‘Cut out the old,’ he snapped.
They grinned at each other, linked arms, and proceeded to her private elevator.
How alike the two of them were. The same smouldering eyes, dark olive skin, jet hair, and wide sensual mouths.
They enjoyed the perfect relationship. So similar in every way. From food to movies to books to people, they almost always formed the same opinions. Gino would say, ‘I don’t trust that guy – not with my left ball I don’t trust him.’ And Lucky would add, ‘Lock up your right one – that dude is bad news.’ Then they would break up laughing, black eyes locking fondly with black eyes.
They maintained separate penthouse apartments atop the two hotels they owned. Gino lived at the Mirage. And Lucky resided in the Magiriano. Together they shared a house outside New York in East Hampton. A white, old-fashioned mansion filled with so many memories . . . so much of their past . . .
Once they had lived in the house as a family. Gino and his wife Maria, with their children, beautiful dark Lucky, and her blond brother, Dario.
Now there was only Gino and Lucky. The two of them against the world. There existed a special bond between them no one could break.
It hadn’t always been that way . . .
* * *
Gino Santangelo was born in Italy, and in 1909, at the age of three he travelled to America with his parents, a young, strong couple, filled with ambition, and a desire to capture the great American dream. But jobs were not easy to come by. Too many immigrants, all with the same idea, all brimming with energy and enthusiasm.
By the time Gino was six, the great American dream had soured. His mother ran off with another man, and Paulo, embittered and disillusioned, embarked on a life of petty crime, drink and loose women.
When Paulo was in jail, which was often, it didn’t bother Gino. He found himself shuttled between foster homes, and it taught him to be fast and smart, a true street kid with big ambitions. At fifteen he was caught stealing a car, and sent to the New York Protectory for Boys – a tough home in the Bronx for orphans and first-time offenders. The brothers in charge were a hard bunch. Discipline was the order of the day, and messing with the boys the order of the night. Gino was able to protect himself, but some of the younger boys were not so fortunate. A scrawny kid named Costa Zennocotti was hit on constantly. His cries for help went unanswered, until one day Gino could stand the agonized screams coming from a back room no longer. Unthinkingly he picked up a pair of scissors and slipped into the room. Costa was bent across a table, his trousers and shorts around his ankles, while one of the brothers plunged his erectness into the skinny child’s ass. Gino lunged with the scissors.
The result was a stay in the Bronx County jail, six months’ probation, and a friend for life in Costa, who, as a result of the publicity, was adopted by a well-to-do family in San Francisco.
By the time Gino hit the streets again he was older and sharper, with a strong urge to make money and beat the system. He had no desire to live with his father – still in and out of jail and now married to a prostitute named Vera. So he looked around and observed the heroes of the day. Men like Salvatore Charlie Luciano (later to be known as the notorious Lucky Luciano), Meyer Lansky and Bugsy Siegel. They were the guys with the money, the sleek cars and beautiful women, the power and the respect.
Gino saw. Gino wanted. Gino got.
His rise to the top was long and hard but eventually worthwhile. After starting off small, he went into business for himself, operating a thriving bootleg racket. By the time he was twenty-two he had a pretty girlfriend named Cindy, and a rich society mistress by the name of Clementine Duke, whose Senator husband introduced him to the world of investments and real money. Senator Duke made Gino’s money legitimate. When the great stock market crash came in 1929 he was prepared, and thanks to the Senator walked away unscathed.
Along the way he had acquired a business partner, Enzio Bonnatti, and by 1933 their interests included gambling, loan-sharking, and the numbers racket. Gino refused to touch prostitution and drugs, in spite of pressure from Enzio. Because of this conflict they split their interests in 1934 and went their separate ways.
For recreation Gino opened a nightclub, called it Clemmies’, and became a minor celebrity. Clementine Duke was delighted. However she was not so delighted by his amazing success with women. She persuaded him to marry Cindy – in the hope that this would take him off the market. But women to Gino were a fatal attraction. He truly loved to make love, having been initiated by one of his foster mothers at the age of twelve, then led to new levels of accomplishment by the very versatile Mrs Duke. Now his conquests were many, and often.
Cindy soon became as angry and jealous as Mrs Duke. She plotted revenge, slept around, and threatened him with exposure to the Internal Revenue Service for tax evasion.
In 1938 she fell to her death from a window in their penthouse apartment. An unfortunate accident. Gino gave her a magnificent funeral.
By 1939 rumblings of a war in Europe were shaking America. Senator Duke sat down with Gino one day and worked out ways to benefit from the situation. Gino went along with everything the older man suggested. The Senator had never advised him badly.
Gino often wondered how he would be involved if the war spread to America. He needn’t have worried. On New Year’s Eve 1939 he found his father in a tawdry hotel beating up Vera. She was just a cheap whore, but she had been kind to him over the years, and in return he had helped her when he had the means.
As he came upon the sordid scene, Vera raised the ’38 she was holding and blew Paulo’s brains out. Gino wrestled the gun from her – and later that night was accused and arrested for his own father’s murder. He spent the war years behind bars. Punished for a crime he never committed.
His old-time friend and now lawyer, Costa Zennocotti, managed to extract a written and witnessed confession from Vera just before her death seven years later. Gino got a pardon and a paltry offer of compensation. What amount of money could possibly compensate for seven years of his life?
In 1949 he decided he needed a change of scene, new interests. Las Vegas was an appealing prospect – and an old friend of his, Jake the Boy – was bugging him to invest. He put together a syndicate, and they financed the building of the Mirage Hotel. Las Vegas was just beginning. Bugsy Siegel had already opened up the Flamingo Hotel and casino (later he was murdered for skimming money), and Meyer Lansky had financed the Thunderbird. Gino wanted in. It was an exciting time. He wanted to enjoy it, have fun, and forget the dark years of being locked away.
And then he met his wife to be, Maria. She was young, innocent, only twenty – with pale gold hair and the face of a fragile madonna. They were married almost immediately. And in 1950 Lucky was born. Even as a baby she looked just like him.
They lived in a large white mansion in East Hampton, with eucalyptus trees in the garden and the smell of peace and tranquillity all around.
To make their world complete, Maria gave birth to a son eighteen months later. They named him Dario. He looked just like his mother.
* * *
The elevator ground to a halt, and Lucky stepped out into the milling crowds filling the casino. She had planned the location of the elevator so that it delivered her right into the centre of action. Unlike Gino, whose own private elevator in the Mirage took him straight to a basement garage where his limousine and driver were on call twenty-four hours a day.
Gino hung back for a moment, his eyes ever watchful. Once a street kid, always a street kid. You could have all the power and money in the world, but it was never enough to protect you one hundred percent.
He felt the slight pressure of his gun carefully concealed in a hidden shoulder holster, and reassured, stepped forward.
Lucky turned to him with a wide grin. ‘Business is booming, huh, Gino?’
‘Yeah, kid. Things are hot.’
Things were always hot in Vegas. The suckers were always on parade with their quarters and dollars, ready and willin
g to take a gamble, run a risk, win or lose, it didn’t really matter as long as they got their shot.
They ate in the hotel at the secluded Rio restaurant, just the two of them. Lucky spoke of her trip non-stop, her eyes shining with enthusiasm, her cheeks flushed.
‘I’ve set up exactly the deal we’ve been looking for,’ she said. ‘The right property on the boardwalk. The right investors. I’ve even got architects and builders coming up with bids. If we move fast we can start work within the next couple of months. It’s all set. All you have to do is give the go-ahead.’ She paused for breath. ‘Of course we’ll need building permits, licences. But everything’s in hand. I have it covered.’ She grinned triumphantly.
Gino listened carefully. She was smart, his daughter. Smart and fast. Beautiful and bright. Tough and wild. Daddy’s little girl. She made him proud. Her business acumen was as sharp as his.
He had never thought a woman could equal him – but his daughter could. His Lucky.
* * *
Right from the beginning Lucky Santangelo was a bright-eyed excitable child. Her younger brother, Dario, was smaller, more delicate. There were only eighteen months between them, but even when they were young, Lucky took charge.
Maria was a wonderful mother. Gino spoiled them rotten. All the time it was presents and kisses and hugs. And special hugs for Lucky, who responded to him far more than Dario.
On her fifth birthday they threw her a fantastic party for fifty children. Clowns. Donkey rides. A huge chocolate cake. And Gino on hand to sweep her up in his arms and smother her with love. Lucky remembered it as the happiest day of her life.
A week later Gino left on a business trip. Lucky hated it when he went away, but there were compensations, such as taking his place in the big double bed he shared with mommy, and all the wondrous presents when he came home.
Only this time there were no presents, or kisses, or laughter. This time there was only the pain of her mother’s sudden and brutal murder, her naked body left floating on a raft in the centre of the swimming pool for Lucky to discover when she got up in the morning.
Memories, for a while, were a blur. Policemen. Photographers. Guards. Then a plane trip to California. A new house with bars on the windows, alarms, and guards with dogs – patrolling the grounds. Life changed completely for Lucky and Dario. Maria gone forever. And Gino. So different, angry and sad. No more laughter and playing, or hugs and kisses. In fact he was hardly ever there. He was either in his New York apartment or Vegas hotel. It was almost as if he didn’t want to spend any time with them. They were cared for by nannies and tutors and maids.
The pain hardened inside Lucky, while Dario withdrew into a world of make-believe. They had everything money could buy. But all they really had was each other.
When Lucky was almost fifteen a decision was made to send her to a boarding school in Switzerland. She was both excited and fearful at the prospect, but the thought of getting away from the Bel Air mansion was certainly tempting.
L’Evier turned out to be a strict private school run by a thin-nosed woman who demanded ‘respect and obedience’ from her girls. If it hadn’t been for her friend, a classmate, Olympia Stanislopoulos, Lucky would have hated it. Olympia’s attitude was ‘screw school. Let’s get out and have fun.’ And Lucky did not argue. Together they obeyed the rule of lights out at 9.30 p.m. And at 9.35 Lucky and Olympia were climbing out of a convenient window. It was only a ten minute ride to the nearest village where waited boys, booze and fun. It took them exactly two semesters to get expelled.
Gino arrived to collect his rebellious daughter, his face a mask of thunder. He flew her back to New York and promptly enrolled her in an even stricter school in Connecticut. It did not take her long to contact Olympia in Paris, and together they planned an escape. With a little help from a couple of credit cards she was able to get a flight to France, where Olympia met her. Then it was a fast drive in a white Mercedes convertible all the way to the South of France, where they broke into Olympia’s aunt’s villa and took up residence. The memories were sweet. Even when Olympia moved in her boyfriend, ‘Warris the hustler’, as Lucky christened him.
The memories were not so sweet the night their fathers arrived. Gino Santangelo and Dimitri Stanislopoulos. Then it was back to the Bel Air mansion – Dario was now away at school.
There were times when she hated her father. A furious blazing hate which burned deep. Other times she loved him more than anything else in the world. And she wished it could be like it once was. Desperately she craved his attention, but that seemed the last thing he was prepared to give her.
On her sixteenth birthday he surprised her by flying her to Las Vegas. Once there he arranged for her to have her hair styled, bought her a designer dress, and gifted her with exquisite diamond ear-studs. Then he said she was to accompany him to an important charity benefit he was giving for Mrs Peter Richmond – Senator Richmond’s wife. Lucky was thrilled. Things were looking up. Only at the dinner he sloughed her off at another table next to Mrs Richmond’s creepy son, Craven, and ignored her all night.
Later, she sneaked away, changed into jeans, cruised the Strip, and ended up fighting off a drunk in the parking lot.
Gino was waiting when she arrived back at 3 a.m., her clothes torn and dirty.
He came straight to the point. She was a little tramp whose only thought in life was to screw around, so he was marrying her off and that was that.
If she didn’t like it . . .
Tough.
* * *
Gino had not thought of Susan Martino all night. Nor had the moment been right to mention his involvement to Lucky. So it gave him a jolt when Susan entered the restaurant with a man, smiled, waved and sat down at a nearby table.
Lucky said, ‘Who’s that?’
‘Hey,’ he stalled for a moment. Had somebody told her already? ‘Don’t you know Tiny Martino’s widow?’
‘Not the woman,’ Lucky replied dismissively. ‘The old guy with her, he looks familiar.’
Gino squinted – his eyes were going, but pride prevented him from wearing glasses. ‘Yeh,’ he agreed. ‘I think I know the face.’
He began a slow burn. The man was over six feet tall, impeccably groomed, with bushy white hair, and hard but handsome features – marred only by a prominent nose. And the sonofabitch was sitting down next to Susan.
Gino scowled.
She couldn’t possibly be his date.
Could she?
He signalled for the captain. ‘Who are the people at that table?’ he demanded.
‘Guests of Mr Traynor’s,’ the captain replied.
‘Where the fuck is Mr Traynor?’
‘Coming in now, Mr Santangelo.’ The captain backed away nervously.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Lucky calmly, used to her father’s outbursts. ‘Is he someone we shouldn’t have in here?’
‘I’ll find out soon enough,’ replied Gino grimly. ‘Hey – Matt. Over here,’ he yelled, ignoring the other diners who turned to stare.
Matt Traynor bore down on them, all smiles, his silver hair gleaming in the candlelit room. ‘Lucky. Welcome back. You look beautiful. And Gino. It’s a pleasure.’
‘Who the fuck is that asshole with Susan Martino?’
Matt Traynor blinked rapidly while he tried to figure out what he’d done wrong. He had heard rumours of Gino Santangelo’s interest in Tiny’s widow, but he hadn’t figured it to be anything serious, so why was Gino bellowing like a jilted lover?
‘Susan’s not with anyone,’ he explained quickly. ‘I thought she might enjoy a little company, so I asked her to join me and some of my friends.’ He paused, threw in the punch line with sad sincerity. ‘Tiny was like a brother to me, you know.’
Gino was untouched. ‘Who’s the prick?’ he growled.
‘Am I missing something here?’ interrupted Lucky.
‘If I thought it would upset you, Gino—’ Matt said solicitously.
‘Who the fuck’s upset!�
�� screamed Gino. And he stood up.
‘Dimitri Stanislopoulos,’ Matt said hurriedly. ‘He arrived this evening. He’s here for the Francesca Fern tribute dinner. We’re comping him in the Presidential Suite. Usually he stays at the Sands, and loses at the Sands – if you get my drift. But I met him in Monte Carlo last month and persuaded him the Magiriano would be more to his taste. The guy has more money than Onassis. And loves to play baccarat.’
‘Of course!’ exclaimed Lucky. ‘Olympia’s father! No wonder he looks familiar.’
‘Olympia?’ said Gino blankly.
‘You remember,’ Lucky continued excitedly. ‘Olympia was my best friend at school – we ran away to the South of France and you and Dimitri tracked us down. It’s him all right. I could never forget that face.’
Gino gestured impatiently. He was in no mood for the past. ‘Matt,’ he said brusquely, ‘you’ll join us.’
It was more command than invitation.
‘I’m sure we’d love to,’ Matt replied easily, although he was aggravated at being treated like hired help. Still, when Gino Santangelo spoke – everyone jumped.
‘My date will be here in a minute with a girl for Dimitri. You want us all to join you?’
‘Sure. Bring Susan and whatshisname over now, and the others when they get here.’
‘Good idea,’ said Matt, thinking it was a lousy idea.
As soon as he left their table Lucky said, ‘Why do you want them to come over? We have so much left to talk about.’
‘Why not?’ replied Gino, sitting down again. ‘You’ll like Susan Martino, she’s a lovely woman.’
Like hell I will, thought Lucky. It was becoming increasingly clear that while she was away Gino had been at play. And this time not with some two-bit showgirl. She could tell she had lost his attention and it infuriated her.
‘Have you been seeing her?’ she asked lightly.
‘Once or twice,’ he replied, equally casual.
Once or twice, my ass. You’ve got a hot nut the whole room can see.
Lucky Page 4