The Santangelos

by Jackie Collins

  Instinctively she flung herself forward, desperate to stop him from reaching the phone.

  Shocked that he was being attacked, he roared his displeasure as she grabbed his wrist, attempting to wrest his hand away.

  “You American whore,” he screamed, struggling to free his hand. “You dare to touch a king—you will die for your impudence.”

  “Screw you, old man,” Lucky said breathlessly. “You’re stone-cold crazy, and I know what you’re trying to do. I know your plan.”

  “You know nothing. Do you hear me—nothing.”

  They battled it out, both resolute in their quest to win. Lucky was strong. The king was stronger. With an animalistic roar of fury, he managed to shove her away, giving him just enough time to press the trigger button on his cell.

  There was a moment of silence, then they both heard the explosion from way below.

  The king gave an evil laugh. “It’s a shame you are not down there,” he said. “It will suffice that your loved ones are, for they deserved to be punished, exactly like your dog of a father. Yes, you are quite right. I arranged for his execution, and I can assure you that it was my profound pleasure to do so. I knew you would bury him here, so I made sure that I would be in attendance. I think it is true that you suffer more when it’s your relatives and friends who die because of you.”

  “You sick motherfucker.”

  “Unfortunately for you, there is nothing you can do to me,” he continued, rising to his feet. “I have diplomatic immunity in your country.” With a vile smile of triumph, he added, “I am a king, and you are no more than a useless woman. I will leave now. I shall return to my country, where women know their place.”

  A black fury came over her. A fury so strong that she could not control it.

  She flew at this monster of a man, ready to gouge his eyes out. She raged against him with all her strength, clawing at his face with her nails, spitting at him, kicking him.

  He reeled back from her attack, falling hard against the railings of the terrace, tripping on his long robe. He attempted to regain his balance, leaning his full weight against the railings, and to his surprise he found himself falling … falling … into the chaos forty stories below.

  CHAPTER NINETY

  There was nothing Lucky could do. Nothing she wanted to do. She couldn’t save King Emir, and even if it had been possible for her to do so, she would’ve allowed him to fall. He’d ordered the cold-blooded assassination of Gino, and for that he was being duly punished.

  Justice ruled.

  Santangelo justice.

  She ran from the terrace into the living room, where Chris still held Faisal and the two guards at bay.

  “We’ve got to go,” she said tersely, aware of what would take place when they discovered that their precious king was no longer with them.

  Chris didn’t need to be asked twice. He’d heard the explosion, and he dreaded what they would find when they got downstairs.

  The elevator doors opened. Bobby was standing inside. “Jesus, Mom—” he began to say.

  Lucky stepped into the elevator with Chris close behind her. “We have to find the kids,” she said, her voice choking up.

  And as the elevator door closed, they all heard the wails of despair coming from the penthouse.

  King Emir Amin Mohamed Jordan was dead.

  So be it.

  * * *

  Nazeem and Salman were hunched in the narrow passageway when King Emir detonated the suicide vest attached to Salman’s chest. Salman was hovering behind Nazeem as they waited for the signal that would send them out among the many guests, for only then were the bombs supposed to be detonated. Both men had received explicit instructions. On the king’s signal, Nazeem was to head toward the podium as soon as Lucky Santangelo began to speak, while Salman was to make his way to the center aisle.

  However, thanks to Lucky, none of this took place, although the explosion was still lethal enough to do plenty of damage.

  Chaos reigned. Everyone was panicking, running and screaming. Acrid smoke filled the air. There were injuries, mostly to the people who had been sitting at the back near the passageway. Things could have been worse had Nazeem and Salman emerged from the passageway before the bombs detonated.

  On their way to the men’s room, Senator Richmond and his son, Craven, were caught in the mayhem—pieces of flying debris hit Peter on the head, rendering him unconscious. His security detail dragged him away to a safer spot, while Craven stood there, stunned—even more so when King Emir’s body came hurtling down from above, landing only a couple of feet away from him.

  Craven sank to the ground and began crying like a baby.

  Meanwhile, Lennie was busy trying to get everybody away from the mayhem to a safer place behind the mausoleum. None of the family and close friends were injured, although everyone was reeling in shock.

  Lennie couldn’t help wondering if there was more to come. Lucky had been right; she was always right. Why hadn’t he listened to her?

  He tried to stay calm and in control. Where was Lucky? And Max? Was it possible that Max had been kidnapped? Could her abduction be part of a plot to destroy the Santangelos?

  He ushered Gino Junior and Leo toward Steven, who was helping to move everyone. “Watch out for them,” he said urgently. “I’m going to find Lucky.”

  “You do that,” Steven said, grabbing both boys.

  “I want to go help,” Gino Junior insisted, skipping free of his uncle.

  “It’s too dangerous,” Steven said tersely. “There could be another bomb about to go off. Nobody knows what’s happening.”

  “I don’t care,” Gino Junior replied, his young face full of sincerity. “There are people who need my help.”

  Before Steven could stop him, he ran off.

  * * *

  Adrenaline pumping, Lucky raced outside, Bobby close behind her. She didn’t know what to expect; her heart was beating out of her chest. What if her kids were injured or even worse? And Lennie, was he okay? She prayed that he was.

  The carnage was bad, but not as bad as she’d expected. Later she learned that by tackling King Emir, she’d forced him into detonating the bombs while the two suicide bombers were still in the passageway—and that had saved many lives.

  People were running everywhere, and there was blood and wreckage.

  Lucky began searching desperately for her family, finally spotting Gino Junior, who was tending to a woman with blood pouring down her face. He’d torn off his jacket and was trying to stem the flow.

  “Hey, Mom!” he shouted. “Over here.”

  “Where are Lennie and Leo?” she asked, bending down to tell the woman that help was on the way and that she’d be all right.

  “They’re okay, Mom,” Gino Junior assured her. “Dad’s looking for you.”

  The woman moaned. Lucky recognized her. It was Darlene, Paige’s friend.

  Nearby a man was crouched on the ground in a dazed state; it was apparent that his leg had been severed below the knee.

  Lucky experienced a flash of deep fury that such a devastating act had taken place at her hotel. Could she have stopped it?

  No. How could you stop something when you had no idea it was going to happen?

  Someone must have called 911 the moment the bombs went off, for police and paramedics were already swarming. Thank God for that, she thought.

  Bobby was helping the injured, and so was Chris.

  Why? she wanted to scream. Why would someone plan such a heinous act?

  Suddenly Lennie was by her side, holding on to her, moving her away from the danger zone, although she wanted to stay and help.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” he insisted. “The paramedics have it under control.”

  “The bastard is dead,” she said flatly. “Dead and gone.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Where are Leo and Brigette and Steven? Are they okay?”

  “Everyone’s fine.” He was sil
ent for a moment. “You didn’t—”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “You know what.”

  “No, Lennie, I didn’t. But I wished I had.”

  CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

  Denver was packing the last of her things from the house she’d shared with Bobby when Leon called her with the news of Alejandro’s demise. Apparently it was all over the Web. She was shocked when she heard about the car wreck. Should she be upset or relieved that a scumbag like Alejandro Diego had been taken off the streets in such a horrific way?

  Leon sounded quite cavalier about it. “Less work for us,” he joked. “Now we can move on.”

  To what? she wanted to say. It’s not as if the whole Diego drug operation is about to come to a stop. Somebody will take over; it’s inevitable.

  “Check out The Truth with Jeff on the Internet,” Leon said. “There are other people involved in the crash. Bobby’s sister is one of them.”

  “Max?”

  “Some dude posted a story from the hospital. According to him, she’s in a coma.”

  “Oh my God!” Denver gasped, thinking first Gino, now Max. Bobby had to be wrecked.

  She didn’t know what to do about that. Bobby and she weren’t together—he wasn’t her concern anymore, yet she felt she had to do something.

  After hanging up on Leon, she rushed to her computer to read the full story. Before she could get to it, there was a news flash about two suicide bombers in Las Vegas at the Magiriano hotel.

  Wasn’t that Lucky’s hotel?

  Denver felt sick. This was all too much.

  * * *

  Plans were made to be broken. Things happened in mysterious ways. Always expect the unexpected. When Rafael heard about Alejandro’s fiery demise, he realized that an opportunity had opened up for him that he had not thought would ever take place.

  Alejandro was gone. Pablo had no other heir, so surely he, Rafael, would be recognized at last?

  Unfortunately, it was he who had to inform Pablo by phone of Alejandro’s death, and Pablo did not take the news well. At first he refused to believe what Rafael was telling him, then he turned his grief and anger against Rafael, as if it were his fault.

  “I’m sorry,” Rafael kept on saying. “It was a terrible accident.”

  “Why weren’t you with him?” Pablo roared, his voice a steely blast. “You should have been protecting him. That was your job, you sniveling coward. You are the one that should be dead, not Alejandro.”

  At that moment, Rafael realized that Pablo was never going to recognize him as his son. He would never be respected, and Pablo would forever blame him for Alejandro’s death.

  It was time to move on after all.

  Rafael knew what he had to do. He didn’t hesitate.

  * * *

  Billy Melina was on the set of his movie, sitting in his trailer checking out various sites on his laptop when a story about the Santangelo family popped up. And what a story it was. A murder in Chicago. An assassination in Palm Springs. A lethal car crash. Suicide bombers in Vegas.

  The story was more violent than any movie script. And Max, sweet young Max, was caught in the middle of it all. It was no wonder she had not answered his text. According to the story he read online, she’d survived the deadly car crash and was now in a coma.

  He found it hard to believe, yet it was true, and here he was, stuck in Rome, thousands of miles away, making a movie.

  He’d had his chance with Max and he’d blown it.

  Why? Could it be because he was shit-scared of making a commitment to a girl who he knew was not going to be a casual fling?

  He’d bailed on her once, then after their magical reunion in Rome, he’d gotten the proverbial cold feet and bailed again.

  One morning, after a night out with two hot girls who’d meant nothing to him, he’d woken up and thought, What the fuck. I love Max. I want her back in my life, and I don’t give a crap about what anyone thinks.

  He’d immediately sent her a text, to which she hadn’t responded, and now he knew why.

  Was it too late to do anything?

  For Billy it was never too late.

  CHAPTER NINETY-TWO

  Fury abounded that such a despicable terrorist act had taken place at the Magiriano.

  A cluster fuck of police officers, detectives, FBI agents, and members of the bomb squad had descended. Shortly after, the media started arriving in hungry droves, desperate to capture everything.

  There were questions, statements, and police reports. Lucky gave her version of exactly what had taken place on the penthouse terrace. Nobody doubted her account of the events. Nobody except Faisal, who was arrested yelling and screaming that his king had been brutally murdered and that he demanded justice. He also demanded to be immediately released due to the fact that he and his people—including a terrified and traumatized Tariq—were all supposed to have diplomatic immunity.

  Lucky had many connections; most of the major city officials plus the mayor of Vegas and the governor of Nevada had been present to honor Gino. The governor’s wife had been injured—not badly, but enough to make the governor realize how fortunate they were. Three people had died, and two dozen were injured. It could have been so much worse.

  Once Lucky heard the news about Max, she and Lennie had taken a helicopter to the hospital in Barstow. Her heart broke when she saw Max lying there in a deep coma. She immediately got to work, summoning the best doctors in L.A. and arranging to have Max transported by air ambulance to Cedars.

  And there she lay in a deep coma.

  Lucky questioned the doctors relentlessly, hungry for anything they could tell her. Unfortunately, they could give no definitive answers about Max’s condition. Their prognosis was that she could wake up tomorrow and be perfectly fine, or she could linger in a coma for months.

  The grim alternative was that she would not wake up at all.

  The family kept a steady vigil by her bedside. Every day Lucky held her daughter’s hand and told her stories; Lennie talked about the movie he was working on and how he couldn’t wait for her to wake up and visit him on the set; Bobby played audiotapes of books he knew she liked, while Gino Junior and Leo blasted all her favorite music.

  Nothing had any effect. She lay very still in her hospital bed, serene, her eyes closed as if she were sleeping peacefully.

  A week passed and nothing changed, until one day while sitting in the hospital, Lennie got a call from Billy Melina.

  “I’m comin’ to see her,” Billy said.

  “Not possible,” Lennie replied.

  “Why?”

  “You know damn well why.”

  “You’re being a fuckin’ dick,” Billy exploded. “Whether you like it or not, you know she cares for me, and believe me—it’s mutual.”

  “I’m not allowing it,” Lennie responded, and clicked off.

  “Who was that?” Lucky asked, glancing at her husband.

  “You’ll never guess.”

  Lucky threw him a steely look. “I’m so not into guessing games right now,” she said.

  “Okay, it was Billy Melina, if you must know.”

  Was it her imagination, or did Max imperceptibly squeeze her hand?

  Yes, she was sure that she did.

  “What did he want?” she asked.

  “What do you think?” Lennie said, frowning. “The dumbass wants to see her.”

  “When?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? Never.”

  Lucky took a moment before saying, “Lennie, sometimes you’re right and sometimes you’re wrong. I have a strong feeling that we should say yes.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because…”

  “Jeez, Lucky,” he groaned. “You and your strong feelings.”

  “Call him back.”

  “You do it.”

  “I will.”

  “Oh yeah, I know you will.”

  * * *

  Later that night, Billy came to the hospital. Visiting h
ours were over, but for Billy Melina exceptions were made. The nurses were all excited to catch a glimpse of such a famous and sexy movie star.

  The family had left for the night; only Lucky remained. Sometimes she stayed all night, sleeping on the couch.

  When Billy arrived, she found herself hugging him, finding comfort in his embrace. She’d always enjoyed his company, especially when he was married to Venus. She’d had fun teasing him about being Venus’s “boy toy.” He’d taken it in good spirits. Then the divorce had happened, and later, when he’d gotten together with Max, Lennie had gone nuts. “That son of a bitch is taking advantage of my teenage daughter,” he’d fumed. “And that’s going to stop right now.”

  Nothing Lucky could say had calmed him down.

  “How’s she doin’?” Billy asked, moving over to the bed.

  “Unresponsive,” Lucky replied.

  “What do the doctors say?”

  “It’s a crapshoot, Billy,” she sighed, weary from spending days at the hospital. “She’ll either snap out of it or she won’t. Nobody knows anything.”

  “Yeah,” Billy said, giving Lucky a long penetrating look. “You should go home. You look exhausted.”

  “Thanks,” she said drily.

  “I’m telling you—go home. Let me stay here.”

  “Why would I do that, Billy?”

  “’Cause I think I can help. Me and Max, we got a special connection.”

  Lucky was willing to give it a try. She had nothing to lose, and Billy seemed to be genuinely concerned. Maybe he could help. Maybe he was exactly what Max needed.

  After a while, she said good night and took off, knowing that Lennie would be furious if he found out that she’d left their daughter alone with Billy. She was too tired to care. Besides, she could hear Gino’s voice echoing in her head—Give it a shot, kiddo. It’s all gonna work out.

  * * *

  Billy perched on the side of Max’s bed. He reached for her hand and began stroking it. Then he leaned close to her and began talking, reminiscing about when they’d first gotten together on the beach in Malibu, making jokes, telling her what an asshole he’d been and how he wanted to make it up to her.

  He kept on talking until he had nothing left to say, then finally he gave up and dropped off to sleep at the end of her bed.