The Santangelos Read online

  Bobby’s particular brand of charm worked well with both men and women. The women loved getting attention from such an attractive man, while the men related to him because he could talk sports, cars, and cigars, plus he bought every table he stopped by a bottle of champagne. Lucky had taught him that the two golden rules of owning a successful club were remembering the customers’ names, and buying them a drink.

  Soon he was into the rhythm of the place, feeling that certain rush he got when everything was moving in the right direction. Mood was set to take over Chicago nightlife—the same way it had in Vegas and New York.

  Nursing another vodka, he settled into a corner booth, observing the action and wondering if he should call Denver again.

  No. He’d left her a message; it was her turn to call him.

  M.J. loped over. “Looks like we got ourselves another winner,” he announced, sitting down next to Bobby. “We’re takin’ over Chicago, man. Bet on it.”

  Bobby laughed, and as he did so he caught sight of a young woman descending the staircase into the club. She wasn’t just any woman, she was a Latina version of Michelle Pfeiffer making her entrance in the movie Scarface. The woman was a showstopper. A stone-cold beauty in a body-hugging red dress.

  M.J. noticed her too. “Are you seein’ what I’m seein’?” he gulped.

  “Yeah, I’m seeing it,” Bobby said, attempting not to stare.

  “Who the fuck is she?”

  “Like I would know.”

  “Hey, man,” M.J. said, jumping to his feet. “Got me a feelin’ it’s time to find out.”

  “Go for it.”

  “That’s my main plan.”

  Bobby observed as M.J. launched into action, greeting the exotic woman and her escort, a short Latino man with bland features, a scraggly beard, and hard eyes. They did not look like a couple—they looked all wrong together.

  M.J. led them to a premier table, ordered them a bottle of champagne, then backed off.

  “Who are they?” Bobby asked when M.J. returned to the booth.

  M.J. shrugged. “They’re not on the list. I asked our PR, and she doesn’t know them either. But hey, who gives a shit? They can stay. Man, the woman’s a freakin’ ten plus.”

  “I can see that. The guy with her—husband? Boyfriend?”

  “Dude’s her cousin, an’ that works for me, ’cause I got major plans on movin’ right back in.”

  “Sure you do,” Bobby said with a knowing smile.

  “Oh yeah,” M.J. said, nodding to himself. “Gonna cool it for now. Make my move later. Watch an’ learn, my man. You’ll see how it’s done.”

  Bobby felt his phone vibrate and reached for it. It was about time Denver called him back.

  Suddenly the Latina Michelle Pfeiffer clone was merely a distant memory.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MAX

  “More?” Athena Hyton-Smythe inquired, leaning over to her friend Max Santangelo Golden. Athena was tall and ultra skinny—six feet without her five-inch Louboutins. She had frizzed-out flame-colored hair, cut-glass cheekbones, cat eyes, and a permanent super-sexy scowl. At twenty, Athena was the current “It” girl of the modeling world, and Max was her sidekick, and on the way to making a name for herself as well. The London gossip columns had nicknamed them the Terrible Two. They had a reputation for all-night partying and always being the leaders of the pack.

  “More what?” Max replied, sucking a tall mojito through a straw.

  “Whatever turns you on,” Athena said with a casual shrug of her glistening bare shoulders randomly scattered with gold glitter. “Coke, grass, tequila shots, Molly, pills, you name it.” She indicated a heavyset man sitting in their booth downing shots of straight vodka. “This Russian dude is like a freakin’ pharmacy. He’s offering, so we should take advantage while we can. You know I don’t get off on paying for my drugs.”

  Max leaned back on the plush leather banquette in the London club and considered her options. She was a very pretty girl with full, pouty lips, emerald-green eyes, and long dark hair. Tonight she wore a cutoff top, multiple gold chains, ridiculous heels, and tight black leather pants.

  Max was just nineteen, and delighted that in London she could get away with drinking in clubs. Her brother Bobby, who owned a string of successful nightclubs around the world, wouldn’t allow her to drink in his Vegas and New York clubs. “You’re underage,” he’d informed her. “Go get someone else’s license pulled.”

  “Screw you, Bobby,” she’d responded.

  The truth was that since moving to London, she really missed Bobby—along with the rest of her family. Mom Lucky. Dad Lennie. Little bro Gino Junior, half brother Leo, and grandpa Gino. What a family. What a close-knit group. She loved them all, but she’d had to get away after everything that had taken place with the whole Billy situation.

  Athena was pushing her for an answer. Drake was pounding it over the sound system.

  “What?” Max said irritably. “You go for it, ’cause I’m like so not in the mood for getting high.”

  Athena widened her eyes as if she couldn’t quite believe anyone would be dumb enough to turn down free drugs. “Oh please,” she said impatiently. “Make a decision.”

  “Actually, I’m about to head out,” Max announced, reaching for her phone and texting for an Uber cab to pick her up.

  “You’re leaving me?” Athena said with a put-upon frown.

  “You’re a big girl. You’ll manage,” Max said, sliding out of the booth past the heavyset man and several other rich men only too happy to pick up the check for two delectable young females.

  Max and Athena had first met through Athena’s older brother, Tim, in the South of France, where Lucky and Lennie had taken Max on vacation to recover from her short but sweet affair with hot movie star Billy Melina. Short was the operative word. Everything between her and Billy had ground to a shattering halt when they’d both been witnesses to a violent robbery where Billy had gotten his cheek slashed defending her while the murder of businessman Armand Jordan had been taking place. This had all happened at Lucky’s hotel complex, the Keys. Billy’s minders had distanced him from Max immediately, whisking him off to the best plastic surgeon in town. And even though Billy had assured Max that they would get back together soon, it had never happened.

  Eventually he’d called and told her that his PR team and manager had suggested that they cool it for a while. “You’re so damn young, Green Eyes,” he’d said. “And I’m getting over my divorce from Venus, so you and I being together right now isn’t cool for either of us.”

  “I get it,” she’d said. Although she was totally heartbroken, she’d been determined not to crumble.

  After that she couldn’t get in touch with him, and he certainly hadn’t reached out to her. Finally, she’d realized that it was definitely over.

  Depression overcame her. Wasn’t eighteen too young to experience a broken heart?

  Apparently not, for she’d experienced it, all right, and it was extremely painful.

  The South of France vacation helped. She’d hooked up with a twenty-two-year-old French guy who turned out to be nothing more than a vacation fling. Her second sexual foray.

  He wasn’t Billy.

  Nobody was Billy.

  After a couple of miserable months back in L.A. lurking around doing nothing, she’d run into Athena at a party, and Athena had invited her to come stay with her in London.

  “Endless fun and games,” Athena promised. “We can do anything we want.”

  “I’m on it,” Max enthused. “Can’t wait.”

  The next morning she’d informed Lucky and Lennie that she was thinking of moving to London for a while. They couldn’t stop her; she was eighteen. Lucky encouraged her to go do her own thing. Lucky was all into girls being strong and independent. Lennie—not so much. In his mind, Max was still his little girl, and he wasn’t sure he wanted her roaming the world. But Max was determined, so off she went.

  Now it was nine months late
r and she’d made a life for herself away from L.A. and all memories of Billy. Except that this morning, while idly browsing the Internet, she’d come across an item about Billy making his next movie in Europe. The locations where he would be shooting included Paris, London, and Rome.

  This was majorly annoying. Wasn’t it enough that she had to see his photo in magazines accompanied by a parade of stunning young actresses hanging on to his arm? Now he was about to encroach on her territory. It simply wasn’t fair.

  Several paparazzi were hovering outside the club when she exited. As soon as they spotted her, they jumped to attention. “Where’s your sexy girlfriend?” one of them asked with a knowing smirk, his camera flashing in her face. “You two haven’t split up, have you?”

  Everyone salivated over the thought that she and Athena might be gay. They weren’t, but it amused them to keep people guessing. They called each other “Sweet Eyes,” and sometimes fake kissed for the cameras, putting on an outrageous act.

  Max got off on the attention, often wondering if Billy ever saw her photo on the gossip sites or in the magazines. Probably not, because although Athena was red-hot in Europe, well known as a happening “It” girl, her particular brand of fame had not yet crossed over to America.

  Max was full of anticipation the following week. She had an important photo shoot for a well-known jeans company. The ads, her agency had assured her, would break internationally, and that meant that Billy was certain to see them.

  Ha! Billy Melina. Big movie star. Would he even remember her?

  Of course he would, she told herself. After all, they’d shared something really special. Billy was the first man she’d gone all the way with, and that had to count for something.

  Her Uber cab arrived and she got in, still thinking about Billy. Would he ever make his way out of her mind?

  Probably not.

  “Wait!” Athena yelled, tottering out of the club on her five-inch heels and flinging open the door of the cab, oblivious to the flashing cameras. “I’m coming too. Who cares about free drugs?”

  Max shifted to make room for her friend.

  “You little minx!” Athena exclaimed, flopping next to Max on the backseat of the cab. “Leaving me with those boring old men. I hate you!”

  “We’ve got to find a new group to hang with,” Max said, pulling at a red string bracelet wrapped around her wrist. “I’m so over the London club scene.”

  “Me too,” Athena agreed, licking her gold-glossed lips. “Here’s what we should do, after our weekend at the Abbey—we should take off and go cause chaos somewhere different.”

  Max wrinkled her nose. “Where?”

  “Not to worry. I’ll come up with an amazingly fun place,” Athena responded. “Don’t I always?”

  Max nodded. This was true. Athena had a knack for sniffing out the best locations, and quite frankly she couldn’t wait.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DENVER

  “Long-distance relationships suck,” Denver Jones complained to her friend Carolyn Henderson as they sat out on the back patio of Carolyn’s small house in West Hollywood eating breakfast. Carolyn’s infant son, Andy, slept nearby in a wicker bassinet.

  “Then maybe you should break up with him,” Carolyn responded with a casual shrug, tearing at a warm croissant and smothering it in butter.

  “I didn’t say I wanted to break up with him,” Denver said, throwing her a stony look, wondering why Carolyn was always so negative. “I’m merely bitching about Bobby traveling all over the place while I’m stuck in L.A. ’cause of my job.”

  “Ah, but it’s a job that you live, breathe, and totally love,” Carolyn pointed out.

  “Oh, yeah,” Denver drawled sarcastically. “I so love trying to nail sleazebags who sell drugs to children and murder people when they get in their way. It’s so rewarding, not to mention majorly exciting.”

  “Although, as a very competent deputy DA, you do love it when you hear the magic word: guilty,” Carolyn said matter-of-factly. “You’re the one who gets to lock the bad guys away.”

  “And how often does that happen?” Denver said, reflecting on how screwed up the justice system could be. Nothing was ever a sure thing. “These guys hire the most expensive and canny lawyers, men in five-thousand-dollar suits who are paid fortunes to get those criminal assholes off the hook. And most times they succeed.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s the system,” Carolyn said, adding jam to her croissant.

  “Yeah,” Denver said glumly. “The system blows, and I should know since I was once part of it. I am so much happier being on the other side.”

  “I can tell,” Carolyn said. “And you did get Frankie Romano arrested and thrown into jail.”

  “True,” Denver said thoughtfully. “In spite of Bobby urging me to go easy on him.”

  “Bobby gave you a hard time, right?”

  “He certainly did, Frankie being an old friend of his. I mean, what did he expect me to do? It’s my job, for God’s sake. There’s no way I can call in favors. Frankie’s apartment was drug city. And he was dealing big-time.”

  Since leaving the law firm of Saunders, Fields, Simmons and Johnson, where she had been one of their youngest defense attorneys, Denver was thrilled that she no longer had to defend scuzzy celebrities who were obviously guilty—including action-movie star Ralph Maestro. It was all a big relief. She was so glad she’d switched sides to become a deputy DA. She was currently part of a drug task force—a tight-knit group of people, all with the same endgame in mind: to stop the endless flow of illegal drugs into America. The stories that she saw and heard devastated her. Babies born addicted to crack; teenagers overdosing at parties; young girls forced into addiction and prostitution. And who profited from all this misery? The dealers, of course. From the kids on the street who peddled pot and pills to the drug lords like Pablo Fernandez Diego, an unprincipled Colombian who funneled drugs from his country into the United States at an alarming rate. The Diego cartel was notorious for supplying large shipments of cocaine, marijuana, heroin, and methamphetamine. It seemed Pablo’s drug operation was unstoppable, and although it would be more or less impossible to nail him in Colombia, if they could nab his lowlife son, Alejandro, it would be a major coup. Alejandro owned Club Luna, a Hollywood hangout that everyone knew was merely a front for laundering drug money—but so far, nothing could be proved. Arresting Frankie Romano was a positive, and Denver had high hopes that soon Frankie would start hemorrhaging information, for as Alejandro’s former close friend and minor partner in the club, he had to know plenty. Getting him to talk was the key to maybe indicting Alejandro. So far Frankie had refused to cooperate.

  “Have you ever thought that Bobby might fool around on you?” Carolyn asked.

  “Are you kidding me?” Denver said, surprised that Carolyn would even suggest it. “Why would you say that?”

  “It’s never crossed your mind that he could cheat?”

  “No, it never has.”

  “Then you’re more naive than I thought,” Carolyn said, taking a gulp of hot coffee. “All men cheat.”

  “And since when did you become such an expert on men?”

  “Oh, please,” Carolyn sighed. “Try waking up to the real world. Your boyfriend is Bobby Santangelo Stanislopoulos, a total catch. Rich, handsome, charming. And he owns a bunch of hot clubs, which means he’s exposed to all the best-looking girls—and you can bet they come on to him. Single girls hitting the club scene are ruthless. They’ll go after a guy big-time. Especially a guy like Bobby.”

  “So what?” Denver said, narrowing her eyes. “It’s not as if I’m exactly a dog. Men come on to me too. Besides, Bobby and I are in a secure relationship. We trust each other.”

  “Okay, okay,” Carolyn said, thinking that it was true, Denver was a knockout, with her shiny auburn hair, curvy body, and wide-spaced hazel eyes. However, relationships were always at risk when there were long separations involved. “You’re not getting the big picture,” Caroly
n added. “You should keep an eye on him, not give him so much freedom.”

  “For God’s sake,” Denver said, an exasperated frown covering her face. “Ever since you decided to play for the other team, you have absolutely no respect for men.”

  “Respect?” Carolyn said, raising a cynical eyebrow. “Surely you kid. Men are horny all the time, and let’s not forget, you’re here and he’s there.”

  “Thanks,” Denver said drily. “It’s great to have such supportive friends.”

  “What?” Carolyn said. “You really think he doesn’t play around? I’m merely the teller of truths.”

  “Then may I suggest you go tell them to someone else,” Denver said, getting to her feet. “I’m out of here. Thanks for breakfast. As for the lecture—no thanks.”

  “Have fun catching criminals.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t say that,” Denver responded, still frowning. “How many times do I have to tell you—my job is not fun.”

  “Whatever…”

  Denver shook her head. There were times that Carolyn got on her nerves, and today was one of them. She had too much on her mind to worry about Carolyn putting thoughts of Bobby cheating in her head. Besides, Bobby wasn’t the cheating type. He was one of the good guys, and yes, she did trust him, just as he trusted her. They’d been living together in a house in the Hollywood Hills for almost a year, and so far everything was cool.

  “Don’t forget tomorrow night,” Carolyn said as Denver headed inside. “Special dinner at the Falcons’. I’ll pick you up.”

  “Not a plan,” Denver replied, moving through the house toward the front door.

  “Why not?” Carolyn asked, following her inside.

  “’Cause I might be working late,” Denver said, opening the door and briskly walking outside to her car, which was parked on the street. “Do not depend on me.”

  “You can’t miss dinner,” Carolyn called out. “You know what Annabelle is like. She’ll throw one of her diva fits.”

  “You think I care what Annabelle does?” Denver called back, getting behind the wheel of her car. “’Cause I don’t.”