The Santangelos

by Jackie Collins

  “For crissake,” Lennie snapped. “This isn’t a fashion show.”

  Lucky gave him a long dark stare. When it came to Max, he was way too protective and sometimes it was too much—especially today of all days. “I’m well aware of that,” she said coolly. “And since it’s my father’s funeral, I’d appreciate it if you’d take your pissy attitude and dump it elsewhere. I’m not in the mood.”

  Realizing that he was being unreasonable, Lennie paused by the door. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “I understand how difficult this day is for you.”

  “No shit?” she said with a sarcastic drawl.

  “Hey—we’re all on edge, but we’ll get through it together,” he promised. “We always do.”

  “I guess so,” she said, thinking that this was no time to start a fight.

  “Okay, I’ll go find Max and bring her up.”

  “You do that.”

  After Lennie left, Lucky went into her closet and tried to decide what to wear. Everyone would probably be dressed in black or muted colors, but she had in mind Gino’s favorite, a simple white outfit.

  Screw it if people thought it wasn’t suitable. She was Lucky Santangelo. She could wear whatever she liked.

  * * *

  “Gotta go,” Bobby said, barely moving from the warmth of Venus’s embrace.

  “Who’s stopping you?” Venus drawled, tiptoeing her fingers across his bare chest. “I’m certainly not.”

  “Yeah, you are,” he said with a rakish grin. “You’re making it very difficult for me to get up.”

  “And that would be because?” she asked, her voice early-morning husky.

  “As if you don’t know,” he chided.

  “God!” she exclaimed, sneaking her hand under the covers. “Aren’t you the insatiable one.”

  “Can I help it if I find you irresistible?”

  Slithering her body down his, she began flicking her tongue around his erect penis, causing him to groan.

  Arching his back, he let her do her thing.

  “I always knew you’d taste delicious,” she murmured, nonchalantly taking him into her mouth.

  The world stopped still for a moment as he reveled in the sensation. Then he pulled away, and moving on top, he thrust himself deeply inside her.

  Morning sex. Something Denver had never been into.

  Venus positioned her long legs around his waist and began moaning with pleasure.

  It occurred to Bobby that this was not a rebound thing. This was something special, and with or without Lucky’s approval, he was in no way ready for it to end. After all, it had only just begun.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  The initial impact of the big rig and the Bentley was so fast and devastating that the back passenger doors were flung violently open, propelling Willow and Max out into the barren desert. Then came an enormous explosion. Everything happened within seconds.

  Trapped in the two front seats, Alejandro and Dante had no chance. They were incinerated along with the car, as were Dave Riggio and his pathetic little runaway.

  The flames roared high into the sky—burning brightly.

  Both sides of the highway were deserted, no other vehicles in sight. The silence was broken by the sounds of the flames cackling and roaring—devouring metal and human flesh.

  Willow lay facedown in the desert, her left leg twisted in a grotesque position beneath her body. She was unconscious.

  Nearby, Max was half wedged under a jagged rock. She was also unconscious.

  Although hot and steamy during the day, at night and during the early-morning hours the desert was cold—a brisk wind fanning the flames of the fiery collision.

  Two coyotes slouched toward the crash site, hypnotized by the flames.

  A large snake slithered across the top of the rock where Max lay trapped.

  Finally, when the flames died down, silence prevailed.

  A deathly silence.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  “I feel like dog crap,” Harry groaned, dunking a croissant into a mug of steaming coffee and taking a bite.

  “Me too,” Cookie agreed, toying with her sunglasses. “Two hours’ sleep like in no way cuts it.”

  “Morning, kids,” Lennie said, approaching their table.

  Cookie summoned a weak smile. She’d always liked older men, and Max’s dad was totally hot. “Hello, Mr. G.,” she said, trying not to look as if she hadn’t drunk half the bar at the club the night before.

  “I’m wondering where Max is,” Lennie stated. “Either of you seen her?”

  “Don’t think she’s up yet,” Harry said.

  “Or she might be with Bobby,” Cookie offered, taking a gulp of strong black coffee. “You know how she gets when they’re together. She like follows him everywhere. Sisterly love an’ all that crap.”

  “Her phone’s not working,” Lennie said brusquely. “If you see her, tell her it would be nice if she checked in with her parents.”

  “Speaking of parents,” Cookie said. “Did my dad arrive yet? He was flying in on his plane with his latest conquest.” She pulled a face. “Can’t wait to see the new love of his life. Got a hunch it’s another Russian hooker with enormous fake boobs.”

  “Sorry, Cookie, I have no idea. Ask Lucky’s assistant—Danny.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “He’s around somewhere.”

  “This place is so freakin’ big it’s impossible to find anyone,” Harry complained.

  “You kids should go get changed,” Lennie said. “The service is at noon.”

  “We’re on it,” Cookie said. “If you see Max first you can tell her we’re pissed. We came here to support her.”

  “Yeah,” Harry agreed.

  “I’ll be glad to tell her,” Lennie said. “That’s if I ever discover where she is.”

  And with those words he took off.

  * * *

  Chris decided that he’d better inform Lucky that King Emir Amin Mohamed Jordan and his entourage were at the Magiriano, where Gino’s funeral service was due to take place, so he took the private elevator to her penthouse apartment at the Keys and reported the news.

  “Are you serious?” Lucky said, her dark eyes filled with fury. “How come you’re only just finding this out?”

  “They’re leaving,” Chris informed her.

  “That’s not the point,” she said, eyes still flashing. “Why were they here in the first place? How come nobody told me?”

  “I wasn’t in town when the Armand killing went down,” Chris said. “It didn’t happen on my watch.”

  “Danny was,” she said sharply. “Surely he checked out the guest list at the Magiriano?”

  “He’s not security, so I guess not.”

  Lucky was furious that this complication had arisen. She’d had nothing to do with Armand Jordan’s murder. He’d been shot—not by her or anyone she knew. It just happened that he’d gotten shot in her hotel. The man was a pig; he’d no doubt had a shitload of enemies. The investigating detectives had said it looked like a professional hit, an execution. After a couple of months they’d written it off as a cold case.

  An execution. A professional hit. Which is exactly what had befallen Gino.

  So why was Armand’s father in Vegas? Was he seeking revenge? Because if he was, he was seeking it in the wrong place.

  She consulted her watch. Time was passing quickly. Should she go see this so-called king and try to find out what he was doing in Vegas?

  No. There wasn’t time for that. The king and his entourage were leaving anyway. It all had to be one big unfortunate coincidence.

  “I’m not happy about this,” she said to Chris. “You’d better make sure that your team double-checks everything.”

  “My men are on it.”

  * * *

  After leaving Cookie and Harry, Lennie made his way up to the family floor and spoke to the concierge, who was stationed behind a desk in front of the elevators.

  “What time
did Max check in?” he asked.

  The concierge told him that he had only been on duty for an hour. “I’ll look in the book, Mr. Golden,” he said, opening a desk drawer and taking out the guest book, which was supposed to be signed by everyone when they arrived.

  Lennie glanced at his watch. It was coming up on eleven, and the funeral service over at the Magiriano was due to take place at noon. Where the hell was his errant daughter?

  “It seems that Max has yet to check in,” the concierge said.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Well, yes, unless she forgot to sign the book.”

  “Give me the passkey to her room,” Lennie said. “She got into Vegas very late. She’s probably still sleeping.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  * * *

  The Puerto Rican girl was a tease. Rafael was mad at himself for not realizing it earlier. The previous night he’d taken her up to Alejandro’s private office expecting sex, and all he’d gotten was a list of excuses—everything from it was her time of the month to she had a jealous boyfriend who could turn up at any moment. She’d even taken out her phone and walked around making calls, while he’d simmered with fury and considered whether he should rape her or not. There was no one to stop him. They were alone together. Alejandro’s office was soundproof, so nobody would hear her if she screamed.

  No. Making trouble for himself was not on his agenda. Soon he would be leaving America, and he had to be careful, so he’d finally escorted her out and left her downstairs in the club. Then he’d driven home alone.

  Now it was morning and he was proud of himself for not giving in to his basic instincts.

  Today he would continue planning his exit strategy. That was far more important than getting laid by some club tramp.

  Rafael was looking forward to an exciting new life, and nothing was going to stop him. When the money from Pablo came through, he was on his way to freedom. Not a moment too soon.

  * * *

  Forcing himself to make a supreme effort, Bobby began pulling himself away from the comfort of Venus’s arms and everything else she had to offer. It wasn’t easy, but it had to be done, for Lucky would be expecting him to stand by her side and he fully intended to do so. Right now he had to get back to his suite, shower, and put on a suit. He also had to give some thought to what he was going to say about Gino.

  Venus placed her soft arms around his neck, pulled him closer, and kissed him long and hard, tempting him to stay.

  Much as he wanted to, there was no way he could let Lucky down, so after a few minutes, he reluctantly untangled himself. “Gotta go,” he said. “And you should be getting dressed.”

  “I thought you preferred me undressed,” she purred.

  “Later,” he promised.

  On the way to his suite on the family floor, he bumped into M.J. emerging from his room. M.J. was accompanied by an exotic-looking Asian girl with silky black hair and a slim body. She was the kind of girl Bobby would’ve expected to see on Alex Woods’s arm, but it seemed M.J. had gotten there first.

  M.J. threw him a sheepish grin. “Meet Tia,” he said.

  “Hey, Tia,” Bobby said.

  “Hard day’s night,” M.J. said with a jaunty wink. “We’re gonna grab some breakfast. Need the energy. See you at the service.”

  Bobby made it to his suite, his mind still buzzing about Venus. She was an amazing woman. What did it matter that she was quite a few years older than him? They were magical together, and after all he’d been through, he could do with a touch of magic in his life. He decided that if Venus was up for it, they’d present a united front and tell Lucky together. What could she do? Exactly nothing. It wasn’t as if he was Max, running around with Venus’s ex, Billy Melina. That had been a ridiculous situation. Lennie had put a stop to it, and rightfully so.

  Thinking about Max made Bobby realize that he missed her—even though she could be an annoying pain in the ass. Since she’d moved to Europe, he hadn’t seen her in months. Lucky had told him that little sis had gotten herself a big advertising campaign that was shooting in Italy. He was happy for her, and he hoped she was behaving herself. Max had a wild streak—it ran in the family.

  He’d always considered himself to be the sane one. Perhaps not so much now. What was so interesting about being sane? He was enjoying his newfound freedom. No more Mr. Good Guy.

  Things had definitely changed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Norma and Willy Rockwell and their three boisterous children were driving along the highway in their rental moving truck when one of the kids, an acne-ridden thirteen-year-old, spotted the wreckage up ahead, plumes of smoke still rising.

  “Look, Dad!” the boy shouted, wriggling in his seat. “Somebody’s had an accident.”

  By this time, Willy Rockwell had also seen the debris spilled across the highway, and he was already carefully steering the rental truck to the side of the road. It was five A.M. and just beginning to get light.

  “This don’t look good,” Willy said, sharing his voice with a hacking cough.

  “No, it don’t,” Norma agreed, pulling her woolen cardigan close across her chest.

  “Whatcha gonna do, Dad?” the thirteen-year-old asked. “Shouldn’t we go take a peek?”

  “No,” Norma said sharply. “It’s best not to get involved in this sorta thing. Somebody else’ll come along. Leave it to them.”

  “Your ma’s right,” Willy said, starting his engine. “Never shove your nose in where it don’t belong.”

  The thirteen-year-old did not agree with either of them. What if there were survivors they could help? Shouldn’t they at least call the highway patrol?

  He began to say something, but to no avail. Both his parents ignored him, and once again they were on their way.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later a BMW crammed with a bunch of drunken teenagers—four boys and two girls—roared down the highway heading toward L.A. The driver, a baby-faced sixteen-year-old, had yet to score his driving license. What he had managed to score was his stepdad’s BMW, and he’d gathered up a group of friends for a wild night in Vegas. Now they were hell-bent on getting back to L.A. in time for school.

  Loud music blared from someone’s iPod, and all six kids were in a take-no-prisoners mood, smoking grass and chugging Red Bulls, when the BMW hit a large chunk of metal debris spread across the highway. The BMW careened out of control, left the highway, and flipped over four times before shuddering to a sickening stop.

  This time there was no fire, but the screams of the teenagers trapped in the car could be heard from quite a distance away.

  One of the girls crawled from the wreckage, blood streaming down her face from a deep cut above her eye. She was crying and hysterical as she reached for her cell phone in her jeans pocket and managed to dial 911.

  Help would soon be on the way.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

  The lobby of the Magiriano was cleared. King Emir’s entourage was long gone, much to the relief of Ian Simmons, who thought it best not to mention that the king himself and a small group of his men and bodyguards were still in residence. Chris Warwick made the hotel manager nervous—Chris might look friendly enough, but there was something about him that announced he was not a man to be crossed. Besides, it was highly unlikely that King Emir would emerge from his penthouse. Ian had sent a messenger to his suite with a polite letter explaining the funeral situation, and asking that the lobby please be kept clear for the mourners to pass through. In return the king had one of his men personally deliver a handwritten note card thanking him for a pleasant stay. The note was accompanied by a jewelry box containing a gold Rolex.

  Although gifts from satisfied guests were not unusual, a gold Rolex was quite a treat. Ian was surprised and delighted. It proved to him that he was doing his job well. He deserved to be rewarded.

  * * *

  “Where are you?” Lucky asked, calling Lennie on his cell.

  “I’m the one trac
king our daughter, remember?” he said irritably. “I just discovered her room hasn’t been slept in.”

  “You should come up and get changed,” Lucky said, feeling apprehensive about what lay ahead, which wasn’t like her at all. Her mind was full of Gino. She had to do him proud; she had to make this a day to remember.

  “You’re not concerned that Max seems to be on the missing list?” Lennie asked.

  “Yes, I’m concerned, but there’s nothing you can do now, and we have to leave in ten minutes.”

  “For your information, she never checked in last night.”

  “You know what Max is like,” Lucky said, exasperated. “She probably went with her boss to the Four Seasons—that’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, especially if they got into Vegas late.”

  “If you think so. What’s her boss’s name again? I’ll check out the Four Seasons.”

  “Ask Danny. He knows. And have Danny chase her, because I need you to be with me. So please … get here fast.”

  It wasn’t often that Lucky said she needed him, and he couldn’t help but note the urgency in her voice. Lucky was strong, but she wasn’t superwoman, and today was putting her to the test.

  “I’m on my way,” he assured her.

  * * *

  The arrival of Paige caused quite a commotion. She and her entourage of six people had been whisked from the airport straight to the Magiriano, where Danny had arranged a hospitality suite for them to use while they were in Vegas. Paige had already informed him that she would not be staying the night. After the service and the celebratory party, she expected a plane to be waiting to take her and her friends back to Palm Springs.

  Her entourage consisted of Bud Pappas, resplendent in a bright yellow suit (an outfit he was known for in his heyday); Paige’s other neighbors, the Yassans; Darlene, a tall, broad-shouldered woman who was at the house with Paige the day Gino was shot; and an attractive married couple, John and Mary Lou Area, who lived nearby in Palm Springs.

  Clad in a tightly fitted black dress, a perky hat complete with veil, and a tad too many ostentatious diamonds, Paige was playing the Widow Santangelo to the hilt, and enjoying every moment of the attention coming her way. As she walked through the lobby of the Magiriano, early-comers to the service stopped her to pay their respects. She accepted their good wishes with a forlorn expression and a barely audible “Thank you so much for being here. It means the world to me.”