The Santangelos

by Jackie Collins

  “I wish I could take off,” Lucky said wistfully, thinking how much she couldn’t wait to collapse into bed.

  “You can,” Lennie said, coming up behind her. “Tomorrow’s the big day, so you should go get a good night’s sleep. I’ll take care of everyone.”

  “You’re the best,” she said gratefully. “Bobby should be here any minute and Max is on her way.”

  “No worries. I’m around for them. You go, sweetheart. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  * * *

  With Alejandro on his way out of town—even if it was only overnight—Rafael imagined he was the boss for once as he sat in Alejandro’s reserved booth at Club Luna, drinking champagne while contemplating his future.

  Things were working out nicely. At first Alejandro had insisted that he go to Vegas to pick up the cash Pablo had arranged. Then things had changed when a friend of Alejandro’s arrived in town, and Alejandro had decided to take his new Bentley and drive to Vegas himself.

  This suited Rafael, as he continued to work on his exit strategy. Pablo Fernandez Diego was about to deposit several million dollars into a bank account, giving Rafael full control. Pablo trusted him.

  How nice. How dumb. Because Rafael had been busy making his own arrangements. Over the past few days he’d gotten a new passport in a different name. He’d opened an untraceable bank account in the Cayman Islands, where he would transfer the money, and he’d booked a one-way ticket to Perth, Australia—a place so far away that Pablo would never think of looking for him there. After six or seven months, he would put into action plans to get his son out of Colombia.

  Screw the Diego family. For once he was looking out for himself.

  King Emir’s orders were sharp and concise.

  “The family leaves in the early morning,” he informed Faisal, his trusted consort.

  “I will make sure everything is in place,” Faisal assured him.

  “They have to all be gone before the … event.”

  “The plane is waiting,” Faisal said. “What about Tariq? Does he go with the family or does he stay with you?”

  “Tariq stays. Tariq will become a man as he helps to avenge his father’s death. When it is done, we will leave immediately.”

  “Yes, my king.”

  “Now I wish to give an audience to my loyal citizens who have waited many months for this very special time. My two brave warriors.”

  “I will bring them to you.”

  King Emir sighed. “Soon it shall be over. It is God’s will. Tomorrow the infidels will die, and my dear son shall finally be avenged.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  “This motherfucker goes from zero to sixty in 4.3 seconds,” Alejandro boasted, standing next to his latest purchase—a gleaming custom-made purple Bentley Flying Spur W12 Mulliner, with special wheels and a one-of-a-kind purple leather interior featuring expensive gold trim. “I can take it up to two hundred miles per hour anytime I feel the urge.”

  “Really? And where would that be? On a racetrack?” Willow drawled, not thrilled that he’d purchased such an expensive car and hadn’t even mentioned it to her. Surely if he had money to throw around, he should’ve thrown some in her direction?

  She was more than irritated. Of course he had money to throw around. His stupid club was a front for drugs, so he was probably rolling in cash. Yet he was stalling on giving her a million measly bucks—an amount that meant nothing to him.

  What Willow didn’t know was that Pablo kept strict control over what money came Alejandro’s way. Pablo had people who handled all his finances, and he’d instructed Rafael to watch over whatever money Alejandro was able to get his hands on. His son received a generous allowance, and that was it. The new car was a birthday present.

  Willow had questions. Was Alejandro serious about producing a movie? Or was he simply stringing her along?

  Vegas would answer those questions. He’d assured her he was picking up a shitload of cash there. Finally, she could give Eddie his money, and then he would immediately get their project going.

  “I like this car,” Dante rasped. “I should buy one.”

  “Get in line,” Alejandro said. “Took me eight months to get mine. Everything custom. One of a kind.”

  “I have many connections,” Dante said with a dictatorial smirk. “I can probably get one quicker.”

  “I doubt it,” Alejandro snapped.

  In college, he and Dante—although supposedly friends—had always been in vicious competition with each other. Who drove the fastest car? Who banged the prettiest girls? Who threw the wildest, most out-of-control parties?

  They both had rich daddies to finance their lifestyles, so money had never been a problem.

  Now, as adults, nothing had changed. Dante was determined to screw Alejandro’s redheaded girlfriend simply because he knew he could. She had that available look of a girl who’d do anything if it suited her purpose.

  While Alejandro had plans to hit on Max—even though she was not his type, why not try something new?

  “Get in,” Alejandro ordered. “Girls in the back. Dante, you ride up front with me.”

  “Why should I sit in the back?” Willow complained. “I get carsick on long rides. I want to be up front with you.”

  Alejandro tossed her a look—a look that screamed, Shut the fuck up and do what I tell you.

  Willow sighed and did as he said.

  Sometimes it wasn’t worth arguing with Alejandro. Not when they were so close to picking up the money.

  * * *

  Walking into an outpouring of unwanted attention was not what Bobby wanted or expected. Apparently his recent arrest and following vindication had not gone unnoticed. He wasn’t used to this much attention; usually he preferred to keep it low-key. Today was different, though. Today congratulations that he was a free man with no stigma attached to his name seemed to be the topic of the night.

  Yeah, he thought bitterly, no stigma indeed. The whole Chicago debacle is all over the Internet. It’ll never go away.

  After doing the rounds of greeting people, he sought out Lennie and asked where Lucky was.

  “Gone to bed,” Lennie replied. “It’s the big day tomorrow, and she needs to get as much sleep as she can.”

  “And Max?”

  “On her way.”

  Bobby nodded, and moved over to the table where Brigette and her girlfriend were sitting.

  “Hiya, uncle,” Brigette said with an artful grin. “I hear you’ve been knee deep in big bad trouble.”

  “Everything’s cool,” Bobby said. “And do me a favor: stop calling me uncle. Makes me feel ancient.”

  “It’s not my fault Granddad knocked your mom up,” Brigette teased. “You are my uncle.”

  “Jeez, Brig, you make it sound so tawdry. Let me remind you that Dimitri and Lucky were married. It was a legit relationship.”

  “I know, I know,” Brigette said with a beguiling smile. “I’m just f-ing with you. We’re off to bed anyway. Oh yes, and if you get stalked by Venus, I’m supposed to advise you to steer clear.”

  “Huh?” Bobby said, frowning. “What’s that about?”

  “You heard,” Brigette said, getting up from the table. “No screwing around with Mom’s best friend. Lucky’s orders.”

  * * *

  “Got another text from Max,” Cookie informed Harry. “They’re just leaving, so that means she won’t get here for hours.”

  “That’s a bummer,” Harry complained.

  “And guess what?” Cookie added.

  “What?”

  “Willow Price is with them.”

  “Crazy Willow Price. How come?”

  “She’s apparently the girlfriend of Max’s boss’s friend.”

  “Sounds like a party.”

  “Yeah, an’ talkin’ of parties, instead of hanging around waiting, we should go hit a club,” Cookie suggested.

  “Why’d we wanna do that?” Harry asked.

  “To have fun,” Cookie repli
ed, fishing out a hand mirror from her Birkin purse—a present from Daddy—and inspecting her pretty face. “We’re totally capable of gettin’ trashed without her, aren’t we?”

  “Sure, ’cause you just wanna go somewhere to pick up some random dude and get laid,” Harry said accusingly.

  “Don’t you?” Cookie questioned. “We’re in Vegas. We gotta totally go for it.”

  “I can go for it on Grindr, thankyouverymuch,” Harry reminded her. “Best app ever.”

  “Does that mean I’ve gotta make do with Tinder?” Cookie groaned. “That’s so loser city.”

  “Better than a club. At least you know you’re getting a sure thing.”

  “You’re such a perv.”

  “Oh,” Harry said. “An’ I suppose you’re not?”

  They both giggled. For their generation, getting laid was so damn easy.

  * * *

  With a throaty “Bobby,” there she was. His boyhood crush. His mom’s best friend. The delectable, gorgeous, ageless, sexy Venus.

  “Hey,” he managed, remembering the things he’d done staring at her photos in magazines when he was just a kid.

  Auntie Venus. Superstar. Lounging by the pool in a barely there bikini when he was fourteen.

  Auntie Venus taking it all off for Playboy and showing just enough to make a teenage boy never forget.

  Auntie Venus onstage in Vegas cavorting half naked with the best-looking male backup dancers ever to grace the stage.

  Eventually he’d grown up and dropped the Auntie, and they’d become casual friends, running into each other at family events, always polite. She’d usually been with a boy toy or a husband. Never alone.

  Now here was Venus on the night before Gino’s funeral looking like a million bucks, and she was indeed alone. And so was he. No more Denver. No more commitments. He was a free agent and so, apparently, was she.

  “I’m not supposed to talk to you,” Venus said with a wicked glint in her eye. “You’re off-limits.”

  “So I heard,” Bobby replied, grinning.

  “From whom?”

  “From Brigette, who was put in charge of keeping us apart.”

  “She was, huh?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Where is dear Brigette?”

  “Gone to bed, like everyone else around here,” he said, indicating the banquet room, which was emptying out fast. “How come you’re still here?”

  “I was having a drink with Charlie Dollar. That man talks a blue streak until he’s just too stoned to go on.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He fell asleep in a booth.”

  “You’re kidding. And you left him there?”

  “Oh, someone will mop him up,” she said with a casual wave of her manicured hand. “Old movie stars are hardly my responsibility.”

  “Okay, then.”

  Her startling blue eyes met his. “Okay, then,” she said, gently mimicking him. “Are you up for a drink?”

  “Where?” he asked cautiously.

  “My suite.”

  “The last time I accepted a drink in a woman’s suite, I got roofied.”

  “Yes, I read about that,” she said with a slight smile. “Does that mean that if I promise not to roofie you, we’re on?”

  “Depends what ‘we’re on’ means.”

  Leaning toward him, she lightly touched his arm. “You’re a big boy now, Bobby. No explanations needed.”

  He experienced a sharp jolt of electricity mixed with unforgettable memories of his horny teenage years.

  Venus was his fantasy. And he was about to step into fantasyland.

  * * *

  At last they were off, Alejandro roaring out of the underground garage as if he were being chased by a dozen police cars, bragging about how much speed he could summon from his new toy in less than six seconds. Gangsta rap blared from the multiple speakers.

  Max curled up on the backseat and shut her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep. But sleep refused to come; her mind was too full of random thoughts.

  Would she ever see Billy again?

  Why was Dante such a miserable pain?

  What were Cookie and Harry up to?

  Did Athena even miss her?

  How was Lucky dealing with Gino’s murder?

  Eventually she fell into a half sleep, waking when they hit the freeway and she felt her phone vibrating.

  Retrieving it from the pocket of her jacket, she noted that it was Lennie.

  “Daddy,” she whispered tentatively. “Can’t wait to see you.”

  “Where the hell are you?” Lennie demanded.

  “On my way.”

  “What? By horse and carriage?”

  “By car. I’m with my boss from Dolcezza.”

  “Your boss, huh?” Lennie said, frustrated. “That would be the asshole who was supposed to get you here by helicopter. What happened to that plan?”

  “I dunno.”

  “I’ll be speaking to him when you finally arrive.”

  Great, she thought. You can tell him what a dick he is.

  “What’s all that noise?” Lennie growled. “Sounds like a party.”

  “It’s just car music,” she said lamely.

  “Well, take it easy.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “See you soon, sweetie.”

  * * *

  Up in her suite, Venus offered Bobby a drink.

  He declined.

  “You still think I might drug you?” she murmured teasingly.

  “I thought we covered that,” he said.

  “Oh yes, we did, didn’t we?” she drawled. “Why don’t you open us a bottle of champagne.”

  She was treating him as if he was one of her fans, and he didn’t like it. She was toying with him, probably wondering what kind of move he was about to make.

  “I didn’t come up here for a drink,” he said.

  “No? What did you come up for?”

  As if she didn’t know. Auntie Venus. Famous. Beautiful. Talented. Sexy. A tease.

  He refused to let her intimidate him.

  “Come here,” he commanded.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard.”

  “I don’t take kindly to orders.”

  He’d had enough. Years of lusting after her propelled him into action. He wanted her. He wanted all of her. And he wasn’t waiting any longer.

  “You wanna fuck or you wanna play games?” he said.

  “My oh my, the little boy has a mouth on him.”

  He strode across the room and grabbed her hard, ripping the revealing jacket off her.

  She wore nothing underneath.

  He cupped her breasts, pushing them together, shoving her up against the wall, bending to suck on her nipples until she cried out.

  Within seconds they were in the bedroom, clothes falling off along the way.

  Then he was rolling around with Mommy’s best friend, and he didn’t give a damn about upsetting Lucky. Some things were bound to happen, and this was one of them.

  Venus. All soft blond curves, sweet-smelling and succulent. Naked, she did not disappoint. Pilates and daily workouts had kept her body in pristine shape. Being in bed with her was like taking a luxury trip to heaven.

  “To think I knew you when you were a little boy,” she purred, her long, manicured fingers raking his chest. “Now look at you, all grown up.”

  “Cut the shit, Venus,” he said, climbing on top of her and spreading her golden thighs. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “It might take too long.”

  And as he spoke, he plunged inside her, reliving every lustful teenage memory.

  Denver was forgotten. Denver was yesterday’s news.

  He was a man with no ties, and he could do exactly as he liked.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  Dave Riggio was tired. He was tired of his nagging wife, his stripper girlfriend who had h
er own line of nagging, and his two teenage brats—both into drugs and partying. He worked like a fucking dog while they all played. On his money. The money he made driving a fucking big rig back and forth across the country—sometimes working a twenty-hour shift with no sleep.

  Tonight was one of those nights, and all he wanted was a decent night’s rest. However, that was not about to happen, because he was on the road from Vegas to L.A. carrying a full load of fruit that had to be in L.A. early in the morning in time for market, and it was already three A.M.

  Sitting next to him in the rig was a young girl—a runaway, no doubt. She wore ripped jeans and a T-shirt featuring the slogan Freaks rule! She had frizzy brown hair framing a thin face, and buckteeth. He’d picked her up at a well-known truck stop, and in exchange for a blow job, he’d offered her a ride to L.A., thinking—mistakenly—that she’d entertain him with some kind of inane chatter.

  This was not to be. The girl was silent and sulky, huddled in the passenger seat, and the blow job she’d given him was not worth the ride.

  “Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What?” the girl said, suddenly coming to life.

  “You ever given a blow job before?”

  “Course I have,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

  “Didn’t seem like it,” he said gruffly.

  “I could do it again,” she said, sensing that he might be planning on dropping her off, even though they had a deal.

  Dave took one hand off the steering wheel and patted his crotch. He might be tired, but he was still horny.

  “It’ll be better the second time,” the girl promised.

  “Gonna pull over at the next exit,” Dave said, although he realized that he was pressed for time and every minute counted.

  “You don’t have to,” the girl said. “I can do you while you’re driving.”

  Dave salivated. He liked a girl with fresh ideas.

  “Why not?” he said, patting his crotch again. “An’ this time try t’ pretend you’re enjoying it.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  While Alejandro settled behind the wheel of his latest acquisition, testing how fast his car could go as they hurtled through the desert, Willow found her mind wandering. She’d been reluctant to leave her mom alone in her house, but Pammy hadn’t given her much choice. Right now Mother Dearest was no doubt nosing through her possessions. She’d never given Willow one inch of privacy when Willow was growing up, and now she must be in heaven checking out her house.