Sitting next to Ace in the passenger seat of his truck on their way to Vegas, Max felt content—a feeling she wasn’t used to. Last night they’d stayed up late, talking. Unfortunately for her just talking, because she’d desperately wanted him to kiss her, willed him to do so, but he hadn’t. Around midnight he’d said, “I’m gonna catch some sleep, we should try to leave early in the morning.”
She’d gone to bed vaguely disappointed, only to be awoken at three A.M. by a call from a hysterical Cookie, who’d informed her that Harry had crashed his SUV, totally wrecked it, failed a sobriety test, and subsequently been arrested.
“But he wasn’t drunk,” Max had said, struggling to wake up.
“By that time he was,” Cookie admitted. “After you left, we bribed our way into another club where Harry made it his mission to see how many vodka martinis he could chug. You know Harry when he’s on a roll.”
“Weren’t you supposed to be watching out for him?”
“Since when did I turn into like a nursemaid?” Cookie grumbled. “Y’know, I was in the car too. I could’ve been killed.”
“Are you hurt?”
“A few bruises, nothing major.”
“That’s good.”
“Harry’s dad was way mad—like totally pissed. He sent his big-time lawyer to bail number-one son out, so now Harry’s grounded, can’t come to Vegas.”
“How about you?”
“I figure I’ll hitch a ride on my dad’s plane an’ see you there.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Max had said, contemplating whether she should wake Ace, but deciding against it. The next morning she’d filled him in over breakfast.
“That’s one screwed-up dude,” Ace had said, not at all surprised. “He was an accident waiting to happen.”
“Guess you were right about not getting in the car with him.”
“It’s called instincts,” he’d replied. “Always gotta follow ’em.”
Now they were on their way to Vegas, and as far as she was concerned everything was cool, especially as Ace had broken up with his girlfriend. What a bonus!
She stole a sideways glance at him. He was so damn handsome, and that cleft in his chin … wow!
Donny, once her reason for getting up in the morning, had faded to a distant memory.
Maybe tonight she’d get that kiss she’d been waiting for.
A girl could hope, couldn’t she?
And on the same highway, several hours ahead of them, Henry Whitfield-Simmons drove his mother’s sleek royal blue Bentley, estimating that he should be arriving in Las Vegas in less than an hour.
He hummed softly to himself. Everything had turned out exactly as he’d predicted. His mother’s lawyer had been wary about not getting on his bad side. The man was a trustee of the estate, and as such he would be making himself a hefty percentage of billions of dollars, so his main desire was to keep Henry happy. He’d come up with the credit card and cash Henry had requested.
Once Henry had the black American Express card in his possession, he’d driven straight to the Beverly Hills Neiman Marcus and purchased an entire new wardrobe of clothes, all the better to impress Maria. Not that he felt she was the type of girl attracted by appearances, but it was only polite to look smart for her.
Now he was in the Bentley on his way to Vegas to claim his rightful prize.
And his prize was Maria.
He knew that once he convinced her it was the right thing to do, she would be happy that he’d come to take her away from the life she was forced to lead with Lucky Santangelo as her mother.
Very happy indeed.
Chapter 77
Irma could not stop shaking—she was in shock—and nobody aboard Anthony’s plane cared as it winged its way toward Las Vegas. Not Francesca, her husband’s witch of a grandmother, who sat next to her grandson drinking endless cups of black coffee and chain-smoking. Not The Grill, Anthony’s giant psycho bodyguard with the blank glassy eyes and expressionless face. Not Emmanuelle, her husband’s blond mistress who kept on shooting her filthy looks as she thumbed through a selection of trashy magazines. And certainly not Anthony himself. Her vicious husband. Her worst nightmare.
Yesterday’s events were etched into her brain forever. How could she forget the horror of what Anthony had put her through.
It had all started with the movie….
She’d watched in disbelief as her image had appeared on the screen. Her words. Her gestures. Luis.
Anthony had everything on film. Luis touching her, undressing her, making love to her.
Oh God! Every moment of her last assignation was captured in excruciating detail.
She’d watched and cringed and begged Anthony to stop the film. But no, he was having none of it.
“Shut the fuck up, you whore!” he’d screamed at her. “Keep on watchin’ that motherfucker’s cock rammin’ into my wife, the mother of my kids.”
There was a moment when she’d tried to get up and run from his office, desperate to escape the fury she had no doubt would erupt. But as soon as she’d attempted to do so, Anthony had violently slammed her back into the chair, where she’d stayed, watching, until Luis got off the bed, tenderly kissed her, put on his clothes, and left the bedroom.
At last it was over. The TV screen went blank, and there was an ominous silence.
“I’m sorry,” she’d begun, choking over the words.
“You’ll be a lot sorrier than this,” he’d warned. “Where’d ya get the balls to cheat on me, Anthony Bonar? You fuckin’ puttana whore.”
“Anthony,” she’d pleaded, hoping that somehow or other she could make him understand. “There was a reason I did it. You haven’t touched me in years. I was—”
“Shut the fuck up,” he’d ordered. “Do not say one more fuckin’ word.”
She’d sat in silence and shame, until the door to his office opened and in walked The Grill.
The big man was not alone; he was dragging Luis with him. Her Luis. Her lover, so badly beaten he could barely stand. Both his eyes were blackened, his nose looked like it was broken, his lips were puffed up and split, and there was blood all over his shirt.
Their eyes met for a brief second. “Oh God!” she’d moaned. “What have you done to him, Anthony? It wasn’t his fault, it was mine, all mine. I seduced him. If you have to punish anyone, punish me.”
“You,” Anthony spat. “Why would I punish you? Your punishment is watchin’ what happens to your fuckin’ boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” she’d screamed hysterically. “You’ve done enough. Look at him—he’s beaten to a pulp.”
“You think I give a shit? You think I’d allow someone who works for me to run around sayin’ he’s fuckin’ my wife? You think that’s the kinda man you’re married to? I got news for you, bitch. Nobody fucks Anthony Bonar’s wife and gets away with it.”
The shaking had started then and it hadn’t stopped since.
“You got a choice,” Anthony had said, staring her down. “An’ I’m gonna let you decide, Irma, my dear wife, my favorite cunt. His cock or his balls—whaddya wanna cut off?”
“Anthony, don’t do this,” she’d pleaded.
“I’m givin’ you a fuckin’ choice, which is kinda big of me,” he’d crowed, fully pleased with himself. “Cock or balls? You pick.”
“You’re insane,” she’d moaned.
“Insane? Me? Listen, whore, I’m not the one who’s bin screwin’ another man’s wife. This asswipe’s the insane one.”
“No,” she’d said, desperately trying to keep it together and fight back. “You’re the one who has mistresses everywhere. Three, four, I don’t know how many women you sleep with. What was I supposed to do?”
“I got a suggestion,” he’d said. “Whyn’t you fuck the gardener? How’s that?”
“If you do anything more to him, I’ll go to the police,” she’d gasped.
“You’d do that, wouldja? You’d go to the cops ’cause your husband ca
ught ya fuckin’ another man.” He’d shaken his head as if he couldn’t believe she’d come out with something so dumb. “This is Mexico, whore. In this town they’d give me a fuckin’ medal for beatin’ up this prick.”
“It’s not just a beating, Anthony, you’re threatening more.”
“You bet your cheatin’ ass I am. Now make up your fuckin’ mind. What’s it gonna be? Balls or cock?”
“I swear I will go to the police, Anthony,” she’d said, panicking. “You can’t stop me.”
“Do that, an’ I promise you you’ll never see your kids again. Or your mother, or your father, ’cause I’ll have somebody go to their house an’ burn it to the ground. You got no fuckin’ clue who you’re messin’ with, do you?”
The rest of it was a blur. She remembered the knife, she remembered Anthony putting it in her hand. She remembered lifting her arm and attempting to stab him. He’d laughed, snatched it away from her, and handed it to The Grill.
Above all she remembered the expression on Luis’s face. Pure terror.
She could still hear his screams.
Later she’d been bundled into a car and taken to the airport where she’d been put on the plane by The Grill. Anthony had boarded the plane after her, and they’d flown to Miami, where he’d picked up his grandmother and his blond mistress.
“You say one fuckin’ word to anyone and you’re a dead woman, along with your parents,” he’d warned her.
She sat on the plane, dazed, shaking, and numb.
There was nothing she could do about it. Not one damn thing.
Chapter 78
By the afternoon most of the invited guests had arrived and the Keys was buzzing with activity.
Lucky was running around, greeting family, making sure they were all taken care of, dropping by Venus’s rehearsal, and—the best moment of the day—giving Gino a personal tour.
The old man was impressed. “You did it, kiddo,” he said, full of pride. “This place is somethin’, an’ you made it all happen by yourself.”
“With a little help from my investors—including you,” she said modestly. “Learned everything I know from you.”
“You learned it well.”
“I had to, didn’t I? You’d’ve kicked my ass if I hadn’t.”
“You got that right,” he said nodding. “You make me proud, kiddo, you did everythin’ for this family a son would’ve done.”
“Ha!” she said, pouncing triumphantly. “I knew you wanted a boy when you had me.”
“Whatever I wanted, you turned out to be a winner. Couldn’t’ve done better than you.”
“Dario would’ve been a winner if he’d had the chance,” she said softly.
“Yes he would,” Gino agreed, shaking his head as his thoughts turned to the man who’d arranged for the murder of his son. “That dirty bastard Enzio Bonnatti, that two-timing motherfucker—’scuse my French. An’ you, Lucky, you took care of him like a true Santangelo. You’re my daughter all right, a Santangelo all the way.”
“An eye for an eye,” Lucky said, pushing back her long dark hair. “That’s what you taught me, and that’s the way I’ve always lived. Don’t fuck with me and I won’t fuck with you. Capice?”
“My daughter. My goddamn pride,” Gino said, cracking a grin. “I came to America over eighty years ago, it’s the greatest country on earth. In America you can achieve any dream you want.”
“I know,” she murmured. “You did it all, Gino. Everything.”
“I certainly did. I got you, Lucky,” he said, becoming more prideful by the minute. “I got grandchildren, a wife I love, an’ loyal friends. I got it all, an’ y’know what, kiddo, if I died tomorrow, I’d die a happy man. All you gotta do is look at me.”
“I am looking, Gino,” she said softly. “And I like what I see.”
“Y’can call me Daddy if you want, you’ve earned the right.”
“Oh, really?” she said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“Finally?”
“Go ahead,” he said with a magnanimous shrug. “I’m givin’ you permission.”
“Gee, thanks, Gino. But it’s a little late for me to revert to calling you Daddy.”
“It is?”
Now it was her turn to grin. “Bet on it, old man.”
Just as Venus had predicted, Billy hit the Strip and went gambling, successfully losing back all his winnings from the night before. Since he was by himself—Kev had not yet turned up—he was constantly hassled by adoring fans, until he was finally forced to return to the Keys, where everybody seemed to be somebody, so it was no problem sitting out by the pool without being bothered. The hotel did not open to the general public for another week, so the only guests were VIPs, and civilians willing to pay fifteen hundred bucks for a ticket to Venus’s one-night show.
He felt kind of psyched that his girlfriend was the hottest ticket in town. If he could only get over the feeling of coming across as second best in her company, they could be very happy together. Venus might be a superstar, but she was his superstar, and he was beginning to realize that in spite of everything, he genuinely loved her. He also regretted cheating on her; it was such a dumb thing to do. A stupid move he could only blame on his youth.
By four o’clock Kev had still not shown up and Billy was starting to worry. Kev was driving his Maserati, and Kev was kind of a reckless driver, so he began imagining all kinds of bizarre accidents.
At four-thirty Kev finally called.
“Where the hell are you?” Billy demanded, accepting a piña colada from a statuesque poolside waitress. “This is the kind of event I need you at to run protection.”
“Protection?” Kev snorted. “What am I, a friggin’ bodyguard?”
“Yeah, you’re supposed t’do everything for me, Kev. That’s our deal. I pay, you do.”
“Nice,” Kev said disgustedly. “What happened to friendship?”
“C’mon, you know you should be here, so once again— where are you?”
“The truth?”
“No, lie to me.”
“You’re gonna get mad …”
“Why’s that, Kev?” Billy said, thoroughly fed up with Kev’s antics. “ ’Cause if you tell me you smashed up my Maserati, I’ll get so freakin’ mad you won’t even know what hit you.”
“Your precious car’s fine. In fact, we’re in it now.”
“Who’s we?”
“Ali and me,” Kev said, his voice muffled.
“You brought Ali, huh?”
“Yeah, an’ before you go off on a rant, here’s the news of the day. We, uh … we got married.”
“You did what?” Billy exploded, almost spilling his drink.
“Married. Hitched. Ain’t that something?”
“Oh jeez!” Billy exclaimed. “You really are a piece of work.”
“How much money did you invest in this hotel?” Ling asked Alex as they checked in.
“Enough,” he replied, signing his name on the register.
“And how long before your investment pays off?”
“With Lucky in charge, not too long,” he answered, irritated that she felt free to question him.
“Lucky, Lucky, Lucky,” Ling muttered. “You’re obsessed with that woman.”
“Stop with the bitching,” Alex groaned. “Otherwise I’ll be sorry I brought you along.”
“I’m your girlfriend, Alex,” Ling said. “Of course I should be with you.”
“Then quit making me crazy.”
“Easy. If you quit lusting after Lucky Santangelo.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” he muttered.
“This way, Mr. Woods,” said a helpful manager. “I’ll be escorting you to your suite.”
“I was thinkin’ I could go play tennis, Mom,” Gino Junior said.
“Go ahead,” Lucky said, delighted that her youngest son showed such a passion for sports. Lennie insisted it kept him out of trouble, and Lucky often wished that Max was into sports—it would probably make things a l
ot less explosive.
“D’you think Bobby’ll play?” Gino Junior wanted to know.
“Go ask him. There’s eight courts and a championship pro just waiting.”
“I will. And, oh yeah, your hotel rocks, Mom.”
“Yes?”
Drop Dead Beautiful Page 42