The Santangelos

by Jackie Collins

  Willow could just imagine the scene. Pammy laid out on her bed snorting cocaine from her secret supply, downing vodka from her bottle, and probably watching porn on her TV.

  “Motherfucker!” Willow muttered, cringing at the thought. Her house was all she had, and she didn’t want it tainted with her mom’s presence. She bet Pammy would still be in residence when she returned from Vegas, which meant she’d be forced to throw her out.

  Pammy was an embarrassment she did not need in her life, especially with all that would soon happen.

  Willow Price was about to regain her place at the top of the tree, and before she did, Pammy had to go.

  Her thoughts moved on to Ralph Maestro. Ralph had left her several voice mails demanding to know where she was. It delighted her that a big movie star was hot to keep playing, although getting her hands on the money came first, because once she gave Eddie his million bucks, all she had to do was sit back and watch everything fall into place.

  That was her plan. She’d worry about Pammy and Ralph when it was done.

  * * *

  Back at Club Luna, Sonia—who’d been busy working on the bartender—had noticed Rafael, Alejandro’s business partner, shooting her sly looks.

  She knew who he was; his photo was on the pin-board at the office right up there next to Alejandro’s. Usually Rafael did not hang out at the club, but tonight, with Alejandro gone, he was settled in a booth chugging champagne.

  Sonia was not one to miss an opportunity. Her job was to gain access and take photos of Alejandro’s private office, and she had a far better chance of doing that with Rafael than with the bartender.

  The music playing was loud and sexy—strident beats that allowed her to shake her assets in front of Rafael’s booth.

  He was staring, his watchful eyes taking in every inch of her.

  She’d heard he was a tight-ass, not a player like Alejandro. Tonight he seemed like a player.

  She undulated toward him. He continued to stare.

  Flopping down next to him, she began fanning herself with her hand. “Too hot!” she exclaimed. “This girl needs a drink.”

  Rafael said nothing.

  “Gonna buy me one?” she asked, touching his arm. “Gonna make a girl happy?”

  Rafael thought about Elizabetta with anger in his heart. Which one of Pablo’s guards was she fucking? Then his thoughts turned to Willow and how she’d ignored him earlier.

  Puta!

  They were all putas.

  Perhaps this one was different?

  It didn’t matter. He would fuck her and send her on her way.

  Rafael was a changed man.

  * * *

  Sometimes the sex is so hot that neither party wishes it to end.

  Bobby felt it, and so did Venus. She was caught up in the way he made love to her. So strong and sure of himself. Her Venezuelan boyfriend had been a boorish lover, thinking only of his own climax. Before him there had been many, but none like Bobby. Their chemistry sizzled. He touched her in ways she felt she’d never been touched before. His cock was a thing of beauty, and she couldn’t get enough.

  Bobby felt the chemistry too. Sex with Denver had been great at first, but then their passion had kind of fizzled, and maybe he had been thinking of making out with Nadia. Yes, he was finally admitting it to himself.

  Making love to Venus was pure animal lust. He inhaled her skin, her hair, everything about her.

  “I want us to come together,” she whispered. “Make me come, Bobby, because I’m ready.”

  And so she got her wish.

  Stretching luxuriously, Venus was beginning to realize that Bobby was everything she’d imagined he’d be in bed and more. Usually very handsome men were selfish lovers, but not Bobby. He knew how to please a woman and then some.

  How unfortunate that he happened to be Lucky’s son, because she knew full well that a steamy affair between her and Bobby would enrage Lucky. Liberal as Lucky was about most things, her best friend screwing her son would definitely not fly.

  Bobby jumped off the bed.

  “Planning on leaving?” Venus inquired, licking her lips as she admired his ripped body.

  Flexing his muscles, he grinned, feeling as if he’d just conquered Everest. “Is that what you want me to do?” he asked.

  “What do you think?” she murmured.

  “I think you want me to stay,” he said confidently.

  “Well,” she said, her voice a husky drawl. “We may as well take advantage of tonight due to the fact that this might never happen again.”

  “Does that mean you’re shutting me out?”

  “Yes, ’cause in case you forgot, your mom happens to be my best friend.”

  “You really think she’d be pissed?”

  “C’mon, Bobby, do you know Lucky?”

  “Yeah,” he was forced to admit. “I guess she wouldn’t exactly be thrilled.”

  “Of course, there is another way,” Venus offered, her voice full of seductive promise. “We could always get together on the down-low.”

  Bobby burst out laughing. “Sure, me and one of the most famous women on the planet screwing on the down-low, that’d work. Nobody would ever suspect.”

  “I have a variety of disguises.”

  “You do?”

  “Oh, yes, I certainly do,” Venus purred, licking her full lips.

  “In that case—”

  “Come back to bed, Bobby. Once is never enough.”

  He did not need to be asked twice.

  * * *

  Max wished that Dante and his greasy friend Alejandro would turn the music down—if you could call hard-core gangsta rap music. She was into the beat, but sometimes the blatantly sexist and downright hostile lyrics toward women got to her. And what was with the big-butt syndrome? Half-naked singing divas thrusting their enhanced bottoms at everyone was totally gross. In every video, there they were—diva singers shoving their big fat asses right in your face. So how come all the male stars managed to stay fully clothed? It was a mystery.

  She yawned and shot a glance at Willow, who seemed happy to ignore her. The redhead would no doubt change her attitude when they got to Vegas and she realized that Max’s mom was Lucky Santangelo and her dad was Lennie Golden.

  Too late, mean girl. It’ll be my turn to ignore you.

  Checking her phone, she noticed there was a text message she hadn’t looked at. It was probably Cookie bitching because she wasn’t there yet. Clicking on it, she read the message.

  Hey. Where are you? Can’t find you. Want to. Need to talk. Hear me out even though you gotta think I’m a major prick. Call me. Billy.

  She attempted to stay cool.

  Billy! Was he kidding?

  What did he want with her?

  Why was he screwing with her?

  What was his deal?

  She didn’t know and she didn’t care.

  Or did she?

  Maybe.

  Maybe not.

  Billy Melina. Unfortunately, he was the love of her young life.

  * * *

  When it came to sex, Venus was not adverse to adventure. She traveled with her toys, and if a man failed to satisfy her, she put them to good use.

  No sex toys needed with Bobby. He had every move down.

  “What did you do, go to training camp for lovers?” she gasped as he spread her legs and went down on her for the third time.

  Bobby didn’t reply; he was too busy living the fantasy, thrusting his tongue deep inside her until she could take it no more.

  Shuddering from head to toe, she reached an earth-shattering climax.

  * * *

  The Puerto Rican whore was all over him and Rafael did not object. Since Willow had ignored him, made him feel like he was less than nothing, he decided it was time to boost his confidence.

  “I’m Rita,” Sonia confided, pretending to guzzle champagne. “Who’re you?”

  “Rafael,” he muttered.

  “Cool name,” she said,
leaning provocatively toward him, full cleavage on show. “It got some kinda ring to it. You the manager or what?”

  “I own this club,” Rafael said, deciding that playing the boss had its advantages. “This is my place.”

  “I thought Alejandro—”

  “You thought wrong.”

  “You gotta be important, then,” Sonia said, widening her eyes as if she was impressed. “You gotta be the big boy around here.”

  “I certainly am,” Rafael boasted, the champagne loosening his tongue.

  “If you’re the boss you must have a private office, a place we could maybe have ourselves a fun time.”

  Yes, Rafael thought. Fun. Exactly what he needed before he took off with Pablo Fernandez Diego’s money.

  Sonia could tell she had him—this one was easier than she’d thought. “What we waitin’ for, big boy?” she said. “Whyn’t we go get ourselves some privacy?”

  Rafael did not need to be asked twice. This girl was offering herself to him, and he was accepting.

  He stood up and was surprised to discover that he wasn’t quite steady on his feet. It was the champagne. He wasn’t used to it. No more drinking after tonight. No more women either. This one was his final fling.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  None of them saw it coming.

  Not Alejandro, who was showing off the enormous speed his new toy could achieve.

  Not Dante, who was smoking a joint and imagining what he would do to the redhead in the backseat when they arrived in Vegas.

  Not Willow, who was daydreaming about her career comeback.

  And certainly not Max, who was thinking about the text she’d received from Billy and what it all meant.

  Further down the desert highway, barreling along in the opposite direction toward L.A., Dave Riggio was enjoying the ministrations of the young runaway who was determined to show him that she was worthy of the ride as she buried her head in his lap, sucking his dick and gasping for breath, not letting go for a second.

  A second was all it took as Dave Riggio shut his eyes for one brief moment, causing his heavy rig to veer across the highway into the oncoming lane. And even though Alejandro—driving 150 miles per hour—saw the rig bearing down on them, it was too late. There was nothing he could do.

  It was a fiery crash of major proportions. The impact so strong that the Bentley was demolished and both vehicles were immediately engulfed in flames.

  Metal against metal.

  Deadly.

  Fatal.

  The night sky lit up like one huge firework.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  Chris Warwick was angry. Why hadn’t anyone thought to warn him that the main lobby of the Magiriano was going to be filled with a milling crowd of Middle Eastern women wearing long black abayas and face veils, their mascaraed eyes staring out at the world? The women were surrounded by mountains of luggage, and a plethora of shopping bags from Chanel, Vuitton, and Cartier. Unruly children abounded, racing around the lobby yelling and laughing like packs of wild hyenas.

  Chris summoned Ian Simmons, the general manager. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded to know. “This is unacceptable.”

  Ian, a tall, thin import from England, was embarrassed. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” he said. “King Emir and his entourage were not due to check out for another ten days.”

  “It sure looks like that all changed,” Chris huffed. “We have many VIPs arriving for the funeral service at noon, and I expect the lobby to be clear of all this chaos as they walk through to the outside. I thought this was made clear.”

  “There is a fleet of limos arriving any moment to pick everyone up,” Ian assured him. “We’re doing our best.”

  “Your best won’t be good enough for Ms. Santangelo if she sees what’s going on here,” Chris threatened. “You’d better get this lobby clear and soon.”

  “I understand,” Ian said, somewhat resentful that this security person was speaking to him in such a dismissive way. “Although I should point out that during his stay, the king has racked up a bill of over three million dollars. I’m sure Ms. Santangelo wouldn’t object to that.”

  Unimpressed, Chris said, “Who is this king anyway?”

  “King Emir Amin Mohamed Jordan.”

  “From where?”

  “Akramshar. It’s a small country rich in oil. These women are all his wives.”

  Akramshar. The name sounded familiar, but why?

  Taking out his phone, Chris called Danny. “You ever heard of a Middle Eastern country called Akramshar?” he asked brusquely.

  “Why?” Danny ventured.

  “Have you or have you not?” Chris said, in no mood to play games.

  “Uh … yes. Last year there was a shooting incident at the Keys. A man was shot—Armand Jordan. He was originally from Akramshar, one of the king’s sons.”

  Chris had been abroad at the time, but now Danny had jogged his memory. As far as he could recall, the story was that Armand Jordan had been trying to negotiate with Lucky to buy her hotel, she’d refused, and Armand had been assassinated by—as the cops put it—a professional. No arrests had ever taken place.

  Chris experienced a feeling that all was not right. Why was King Emir in Vegas? And why was he checking out on the day of Gino’s funeral?

  He was mad at himself that there had been no early security checks on the king and his entourage. Wasn’t Danny supposed to be in charge of that? It pissed him off when people didn’t do their job properly. Surely Danny should have connected the dots?

  Too late now. Anyway, it was probably a coincidence—rich Saudis were always in Vegas, indulging in big-stakes gambling while their women shopped for ridiculous shoes, expensive jewelry, and designer clothes they would never dare to wear in their home country.

  They were leaving, which was a good thing.

  Still … Chris couldn’t shake the feeling that all was not right.

  * * *

  Her cell was ringing, and Denver was not inclined to answer it since she was in the middle of a dream that had her floating on a raft in the ocean. It was a peaceful dream.

  Reluctantly, she stretched out her arm for her phone, whereupon she encountered a body lying next to her. For a moment she was disoriented, until she realized that the man asleep beside her was Sam.

  Damn it! She’d slept with Sam. In Bobby’s bed. Well, technically it wasn’t Bobby’s bed; they’d chosen it together. Still, she immediately felt overwhelmed with guilt and she was furious with herself for drinking too much the night before.

  Grabbing her phone, she muttered a quick, “Hello.”

  “Where were you last night?” Leon asked, sounding put out. “I told you I’d be calling you back. We’re on a job here, Denver.”

  “I guess I fell asleep,” she admitted sheepishly. “What time did you call?”

  “Three A.M. Couldn’t reach you, so I met with Sonia myself.”

  Now she was really pissed. While she’d been busy screwing Sam—although she couldn’t remember the details—Leon had been working the case without her, and that wasn’t right.

  “What did Sonia come up with?” she asked, struggling to sit up.

  “The entire layout of Alejandro’s private office. She got the photos on her phone.”

  “Really?”

  “Told you she was the shit,” Leon boasted.

  “I’m on my way in,” Denver said, trying to navigate her way out of bed without waking Sam.

  “Make it fast. We’re payin’ another visit to Frankie.”

  “We are?”

  “You bet we are. He says he has more for us. Somethin’ that’ll nail Alejandro’s ass for sure.”

  “I’m excited.”

  “Me too.”

  “See you in a minute,” she said, clicking off her phone.

  “Hey,” Sam said, rolling over with a big smile on his face and a massive hard-on. “How about me? I’m excited too.”

  “Not now,” Denver said, p
ulling away, her feet hitting the floor. “Gotta go to work.”

  * * *

  “Where the hell is Max?” Lennie grumbled, walking in on Lucky as she sat in front of her makeup table. “I stayed up half the night waiting for her to arrive.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, I did. I can’t wait to ream that so-called boss of hers a new asshole. What was he thinking? Driving when they were supposed to get a helicopter.”

  “Calm down,” Lucky replied, applying a smoky brown shadow to her eyes. “She’s no doubt having breakfast with Cookie and Harry.”

  “We don’t see her for months,” Lennie steamed, standing behind his wife. “Then she gets here, and all she wants to do is hang out with her friends. I’m pissed.”

  “That’s the way it goes with teenagers,” Lucky pointed out, remembering her own wild teenage years. “You’d better stop behaving like the ogre father or you’ll drive her away.”

  “Drive her away? She’s fucking living in Europe as it is. How much farther can she go?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Max and I used to have a very special bond.”

  “I know that,” Lucky said, putting down her makeup brush. “We’ll see her soon, so what you should do is get dressed and stop complaining.”

  “Who’s complaining?” Lennie said, frowning. “I’d like to spend time with my daughter. Is that a crime?”

  “Jeez!” Lucky said, suddenly losing patience. “Aren’t we the dramatic one.”

  “Not dramatic, merely concerned.”

  “Okay, okay. I get it.”

  There was a short silence before Lennie said, “Bobby’s here. I saw him last night.”

  “What time did he arrive?”

  “Late. I don’t know why Max couldn’t’ve come with him.”

  “You should call her,” Lucky said, standing up.

  “I have. Her phone doesn’t seem to be working.”

  “Then go downstairs and find her. I’m telling you she’ll be with Cookie. When you see her, ask her to come up. I need to know what she’s planning on wearing.”