“You look so chic,” her friend Darlene whispered in her ear. “I can’t wait until we’re alone together. Ah … the things I plan to do to you.”
“Shh…” Paige said, glancing around. “Someone might hear you.”
“What if they do?” Darlene said boldly. “You’re a free woman now. You can do what you like—what we like.”
“You’re being inappropriate,” Paige said, pretending to be cross, although there was nothing she liked better than Darlene fawning over her. Their affair had been going on for almost a year, and Paige had managed to keep it on the down-low. Now, with Gino gone, Darlene seemed to think it was time to bring it out into the open. Paige had no intention of doing so. She had a reputation to protect, not to mention a Palm Springs social life. She was not prepared to come out—not yet anyway. And certainly not at Gino’s funeral service.
* * *
With his full security team in place, Chris was satisfied that the Magiriano was on lockdown, which meant that unless you were an invited guest with a numbered pass, you were not getting in. All hotel guests had been alerted that an important event was taking place and that they had to steer clear of certain areas of the hotel, which were now roped off and secure. As compensation, they were offered a free night’s stay.
Too many famous people in one place was always a challenge, but Chris was confident that so far everything was running smoothly. He did not anticipate any problems. What he didn’t like were the personal security teams some of the high-profile guests traveled with. They always seemed to cause problems, especially the ones attached to politicians. It was almost like a game of who’s looking after the most famous and important of them all.
The random security teams made dumb demands, such as which celebrity should arrive last, because celebrities did not appreciate sitting around. And where would their celebrity be sitting? It had to be up front in a prime position or else trouble would ensue.
Yeah. Sure. Chris put Danny in charge of seating. He couldn’t care less about who sat where. Keeping everything and everyone safe and on track was his main concern.
Assholes.
Chris hated assholes.
* * *
Back in L.A., Frankie Romano was reveling in his newfound freedom. Well, not freedom, exactly, for he was under strict guard in a hotel with a couple of armed cops on watch duty. The place he was sequestered in was hardly a four-star luxury hotel, and other than his stint in prison, Frankie was used to the best.
Prison was the pits. No place for a man like Frankie Romano.
He’d come up with exactly how they could trap Alejandro. Every week, Matias brought two girls to Alejandro’s office at Club Luna. Two pathetic drug mules that Alejandro liked to play with for his own amusement. Frankie was the only one who knew about Alejandro’s predilection—apart from Matias, and he didn’t count. Catching Alejandro with the girls and the drugs should be more than enough to put him away. And once Alejandro was arrested and locked up, Frankie was under the false impression that he’d be free. He didn’t realize that they’d keep him under wraps until he testified at Alejandro’s trial, telling him that it was for his own protection.
He ordered room service breakfast while waiting impatiently for the two deputy DAs to turn up. Denver Jones, whom he would never forgive for treating him like a lowlife drug dealer when they were once friends. And Leon, the black dude who considered himself one smart son of a bitch.
Nobody was smarter than Frankie Romano. He would emerge from this fuckup unscathed.
He was Frankie Romano. He always came out on top.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
“Where am I?” Willow muttered, opening her eyes, before vaguely realizing that she was trapped in a hospital bed with her left leg held aloft in a splint, while an IV was attached to her arm. She felt completely disoriented. “Where am I?” she repeated, because she had no idea why she was in a hospital bed or how she’d gotten there. Her mind was one big blank.
A nurse stood by her bed, a stout black woman with a kindly smile and a name tag that identified her as Shaquita.
“There you are,” the nurse said cheerfully. “I knew it wouldn’t take you long. The moment they brought you in, I said to myself, Shaquita, this one’ll be up an’ at ’em before you know it, even though you got a mild concussion an’ you’re all bruised up, poor baby. You’re lucky you survived. From what I hear, it was a fiery crash.”
“Brought me in … from where?” Willow asked, confused.
“You were in a car accident, hon. Don’t you remember?”
An image of her mom flashed in front of Willow’s eyes. She saw a faded blonde waving a check. Was it her mom? She thought it probably was, but she couldn’t be sure. Then the image faded.
“What’s your name, honey?” Shaquita asked. “The police were here earlier to question you, only Dr. Ferris wasn’t havin’ it. Our Doc Ferris is a tough one. Nobody messes with his patients.”
Name? Did she have a name? Because if she did, she sure as hell had no idea what it was.
Dr. Ferris, an older man with a hangdog expression and thick spectacles balanced on the end of his aquiline nose, entered the room and approached her bed.
“Well, well,” he said in a loud voice. “You were right, Nurse. This one’s a fighter.” He bent down close to Willow and spoke softly. “What’s your name, dear?”
Why did everyone want to know her goddamn name?
“My head hurts,” she muttered, clenching her teeth. “Maybe my mom should take a look at it. Can you call her?”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Dr. Ferris said, straightening up. “And her name is?”
Closing her eyes, Willow began drifting off. These people were batshit crazy. All they could think about was finding out people’s names.
Surely they knew who she was?
After all, she was famous … wasn’t she?
* * *
Across the hall in the intensive care unit, Max was attached to a variety of tubes. She lay motionless in a deep coma, her green eyes closed, her complexion deathly pale.
She and Willow and the teenage girl who’d survived the BMW crash had all been brought to a hospital near Barstow. The teenager had given a statement to the police, tearfully telling them that she had no idea who the other girls were. Two of her friends had died in the BMW crash, one of them being her best girlfriend, the other her brother. She was sobbing uncontrollably, waiting for her parents to drive in from L.A.
The police had quite a job ahead of them. The initial crash of the big rig and the other car had destroyed all evidence. They were combing through the burned-out wreckage searching for clues as to whom the car belonged to.
A detective was at the hospital waiting to question Willow, who seemed to be their only hope of discovering the identity of the victims. Two bodies had been found in the car that had crashed with the big rig, their bodies burned beyond recognition.
Who were they? Willow was the only one who could answer that question.
CHAPTER EIGHTY
A sleek black limousine with an armed driver and a follow-up car close behind drove Lucky, Lennie, Bobby, and Chris to the Magiriano. The two younger boys had gone on ahead with Brigette and Steven.
“I’m thinking this is overkill,” Lucky remarked, tapping her fingers impatiently on the leather seat as she gazed out the window.
“No,” Chris replied, ever alert. “It’s called being careful.”
“Listen,” Lucky said with an irritable shake of her head. “If somebody wanted to get to me, they’d have done it by now.”
“Chris is right to take precautions,” Lennie said, always the voice of reason. “We’re heading for a high-profile event, and let’s not forget that you’re the star.”
“Star!” Lucky exploded. “What do you think this is—a fucking movie premiere?”
“Okay, okay. Calm down everyone,” Bobby interjected. “We’re all on edge. This is Granddad’s day, and he sure as hell wouldn’t want anyo
ne fighting.”
“You’re right,” Lucky said, imagining Gino saying, What the fuck’s wrong with you people? For crissake, get it together.
“When we arrive at the hotel, I’m putting you in the manager’s office until all guests are seated,” Chris announced.
“Is that necessary?” Lucky asked.
“Yes, unless you want random guests stopping you and trying to grab your attention on your way to your seats,” Chris pointed out. “The plan is to wait until everyone’s seated, then I’ll take you straight out to the podium and the ceremony can begin.”
“Sounds sensible enough,” Lennie agreed.
Leaning back in the limo, Lucky began thinking about what she was going to say. She hadn’t written a speech—too formal. She wanted her words to come straight from the heart.
Gino. Father. Fighter. Ladies’ man. Tough guy. Business titan. Man of the world.
Gino the Ram.
How could she ever hope to capture the essence of Gino with mere words? It was impossible.
Taking a quick glance over at Bobby, she wondered if he’d written anything to honor his grandfather. Should she ask him? He looked as if he hadn’t slept all night. Oh God, the strain was getting to all of them. He was probably missing Denver too. Bad timing for a breakup.
And Max—where was she? Although she realized that Lennie was concerned, she was also aware that Max was quite capable of looking out for herself. Knowing her daughter so well, Lucky wouldn’t put it past her to be screwing with Lennie because she was mad at him for calling a stop to her fling with Billy Melina.
Still … Max had better show her face at Gino’s service or else.
“We’re almost there,” Lennie said.
Taking a long deep breath, Lucky attempted to compose herself.
Stay strong, she told herself. Hold it together. And tomorrow you can get down to the serious business of tracking Gino’s killer.
* * *
People mingled. From movie stars to politicians, TV personalities and many acquaintances, everyone was there to remember their old friend Gino Santangelo. They filled the lobby of the Magiriano, moving slowly to the outside area where rows of chairs faced a specially erected podium with a center dais where the speakers would stand in front of a microphone to honor the memory of Gino. The podium was covered in an array of lavish floral tributes, and a single blowup photo of Gino and Maria on their wedding day. It was Lucky’s favorite photo.
The atmosphere was festive, exactly as Lucky had planned. Sunshine and flowers, smiles and friendship. No religious ceremony, as Gino—a lapsed Catholic—had not believed in religion. He blamed religion and people’s differences for all the troubles in the world. Lucky had always agreed with him.
Paige and her entourage marched toward the front seats full of entitlement. Danny had to tell her that were only two seats for her in the reserved section, and that her other guests would have to sit further back. She did not take the news well. Glaring at Danny, she chose Bud Pappas to accompany her to the front row.
Now it was Darlene’s turn to be annoyed as she was forced to find seats further back with the rest of Paige’s entourage. She threw Paige a furious look.
People jockeyed for position. Danny was beside himself, as he was the one who had to protect the several rows of reserved seats—seats where most of the important guests expected to be seated.
Charlie Dollar rolled in with Venus, Alex Woods, and Alex’s Asian girlfriend. Awkward, as there were only reserved seats for Charlie, Venus, and Alex—no seat for Alex’s girlfriend. Charlie Dollar was one movie star who frightened the crap out of Danny, so he made an executive decision and decided not to argue the point.
The Richmond family came through, followed by talk-show host Jack Python; a gaggle of gorgeous blondes; Cookie’s dad, soul singer Gerald M., with a very tall model; and Eddie and Annabelle Falcon.
Although Eddie had met Gino only a couple of times, he considered this to be an important event not to be missed, so he’d persuaded one of his star clients, Jack Python, to score him an invite. Now here he was, ready to conduct business at the after party. A good agent never lets a funeral get in the way of networking.
The reserved seats were filling up quickly. Steven, Brigette, her girlfriend, Gino Junior, and Leo were all seated in the front row. Only four more seats were available, for Lucky, Lennie, Max, and Bobby.
Danny told his significant other, Buff—who was helping out—to guard those seats with his life.
Refreshments were served by pretty girls and attractive waiters offering trays of still and sparkling water.
The crowd was beginning to settle. Soon the service would begin.
* * *
Pacing impatiently around Ian Simmons’s office, Lucky recalled the time it had once been her office, and even though it had been refurbished, being there brought back so many amazing memories. Nothing was the same, yet it was as if nothing had really changed. She remembered sitting behind her desk in this very room, running the place, giving orders, relishing every minute of being in charge.
“I guess I’ll go take my seat,” Bobby said, wondering where Venus was sitting, and if he could position himself near to her. “We don’t want to march in like a parade. It should be just you and Lennie.”
“We’ll see you out there,” Lennie said. “And you can tell your sister when you see her that she’s in deep trouble.”
“I’ll do that,” Bobby said, leaving the room.
Chris had already gone to check on everything, assuring them he would be back soon. Lucky moved over to Ian’s desk and sat behind it, observing that at least the view was the same. Lush greenery and a profusion of swaying palm trees. She remembered the day she’d ordered the trees to be planted. They’d been quite small then, but now they were tall and majestic.
“How d’you feel?” Lennie asked.
“How do you think?” she responded.
“You’re gonna do great, sweetheart,” he assured her. “You’ll make Gino proud.”
That’s all she’d wanted as a kid, to make her daddy proud. It had been a struggle, but over the years she’d gotten there. Gino had finally accepted her as the strong woman she’d become.
Ian Simmons kept a pristine desk. There was a neat stack of papers ready to be dealt with, and two Mac computers containing files on important guests and high rollers. In pride of place stood a framed photo of a woman and two young children—obviously his wife and family. Propped against the frame was a note card with an embossed gold trim around the edge. Reaching out, Lucky picked up the note card. Immediately an image flashed before her eyes. VENGEANCE. A word that had been printed on a note card identical to this one, the note card she’d discovered locked in Gino’s desk.
Coincidence or not?
Hurriedly, she read the neat script.
King Emir Amin Mohamed Jordan thanks you for a pleasant stay, and hopes you will accept this gift as a small token of his appreciation.
A rush of adrenaline hit her hard. The stationery matched. The note cards were identical.
Her mind began racing. Had King Emir come to Las Vegas to take his revenge for the murder of his son? Was that possible?
Yes. That had to be it.
King Emir Amin Mohamed Jordan had somehow or other arranged Gino’s assassination, and now the son of a bitch was here on the day of the funeral to gloat.
But was that all? Or could there be more?
Vengeance. The son of a bitch wanted vengeance for something she’d had nothing to do with.
Had he put other plans in place?
Was something bad about to happen?
“Get Chris,” she said urgently, turning to Lennie. “Get Chris right away.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
Student nurse Felicity Lever, a plain, overweight girl with mousy-brown hair and a pronounced overbite, was twenty years old and bored by her job. She’d wanted to be a model, only God had not given her the gifts to achieve that dream. She’d thought abo
ut becoming an actress, but how was it possible for that to happen unless a Hollywood producer discovered her? Instead she was a student nurse who would eventually become a registered nurse, and, according to her parents, that was her lot in life.
Felicity was a keen follower of popular culture, and the moment she entered Willow’s hospital room, it struck her that there was something very familiar about the girl lying in the bed. Edging closer, she attempted to get a better look.
The girl had long pale red hair and pretty features. She was all beaten up. Apart from a broken leg, she had a swollen black eye and coagulated blood bruises down one side of her face. Even so, Felicity was sure she was someone.
Without warning, Willow suddenly opened her eyes. “I’m thirsty,” she mumbled.
“I’ll get you some water,” Felicity said, still trying to figure out who the girl was.
“Why’m I here?” Willow asked, her eyelids fluttering.
“’Cause you was in an accident,” Felicity said.
“What accident?”
“A bad one,” Felicity said. Then, just like that, it came to her. The girl was Willow Price. The Willow Price. The young actress with a shady track record who’d made many a headline in her time—from being voted the most popular newcomer in People magazine to a series of DUIs and accusations of shoplifting, plus a slew of very public fights with unsuitable boyfriends.
Felicity experienced a tingle of excitement. This was big, very big.
She rushed outside to the nurses’ station, where Shaquita was stuffing her face with a brownie. “Guess what?” she crowed.
“What, child?” Shaquita responded, chewing contentedly.
“The girl in room six is famous.”
“Famous?”
“Yes,” Felicity boasted. “And I’m the only one who recognized her.”
The Santangelos Page 38
