Drop Dead Beautiful (16 page)

“I’m guessing you don’t live around here,” he said, starting to walk again.

“Do you?” she countered.

“Why d’you answer a question with another question?” he said, looking perplexed.

“ ’Cause I’m naturally curious.”

“
Nosy
is the word you’re searchin’ for.”

“How rude!”

“No, honest.”

“What are you doing anyway? I know why
I’m
hanging around. How about you?”

He stopped again, turning to face her. “You see that bank over there?” he said matter-of-factly.

She glanced across the street. “Yes.”

“Well… here’s the deal,” he said, taking a long beat. “I’m plannin’ on robbing it.”

“This is what I like t’do,” Gino announced, clearing his throat. “Haul my ass outta bed real late, take an afternoon nap, watch a coupla those cop shows on TV, suck down a few inches of Jack, have a fine meal with my old lady, an’ hit the sack nice ’n’ early.”

“It’s all about your bed,” Lucky observed.

“Yeah, kiddo, an’ when you’re ninety somethin’ it’ll be all ’bout yours.”

She smiled. “There’s a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in your room. And guess what? I’m cooking dinner myself—pasta and meatballs, your favorite.”

“What a girl!” he exclaimed, grinning. “If only your mother had lived to see how you turned out.”

Inexplicably her eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t a crier, but how often did she get a one-on-one with Gino, and how often did he talk about her mom? Practically never. She’d always figured it was too upsetting for him to reminisce about Maria, but since
he
was the one who’d brought it up, maybe now was the time to pursue it.

“I guess you’ve never stopped missing her,” she said softly.

“I miss her every single day,” he sighed. “My Maria was the best. Y’know, kiddo, I still think about her all the time.”

“So do I,” Lucky murmured. “I remember her skin, it was so smooth, and she always smelled like rose petals.”

“That she did,” Gino said, nodding.

“Every night she would read to me and Dario. She loved this English author—Enid Blyton—and she’d read these crazy stories about a magic faraway tree with special powers and strange lands at the top of the tree where you could run around doing anything.”

“Gave you ideas, huh?” Gino chuckled.

“Mama always told me girls can do anything.”

“An’ boy, did you follow her advice!”

“I was five when she was murdered,” Lucky said sadly. “Only five … but I’ve never forgotten her.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know …” he said, opening his arms.

Suddenly she found herself nestling close to the man she’d spent so many years feuding with, and now he was old—although he was still sharp. But she knew that one of these days in the not-so-distant future she’d have to say good-bye, and it broke her heart.

Gino Junior came barging into the room, interrupting their moment of closeness. “When’s dinner?” he asked. “Let’s go, Mom, I’m starving.”

Lucky broke away from her father and composed herself. “You’re not starving,” she admonished. “And since I’m heading for the kitchen, I could do with some help.”

“Mom …” Gino Junior groaned.

“You can learn to roll meatballs the Italian way. You’ll enjoy it, trust me.”

“Grandpa …” Gino Junior said, appealing to his grandfather to save him.

Gino Senior obliged. “Give the kid a break,” he rasped. “Paige’ll help you. She’s always bin pretty adept at rollin’ balls.”

Lucky shook her head and tried not to smile. Gino was an original, no doubt about that.

Henry waved down a truck and slipped the driver a hundred bucks to find out what was wrong with his car.

He’d been attempting to wave cars down for two hours, and this was the first driver who’d stopped. Henry hadn’t given him much choice, he’d practically flung himself in front of the oncoming truck.

After the driver had finished bitching and complaining about Henry forcing him to pull up so abruptly, Henry had handed him the hundred-dollar bill, and the truck driver had done a full inspection. Finding nothing mechanical, he’d eventually discovered that the gas gauge was faulty—stuck on half-full, while the gas tank was actually empty.

“You’re outta gas,” the truck driver announced, scratching his hairy belly under an
I DIG FAT CHICKS
T-shirt.

Henry frowned. Damn Markus. The man was lazy. Surely he must have known the gas gauge was faulty? After all, it was his
job
to know.

Henry glared at the truck driver as if
he
was to blame. “What am I supposed to do?” he whined.

“For another hundred I can fix ya up with a can of gas,” the truck driver offered. “My emergency supply.”

Well aware he was being taken advantage of, Henry agreed. He had no choice.

Chapter 22

Anthony and Renee stood over Tasmin’s lifeless body, both of them gazing down at the naked girl, Renee in disbelief and shock, Anthony full of anger that this had happened.

“You broke her neck,” Renee stated.

“She fuckin’ attacked me,” Anthony responded. “For a moment there I thought she was gonna pull a piece on me.”

“The woman is naked, and
you
thought she had a gun?” Renee said, shaking her head in disgust.

“What the
fuck
was I supposed t’do?” he said, impatient to get the hell out of Vegas and far away from this situation, which was bugging the shit out of him. “Jesus
Christ
, Renee, this is
your
fuckin’ fault, you set me up with her.”

“You kill a girl and it’s
my
fault,” Renee said, stoney-faced.

“You’d better arrange to dispose of the body,” Anthony said flatly. “No way can I be involved in this.”

“Damn you, Anthony,” Renee said, her voice rising. “This isn’t some bimbo we’re talking about. This is a respectable woman with a high-powered job and a kid at home. How am I supposed to cover
this
up? You’re in big trouble, Anthony.”

He turned to her, his eyes like two pieces of cold steel. “I’m in trouble? You think
I’m
responsible for this shit?”

“If you’re not, who is?”

“She acted like a fuckin’ lunatic,” he said, starting to yell. “An’ she ended up gettin’ what she deserved.”

“Sure,” Renee muttered, “and you’re just an innocent party.”

“What’s your fuckin’ problem?” he shouted, his face darkening.

“You were too rough with her, any fool can see that.”

“You gotta be fuckin’
shittin’
me!” he exploded. “The broad was a sex freak.”

“You’re a big boy, you could’ve handled yourself without killing her.”

“Let me tell you somethin’, Renee,” Anthony said, outraged that he was being forced to explain himself. “She wanted me to lick her fuckin’ pussy. Ya think there’s any way in hell I’d lower myself an’ do that shit?”

“Going down on a woman is a normal sex act,” Renee said, hating the very sight of him.

“Maybe to you,” he spat. “But there’s nothin’ fuckin’ normal ’bout you.”

“Is that why you broke her neck—because of some macho Italian code of ethics?”

“How many times I gotta tell ya?—she fuckin’ attacked me for no reason,” he said harshly, wondering why he was bothering to continue this conversation. “I hadda defend myself, she’s six feet tall an’ strong as a fuckin’ horse. You take care of it, Renee, like I took care of you when you had to get outta Colombia in a hurry. Remember?”

Yes, she remembered all right. He’d helped her leave, and he’d also helped himself to half the cash Oscar had stashed. Then when she and Susie had put together the money to build the Cavendish, he’d declared himself a silent partner. No paperwork involved, simply a monthly payout in cash.

“I take care of this and we’re even,” Renee said flatly. “Score settled.”

“What the fuck
you
so uptight about?” he demanded.

“Tasmin was a smart, beautiful woman. Look what you’ve done to her. Don’t you have any remorse?”

“For chrissakes!” he roared. “She was nothin’ but a crazy freak.”

“Your idea of a freak and mine differ,” Renee snapped.

“I bet,” he sneered. “You’d feast on pussy all day long if you had your way.”

“Nice,” Renee said coldly. “Real nice.”

“Don’t you forget who helped you when you needed it,” he warned. “Take care of this mess, use your most trusted people. I’m gettin’ outta here—deal with it.”

Anthony left the problem of Tasmin’s lifeless body with Renee and took off. He had no feelings of guilt. Renee owed him and now it was payback time.

The Grill drove him to the airport in one of the hotel’s cars. Even though he still had things to take care of in Vegas, he knew this wasn’t the time to linger. Best to distance himself and get out quickly.

Once he was safely on his plane and it had taken off for New York, he called his wife.

“What’s goin’ on?” he said gruffly.

“Where are you, Anthony?” Irma asked. “When will you be home?”

“I’ll let you know.” A long beat. “You miss me?”

Irma was shocked; it was so unlike her husband to ask her such a question. “Yes,” she said stiffly, hesitating for only a second or two.

He decided she didn’t sound like she meant it, and after he hung up, he got to wondering what Irma did all day. The kids were in Miami with their nanny and Francesca; the house in Mexico City was taken care of by his coterie of servants; so how
did
Irma keep herself occupied?

She probably went shopping, spent his money, and indulged in massages and manicures. Womanly pastimes, that’s all she was capable of.

For a moment he felt sorry for her. At least she was a normal woman who’d never requested any depraved sexual acts from him. Goddammit, she was his wife, she’d better not.

Next he phoned Emmanuelle. “What’s goin’ on, sweet-ass?” he asked, thinking of her undulating sun-kissed body and luscious lips, and wondering why he’d gone elsewhere when Emmanuelle was always available.

“I just finished shooting the cover for
Crude Oil
magazine,” Emmanuelle said excitedly. “Isn’t that the
best!”

“Yeah?” he questioned, not so sure he liked her posing for magazine covers where every asshole on the street could ogle her spectacular body. “What didja wear?”

“
Veree
short Daisy Dukes and kind of a skimpy bra,” she said, her voice low and seductive. “Veree sexy. You’ll
love
the photos.”

“You’d better not love the photographer,” Anthony warned. “It better be a woman.”

“No, honey bunch,” Emmanuelle cooed, purposely pissing him off because she got a kick out of making him jealous. “It was a super-sexy Latin
man
.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Emmanuelle,” Anthony growled. “I ain’t in the mood.”

He put the phone down and thought briefly about Carlita before calling his man in New York. “Any news?”

“Too soon, boss. Nothin’ to report.”

Could it be that he was wrong about Carlita?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Now he had to think about what he was going to tell Francesca. She’d expect to hear that everything was in line to sabotage the opening of Lucky Santangelo’s hotel, only in view of what had taken place he wasn’t so sure about Renee. She was pissed because he’d accidentally killed some freaky bitch, and even worse—she’d refused to admit that it was all her fault for putting them together in the first place.

Too fuckin’ bad. She’d better get over it and fast, because once the body was taken care of he would be back in Vegas calling
all
the shots.

And that’s exactly the way it should be.

After speaking to her husband, Irma experienced a moment of sheer panic. Did Anthony suspect something? Did Anthony
know?

She assured herself that she was being paranoid—there was no chance of Anthony suspecting anything. How could he? She was beyond discreet, never bringing Luis in the house
when any of the servants were around, always making sure to lock the bedroom door so no one could accidentally intrude.

The only way for Anthony to find out would be if he walked in on them, and that could never happen because Anthony always informed her in advance when he was coming home. He did this because he expected her to have everything ready for him. He insisted that the kitchen was fully stocked with all his favorite foods; his two Dobermans had to be sent to the vet to be bathed and groomed; plus he expected her to put together a series of fancy dinner parties for his friends.

Well, Anthony called them friends. Irma called them a bunch of suck-up freeloaders who laughed at Anthony’s jokes and sat around watching him admiringly whenever he decided to entertain them with his not-so-brilliant karaoke skills. Karaoke was his favorite way of amusing himself, but only as long as he had an adoring audience fawning all over him.

No, Anthony would
never
surprise her. He wanted everyone on alert when
he
came home.

She walked to the window and glanced outside.

Luis was busy working on the grounds.

Immediately she experienced a rush of excitement. Just looking at the man made her heart beat faster.

Luis was her savior.

Luis made every day worth living.

Later she would invite him up to the house.

She could hardly wait.

When Anthony was eleven and more or less existing on the streets of Naples, he’d stabbed a man. He wasn’t sure whether he’d killed the man or not, but he’d certainly experienced an overpowering rush of adrenaline—especially when he’d bent over the fallen man and extracted his wallet from his jacket pocket.

Stuffing the wallet down his pants, Anthony had raced off down the street like a deer.
Run fast, never let ’em catch you
, that was his motto.

Most of the time he hung out with a gang of kids who all came from one-parent families. They watched out for each other, sometimes robbing tourists and other unsuspecting civilians. Anthony led the pack; even at such a young age he was a born leader.