Her timing was impeccable. She knew it. Adrenaline was bursting her veins.
Gino… Marco… this is it. She ran to the top of the stairs and yelled, “Enzio. I’m up here.”
Enzio turned to Big Victor. “What the frig is she doin’ upstairs?”
Big Victor threw open his arms. “I don’t know, boss. You know Lucky, she treats this place like a second home.”
“Could she have been carrying?”
“No way. She’s got on one of those real skimpy dresses wit nuthin’ underneath. She wasn’t even carryin’ a purse. I’m tellin’ you, boss, she knows from nuthin’.”
“Hmmm….” He frowned, not fully convinced. “Then what does she want?”
“Whyn’t we go see?”
“No,” said Enzio quickly. It wouldn’t do to lose face. Let Victor think he was nervous of some stupid little bimbo. “I’ll handle her. You go see to that Warris guy. Give him a drink, tell him I’ll be right there.”
“I gave him a drink, boss.”
“So give him another one,” Enzio snapped impatiently. “This ain’t prohibition, y’know.”
Gino Santangelo stirred in his hospital bed and opened his eyes. The pain was gone, the horrible dark pain that had gripped him around the chest with a sickening intensity.
He tried to sit up but something was holding him back—some goddamn contraption on his arm.
The nurse, noticing movement, leaped to attention. “Mr. Santangelo, please, don’t try to move.”
“Why not?” The words rang out clearly.
She had never been asked such a question before. Patients under her care were usually docile and quiet. “I’ll fetch the doctor,” she said primly.
He watched her, a smile hovering on his lips. “Hey, nurse. Has anyone ever told you you got a beautiful ass?”
She fled from the room.
Enzio mounted the stairs slowly. If Lucky was still around did that mean Gino was too? Had that little Dario creep funked? Worse, had he told them?
“Lucky,” he called out, “where are you?”
“In your bedroom,” her voice sang out. “Your girl friend dragged me up here for some coke.”
“Friggin’ cunt!” he muttered. Imogene had two things going for her. Big tits and a new level of stupidity. He entered the bedroom.
“I’m in the bathroom,” Lucky called gaily. “I want to show you something.”
He reached the bathroom door and realized too late. He had been had.
Abruptly he stopped and stared at Lucky. His own gun sprouted from her hands. “We can talk—” he began to say.
“Never underestimate the power of a woman, old man,” she said evenly. “This is goodbye from Gino and Dario and Marco… especially Marco. Oh—and of course me.”
She pulled the trigger, and the first bullet smashed into his stomach, spilling his guts all over the golden carpet.
The second caught him in the neck as he was falling.
The third he didn’t feel.
It was all over for Enzio Bonnatti.
In the distance, Lucky could hear the scream of police sirens. “O.K., Marco?” she whispered. “O.K., babe?”
As the car carrying Steven, Bobby, and the two arresting detectives approached the Bonnatti estate, one of the detectives said, “There’s something going on. It looks like someone got here before us.”
Steven felt his stomach turn to lead. Up ahead he could see the flashing lights of two police cars. “Shit!” he exclaimed. Instinct told him that his moment of triumph was not to be.
A uniformed cop had taken over guard duty at the gate. He held up his hand to halt the car.
“What’s happening?” Steven asked excitedly, leaning from the car and flashing his I.D.
The cop shrugged. “There’s been a shooting. Some girl hollering rape shot Bonnatti.”
The leaden feeling in Steven’s stomach increased. “Is he dead?”
“Wouldn’t you be if you had three bullets in you?”
“Jesus H. Christ.”
“Amen,” said Bobby.
“Let’s go up to the house,” decided Steven.
“Yeah,” agreed Bobby. “At least we can look at the body.”
Wrapped in a blanket, seated in the kitchen, Lucky answered the detective’s questions as best she could. “I was so surprised when he grabbed me,” she said, her eyes full of tears. “Please understand—this man has always been like a father to me.”
The cop nodded his head sympathetically.
“He… he was like an animal. He ripped at my dress, grabbed for my breasts—” She broke into sobs. “It was horrible—horrible!”
“I know this is tough, ma’am. But what happened then?”
“I knew he kept a gun in the bathroom—he had shown me many times. I ran to get it. He followed me. It all goes blank then.”
“But you shot him?”
“Only to protect myself.”
“Of course.”
Steven checked out the body. He didn’t stare as Bobby did, one quick glance was enough. “Where’s the girl?” he asked.
“In the kitchen,” replied the police photographer. “What a looker!”
At the bottom of the stairs in the hall stood a cow-faced blonde of astronomical proportions, a fat man, a narrow-eyed hood, and a suntanned middle-aged man who looked about ready to burst into tears.
The flotsam and jetsam of Enzio Bonnatti’s life.
“Let’s get ’em down to the station, take their statements,” a burly cop said, shepherding them together.
“I wanna lawyer,” insisted the blonde.
“What do you need a lawyer for, sweetheart?” asked the cop, leering at her obvious assets. “You ain’t done nothin’, have you?”
Steven strode into the kitchen. Lucky looked up. Their eyes met.
For one instant it looked like she was going to greet him, but she didn’t. Her eyes hooded over, and she said nothing.
“Is this the suspect?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.
“What is it, Kennedy airport in here?” rasped the investigating detective. “Who are you?”
Steven produced his I.D. “Steven Berkely,” he said, loud enough for her to hear. “D.A’s office.”
She stared at him, her black eyes impassive, revealing nothing.
“You guys certainly move fast enough,” complained the detective.
“I’ve been conducting a special investigation on Bonnatti. Came down with the papers to arrest him.”
“Well, you’re too late.”
“I can see that. Listen, can I speak to you for a moment?”
The detective sighed and got up from his seat at the table. The two men walked to the door.
“What’s the situation?” Steven asked in a low voice.
The detective cleared his throat. “The old bastard tried to rape her. Looks like a simple case of self-defense to me.”
“Just wanted to know.” Steven glanced over at Lucky one more time. Her eyes were downcast. “Guess there’s nothing I can do to help, then.”
“Help!” snorted the detective. “Since when did you guys do anything to help?” He walked back to the table, sat down, and began making notes on a weathered pad.
Suddenly Steven felt the blaze of her eyes again. He returned her gaze.
Very slowly she mouthed, Hello, Steven, and then equally slowly she mouthed, Goodbye, D.A.
He wanted to say something—anything. Knew that he couldn’t.
She smiled wanly, and just as he was beginning to feel as crushed as she must be, she winked. A true, ballsy, Lucky Santangelo wink.
Goddamn it! Two solid years of work down the drain and she winked.
He almost smiled.
Only almost.
EPILOGUE
The funeral of Enzio Bonnatti was a grand affair. He was buried in a solid bronze casket that cost ten thousand dollars.
They came from all over to pay their respects—those who could afford the
notoriety of being seen at such a man’s burial. His blood relatives wore black, his two sons in suits they had worn only a day before to the double funeral of the Kassari twins in Philadelphia.
Enzio lay in an open casket for three days at the Long Island mansion, while friends, relatives, and business associates paid their respects.
Gino Santangelo was not among them, but that was only because he was confined to bed by his recent heart attack. He sent flowers, though, a massive bank of chrysanthemums, with a note that read, To my friend Enzio. Each step takes us on to the next. Gino.
Father Ameratti, who laid the body to rest, gave a moving speech. “Enzio Bonnatti was a gentleman,” he said, “almost to the end.”
Steven, already shattered by what had happened, returned to the city and the cool sanctuary of his apartment.
His mother, Carrie, waited there for him. “Steven,” she said, “I have a story to tell you, I want you to sit down and hear me out.”
When he heard, it was almost as if his life were broken into a thousand tiny pieces. He had always been so proud of his heritage, of the father he had never seen.
She spared him no details, telling him everything right from the beginning.
“Who is my father, then?” he had demanded. “Who is he?”
“I don’t know,” she replied simply. “There were two men the night you were conceived. One I went with willingly, the other—” she shrugged helplessly. “He forced me.”
“Do you know their names?” he asked brutally.
“It wouldn’t help you to know.”
“Tell me their names.”
“Freddy Lester…. He was a society boy…. I don’t know much about him.”
“White?”
She nodded.
“And the other?”
“Gino Santangelo.”
It took Steven a long time to recover from the shock. He threw up his work and went to Europe, where he bummed around for two years. Eventually he met a girl, a beautiful black girl who worked as a model. She wasn’t Zizi, or Aileen, and most of all she wasn’t Lucky.
He still thought about Lucky.
Sometimes.
Carrie divorced Elliott. She gave up the money, position, and style, and settled in a modest house on Fire Island. It was within walking distance of the house she had shared with Bernard.
When Steven came back to America in 1979 he went to see her. “I understand,” he said. It was enough.
Warris Charters returned to Hollywood. Show biz had dealt him another dirty blow—but there was always tomorrow.
He took with him forty-two-inch Imogene and made her a star.
She stayed with him until this event took place. Then she dumped him for a twenty-two-year-old black basketball star.
He shot them both in a Hollywood motel and ended up in jail, where he became king of the heap.
Warris had finally found a position for himself.
Costa Zennocotti retired. He bought himself an oceanside apartment in Miami Beach and took Gino’s advice. A man needed sex. To give it up was to give up a part of life. He met a friendly divorcee who did his cooking, and an even friendlier call girl whom he visited once every two weeks.
He had a winning combination at last.
Lucky Santangelo got off scot free. Her case never even came to court. “One of the advantages of havin’ the right friends,” Gino explained.
They were inseparable, father and daughter. They renovated the East Hampton house and lived there half the year; the rest of the time they spent in Vegas. Lucky in her penthouse suite atop the Magiriano. Gino in his luxurious apartment at the Mirage.
Often Lucky thought of Marco—and what might have been.
Sometimes her thoughts would drift to Steven.
But she was happy. She had Gino. And together they could own the world.
JACKIE COLLINS
There have been many imitators, but only Jackie Collins can tell you what really goes on in the fastest lane of all. From Beverly Hills bedrooms to a raunchy prowl along the streets of Hollywood; from glittering rock parties and concerts to stretch limos and the mansions of the power brokers — Jackie Collins chronicles the real truth from the inside looking out.
Jackie Collins has been called a “raunchy moralist” by the late director Louis Malle and “Hollywood’s own Marcel Proust” by Vanity Fair magazine. With over 400 million copies of her books sold in more than 40 countries, and with some twenty-eight New York Times bestsellers to her credit, Jackie Collins is one of the world’s top-selling novelists. She is known for giving her readers an unrivaled insider’s knowledge of Hollywood and the glamorous lives and loves of the rich, famous, and infamous! “I write about real people in disguise,” she says. “If anything, my characters are toned down — the truth is much more bizarre.”
Jackie Collins started writing as a teenager, making up steamy stories her schoolmates paid to devour. Her first book, “The World is Full of Married Men,” became a sensational bestseller because of its open sexuality and the way it dealt honestly with the double standard. After that came “The Stud,” “Sinners,” “The Love Killers,” “The World is Full of Divorced Women,” “The Bitch,” “Lovers And Gamblers,” “Chances,” and then the international sensation, “Hollywood Wives” — a #1 New York Times bestseller, which was made into one of ABC’s highest-rated miniseries starring Anthony Hopkins and Candice Bergen.
“The Stud,” “The World is Full of Married Men,” and “The Bitch” were also filmed-this time for the big screen. And Jackie wrote an original movie, Yesterday’s Hero, starring Ian McShane and Suzanne Somers.
Readers couldn’t wait to race through “Lucky,” her next book — a sequel to “Chances” — and the story of Lucky Santangelo, an incredibly beautiful, strong woman, another New York Times number one. Oprah had one word for the book “Lucky,” and that was — “Hot!”
Next came the bad boys of Hollywood in the steamy “Hollywood Husbands” — a novel which kept everyone guessing the identities of the true-to-life Hollywood characters.
Jackie then wrote “Rock Star” — the story of three rock superstars and their rise to the top, followed by the long-awaited sequel to “Chances” and “Lucky” — “Lady Boss” - tracking the further adventures of the wild and powerful Lucky Santangelo as she takes control of a Hollywood studio.
Both “Lucky” and “Chances” were written and adapted for NBC television by Jackie, who also executive produced the highly successful six-hour miniseries Lucky/Chances, starring Nicollete Sheridan and Sandra Bullock.
In the nineties, she produced and wrote the four-hour miniseries, Lady Boss, which became another huge ratings success for NBC. Lady Boss starred Kim Delaney.
Next came “American Star,” a love story, which the Los Angeles Times described as “classic Collins.”
Then the dangerously close to the truth “Hollywood Kids” — a story of power, sex, danger and ambition among the grown offspring of major celebrities.
In 1996 “Vendetta — Lucky’s Revenge” was published — and became an immediate New York Times bestseller.
And in 1998, Jackie hosted her own daily television show for CBS, Jackie Collins’ Hollywood. A combination of fun, style and interviews, Jackie talked to everyone from George Clooney to Jennifer Lopez.
After that she wrote “L.A. Connections” — a four-part serial novel published one per month — “Power,” “Obsession,” “Murder” and “Revenge.”
In 1999 came “Dangerous Kiss” — the return of Lucky Santangelo in a bestselling novel about relationships, addiction, fear and lust.
In the year 2000, “Lethal Seduction” became the first bestseller for Jackie Collins in the new millennium. This tale of erotic suspense and glamorous intrigue featured Madison Castelli, a character first introduced in the “L.A. Connections” series.
“Hollywood Wives — The New Generation” became a blockbuster bestseller in 2001, following in the footsteps of the original “Hollywood Wi
ves.” “Hollywood Wives — The New Generation” featured a brand new cast of characters and a totally fresh perspective on how women pursue power, love, sex, and success in Tinseltown today.
In 2003 Jackie produced the TV movie of “Hollywood Wives — The New Generation” for CBS. Wives starred Farrah Fawcett, Robin Givens, Jack Scalia and Melissa Gilbert.
In June 2002, New York flash, L.A. trash and a Mafia don meet head-on in “Deadly Embrace.” This sexy tale of dangerous passion and suspense features heroine Madison Castelli and is both a prequel and a sequel to her adventures in the bestselling “Lethal Seduction.”
In 2003 came another New York Times bestseller, “Hollywood Divorces,” the story of three very different women. Followed in 2005 by “Lovers and Players” — a story of family conflicts, three brothers and their billionaire father, a beautiful heiress, a hip-hop mogul, Russian call girls, illegitimate children and two murders. This all takes place over seven days in New York, and yet again hit the New York Times bestseller list.
“Drop Dead Beautiful — The Continuing Adventures of Lucky Santangelo” was published in 2007. Lucky came back with a vengeance — bolder and more beautiful than ever! In “Drop Dead Beautiful” Lucky meets old friends and enemies, and deals with her wild teenage daughter, Max, who is as stubborn and strong as her mom. Lucky plans to return to Las Vegas and build an amazing billion-dollar hotel complex. But when she does… the trouble really begins…
Next came “Married Lovers,” a powerful look at the ins and outs of marriage in L.A. It’s also the story of an under-age Russian girl who becomes involved in the sex trade, and eventually arrives in Hollywood and causes major trouble.
“Poor Little Bitch Girl” followed “Married Lovers,” another New York Times bestseller. It is the story of three very different women who all went to high school together. Denver Jones — a twenty-five-year-old kick-ass associate lawyer in L.A. Carolyn Henderson — assistant to a powerful married Senator in Washington. And Annabelle Maestro — daughter of movie star parents, who has carved out a niche for herself as a much-in-demand New York madame running call girls.
Chances Page 72