the son of a bitch, then hand him over to the cops? Because that’s not the way I handle things, and once again—I do not want you involved.”

  There was something in her voice that brooked no argument. However, Bobby was determined. He knew about his mom’s checkered past, that she’d done many things to avenge and protect her family. She was resourceful and fierce.

  He could be the same if need be. He wanted to be the same. She should understand how he felt. He was a Santangelo too.

  “Come,” Lucky said, eager to change subjects. “Steven’s here. He can’t wait to see you.”

  * * *

  Arriving in Chicago, Chris Warwick went straight to work. First on his agenda was a visit to Mood, where M.J. met him and gave him access to all the club surveillance tapes.

  “Did the detective on the case see these?” Chris asked as he checked the tapes out.

  “Yeah,” M.J. replied. “It’s how they identified the girl. Turns out she was a high-class hooker hired for the night by a dude who contacted her via the Internet.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “It’s all over the papers. She lived with another girl. The two of ’em operated via a Web site.”

  “Does the detective know this?”

  “Hey, if I know it, he sure as shit does. The other girl has already made a deal to sell her story.”

  “No time for grieving,” Chris said, shaking his head in disgust. “People just make money where they can. Whatever happened to morals?”

  “I’ll tell you this,” M.J. said, remembering the exact moment he’d set eyes on the girl in the red dress. “Nadia was one hot, gorgeous woman. I was kinda thinkin’ of makin’ a move myself. Man, I’m sure glad I didn’t. It coulda been me accused of murder.”

  “When she came into the club, did you get the impression that she’d targeted Bobby?” Chris asked.

  “Hey, man, I was kinda tied up with a deal of my own, so like I said—it coulda been me.”

  Chris wasn’t interested in stroking M.J.’s ego; he was after facts. “Did you speak to her at all?”

  “I was the one who took ’em to their table, bought ’em a bottle of Cristal. Found out the guy was her cousin—or so he said.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “Not much to tell. Latin. Short. Beard. Hard eyes. Bad temper.”

  “Name?”

  “Didn’t get it.”

  Chris studied the surveillance tapes again. It was quite apparent that the Latin man knew there were cameras and had tried to keep his face turned away. However, he hadn’t been aware of all the cameras, and there were some clear shots of him.

  It surprised Chris that the detective on the case hadn’t zeroed in on him. The man most likely had a record and would not be difficult to track. It seemed that Detective Cole was happy to pin the girl’s death on Bobby Santangelo Stanislopoulos. The big get.

  Chris hated sloppy detective work. He’d checked out Detective Cole and discovered that he was a tough veteran detective who’d soon be put out to pasture. Not well liked, he hardly had a stellar reputation.

  Within the hour, thanks to his many connections, Chris had a name and location. Pedro Albarado. Los Angeles.

  Before heading back to the airport, he stopped by the apartment where Nadia had lived. After ringing the buzzer and getting no response, he waited patiently outside in a spot where he knew Nadia’s roommate could see him through the peephole in her door. He’d already found out that the girl’s name was Yana, that she was twenty-five and originally from Ukraine.

  It didn’t take long for her to fling open the door and say sharply, “What you want? Why you here?”

  Chris looked her over carefully. She was a dyed blonde with high cheekbones and a slender body. She appeared to be angry and a little bit afraid. Chris gave her the comforting, unthreatening look he’d perfected so well. He also flashed his phony detective badge and fixed her with his honest brown eyes.

  “What you want?” she repeated, glaring at him suspiciously. “This very sad time for me. I already told cops everything I know.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Chris said politely. “You’ve been extremely cooperative, and that has not gone unnoticed.”

  Her expression softened. Chris observed that she had mismatched eyes—one blue, one green. He wondered if she was messing with her contacts or if this was simply a freaky trick of nature.

  “May I come in?” he asked. “I’m sure you don’t want your neighbors spying on you.”

  Yana peered from left to right, trying to see if any of her neighbors were indeed spying on her.

  “Okay,” she said with a reluctant nod of her head. “You come in. We be quick, yes?”

  I don’t want sex with you, he was tempted to say. Just answers to a few pertinent questions.

  The apartment was small, every surface cluttered with cheap ornaments and tacky religious statues. It was apparent the girls had not entertained at home. A Mac computer stood in the middle of a table, next to a stack of what looked like seminude glamour photos. The only seating was a chair in front of the computer and a narrow bench by the window.

  Chris took the bench. Yana sat in the chair. She was not dressed for work, more like for a stay-at-home day in baggy velour pants and a tightly fitted T-shirt featuring an Adam Levine image. He imagined she must be quite something when done up and ready to ply her wares.

  “What I tell you?” she asked, nervously picking at a hangnail.

  “I’d like to hear one more time what this john said he required from Nadia. Maybe you can repeat exactly what she told you.”

  Yana thought for a moment before licking her slightly puffy lips. “He say he want very beautiful girl to get this guy to go to her hotel room,” she said, rubbing the tip of her nose. “He offer much money. No sex. Nadia said she could do it. Easy for her. No man ever resisted Nadia. She could get a man to do whatever she wanted.”

  “Until he killed her.”

  “Yob tvoyu m
ati!” Yana exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

  “Motherfucker,” Chris said quietly.

  Yana looked startled. “You speak Russian?” she said, her mismatched eyes widening.

  Chris nodded.

  “That is good,” she said, before launching into a stream of Russian complaining about what a violent country America was, and how she couldn’t wait to save enough money and head back to Ukraine before she got herself murdered like her friend.

  Sure, Chris thought with a skeptical shake of his head. No violence in Ukraine. You’ll be safe there.

  He glanced at his watch and got to his feet.

  Time to go.

  Time to find out more about Pedro Albarado and what his game was.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  “You gotta try an’ keep your feelin’s out of this,” Leon warned Denver as they set off to meet with Frankie and his lawyer.

  “For God’s sake,” Denver said, irritated that Leon was telling her how to behave. “If there’s one thing I am, it’s professional.”

  “I know, I know,” he said. “Just don’t lose your cool.”

  “I have no intention of doing so,” she said crossly. “And kindly stop lecturing me.”

  They met with Frankie and his attorney in an interrogation room at the jail.

  Being in the presence of Frankie Romano reminded Denver of how much she couldn’t stand him. There was something about Frankie that screamed “bad news.” It came off him in waves. It always amazed her that he and Bobby had once been friends. They were so different, and yet at one time—along with M.J.—they’d been very close, almost like brothers.

  How was that possible? Frankie Romano was a fast-talking piece-of-shit drug dealer who lured young girls to his apartment and then stood by while they almost overdosed. He was the lowest of the low. What could he and Bobby possibly have in common?

  In spite of her feelings about Frankie, she endeavored to stay neutral as they listened to everything he had to say. He spoke fast, as usual—claiming to know plenty, then refusing to reveal any details until he got a guarantee of protection.

  His attorney sat stiffly beside him saying nothing. Both Denver and Leon were well aware that Horace P. Bendon was being paid by Rafael—Alejandro Diego’s business partner—and that Horace P. Bendon’s loyalty would always be with the Diego family. The moment this meeting was over, Horace would report back to Rafael, and when the Diego camp heard that Frankie was willing to talk, his life would be in danger. The DA’s office had already issued an order that Frankie be kept in a cell by himself, away from the general prison population.

  If Frankie was bluffing and he didn’t have the information he claimed to have, then things could get even worse for him, especially if he was put back into general. His best bet was if he came through with solid information; then he would be sequestered in a hotel with twenty-four-hour protection until they were able to indict Alejandro.

  It was very complicated, and it all depended on what Frankie had to give them.

  “We’re gonna have to talk to the chief deputy DA,” Leon said.

  “Don’t make me wait too long,” Frankie answered, his left eye twitching. “Jail food is crap. An’ oh yeah,” he added, throwing a dirty look at his lawyer, “I’m firing this douche.”

  “Jeez!” Leon said in the car on their way back to the office. “He sure is one slippery piece of work.”

  “Told you,” Denver said.

  “You think he’s gonna come up with anythin’ concrete?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Didja get a look at the lawyer’s face when he dumped him?”

  “Classic,” Denver said, lapsing into silence as her thoughts turned to Bobby. It would be so nice if she could discuss the Frankie deal with him. Right now it didn’t seem possible, since they appeared to be on a break.

  Was a break what she wanted?

  As of now—yes.

  Or no.

  She wasn’t sure.

  As far as Frankie was concerned, she was torn. Was he bluffing about what information he had, and even more important, could he be trusted to deliver? Leon didn’t seem to be so sure, and neither was she.

  Only time would tell.

  * * *

  A family dinner was taking place at the Malibu house. Lucky excelled in the kitchen, making pasta and a delicious Bolognese sauce that had been Gino’s favorite. She was trying to act as if nothing had taken place, and cooking for the family seemed to be the most normal activity she could think of. Not that she spent a lot of time in the kitchen, but when she did, it was major.

  After everyone had helped themselves, she glanced around the table. Lennie was sitting next to Steven. Bobby and the two younger boys were chatting away. Everything was peaceful. She was thankful that the people closest to her were all assembled—everyone except Max.

  Had she made a mistake not summoning her daughter home immediately?

  Lennie was pissed that she hadn’t commanded Max to get on the next plane. “She’ll be here soon enough,” Lucky had assured him.

  This did not satisfy him. He wanted his daughter home, where he considered she’d be safe.

  Lucky disagreed; she was convinced that Max was safer staying where she was.

  What does safe mean anyway? she thought. Every day is full of risks. Every time you set foot outside, anything can happen.

  Gino. On his morning walk.

  Gone. Shot. Killed.

  Fucking brutally murdered.

  She tried not to think about it, but unfortunately, she couldn’t stop herself.

  Earlier she’d spoken to Chris, who was on his way to the airport in Chicago. After informing her that his contact at face recognition had been unable to come up with a match on the man in the Palm Springs video, he’d added the news that they’d been successful in identifying the Latin man who’d set Bobby up. Chris had a name and a location.

  Was it the same man who’d shot Gino?

  Was the man a paid assassin who’d been hired to do both jobs?

  Lucky shuddered when she thought about what the son of a bitch could’ve done to Bobby. He’d had him in his power, drugged and helpless. Anything could’ve happened.

  Instead he’d killed the girl.

  She didn’t get it. Why murder the call girl when Bobby had been the obvious target?

  “I’ll meet you at LAX,” she’d informed Chris. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Not a good idea,” he’d replied. “It’s better that I find out if this is our man, or if he’s simply the hired help. It’s useless for you to waste your time.”

  “Shouldn’t I be there when you talk to him?”

  “No, Lucky. I’ll keep you informed.”

  “You’d better.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  * * *

  After dinner the boys started talking about going down to the beach and swimming.

  “No way. It’s too dark and creepy,” Lucky pointed out. “Who knows what’s waiting out there in the ocean.”

  “Ew, scary!” Gino Junior said, mocking her. “Big freakin’ monsters!”

  “Let ’em go,” Lennie said, joining in. “If they drown or get eaten, it’s no big loss.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Leo said with an indignant scowl. “Didn’t know you loved us so much.”

  “I’ll go with them,” Bobby volunteered. “I wouldn’t mind taking a swim.”

  “I thought you were going home,” Lucky said.

  “I was thinking I might stay over,” Bobby responded. “If that’s okay with you.”

  “You know it is,” Lucky said, thinking that he and Denver must still be on the outs. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Before Denver, Bobby had sampled a slew of girlfriends. Since being with Denver, he’d seemed more centered. Denver was good for him. But trust was a big part of any relationship, and if his girlfriend didn’t trust him …

  Bobby jumped up. “Move it, Steven. You’re coming with us.”

 
; “You can count me out,” Steven said, holding up his hand. “I don’t even go in the ocean when it’s bright sunlight, let alone at night.”

  “Lennie?” Bobby said.

  “Gonna pass.”

  “Jeez!” Bobby exclaimed. “What a bunch of chickenshits.” He turned to his brothers. “C’mon, kids, let’s go.”

  “I’m no kid,” Gino Junior complained. “I’m sixteen.”

  “You’ll always be a kid to me,” Bobby teased. “And we’re goin’ commando—no pants.”

  “Cool!” Leo chortled.

  “Try not to get your little dick bitten off by a shark,” Lennie joked. “The big ones come out at night, y’know, sniffing out a tasty piece of meat.”

  “Dad!” Leo groaned. “You’re so lame.”

  Then they were off, running through the back of the house to the steps that led down to the beach.

  “Maybe we should send one of the guards with them,” Lucky suggested.

  “Forget it,” Lennie said. “Bobby’ll watch out for them. Let ’em enjoy themselves. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  Gino was enjoying himself when he went out for a walk, Lucky thought dourly. Look what happened to him.

  “Okay,” she said, wondering how soon she would hear from Chris.

  She was ready for action.

  Once again, she was ready to take revenge.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Billy didn’t call. Billy didn’t text. Was Max disappointed?

  Yes.

  Was she surprised?

  No.

  It was her own fault for falling back into the trap that was Billy Melina.

  At least she hadn’t jumped into bed with him again like some kind of lovesick teenager.

  Not that he’d asked. And what was that about? He’d acted all into her and major romantic, so how come he hadn’t made a move?

  Puzzling. Annoying. What was his deal?

  Back at the hotel, she called her mom to check in, and was happy to hear that Bobby was back in L.A. Lucky still had no firm date for Gino’s funeral, so she instructed Max to stay where she was until there was further news.

  Okay, then, Max thought. I guess I can concentrate on being the new face of Dolcezza. Nothing wrong with that.