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“This was never a game.”
Elena studied her father. No, not her father, the man who had posed as her father for twenty-four years. “You know who he is, don’t you?”
“Elena, please.”
“You know, don’t you?” Against her best attempt to keep her emotions in check, Elena fought tears. “Tell me the truth! Do you know him?”
“Yes. I know him.”
“But you’re not going to tell me his name, are you? If you never wanted to play this game, end it now.”
He shook his head. “Non posso.”
“You can’t, or won’t?”
“He doesn’t know you exist. He can never know.”
Tears on her cheeks, Elena started down the stairs.
“Elena!”
She didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
Frank followed her. “I was there the day you were born,” he called out. “You are my daughter. Maybe not by blood, but I have loved you the same as I love my sons. Will forever love you as my daughter.”
Elena spun back around, the ocean breeze swirling her white skirt about her shapely calves. Tossing her midnight-black hair out of her eyes, she said, “You should have told me years ago, Papa. I would have found a way to understand. You should have trusted me enough. Loved me enough!”
“Maybe you would have understood. Your real father would not have. And if your curiosity had led you to him…” He shook his head. “You’re right, your mother is also dead in Chicago, as I am. That is what has kept her safe for twenty-four years. I’m sorry, Elena, but I couldn’t tell you the truth years ago, and I still can’t.”
Chapter 2
After a week in an iron cell, Vincent D’Lano was twice as ornery as his reputation. “Listen, Martin, Carlo Talupa and I were in the middle of a deal worth billions. Do you think I would kill him before that happened?”
“This deal, will it still go through even though he’s dead?”
Vincent shoved his stocky body out of his chair to pace the small room where he and his lawyer were meeting at the Cook County Jail. “Yes. If I can get my ass out of here.”
“Then maybe you decided to kill Carlo and double your take.”
The urge to strangle Martin English sent Vincent’s hands into his pockets. If he killed his lawyer, he’d never get out of jail.
“I want out of this sewer, Martin. I want Sophia out, too. What are you doing about that?”
At fifty-eight, Martin English was not only a veteran lawyer, but had worked for Vincent for fifteen years. Accustomed to his client’s needs, as well as his temper, he said, “I might get you out within a week or ten days, Vince, but Sophia’s going to have to be patient. The police have evidence that she hired two convicts in Joliet to break out Stud Williams. Unless we can make that evidence disappear, she may have to do some time.”
“So get off your skinny ass and make the evidence disappear. Fix it, Martin, or I swear you’ll look back on this year as the nightmare that never ended. Your wife won’t just be crying at your funeral. Capiche?”
“These things take time, Vince. You’ve been named as an accessory to your daughter’s crime. That—”
“You’re not listening, Martin. Make it all go away. There are a dozen ways. Pick one. Do it. I was in the middle of a once-in-a-lifetime deal when this happened. And while I’m in here, Moody’s running my affairs. Unchaperoned. You and I both know my son can’t cross the street without pissing someone off.”
Vincent had been a two-bit hood when he’d first met Carlo Talupa. But he’d been a smart hood, and he’d put too much time into his current plan to let his lawyer screw it up now.
He licked his lips as the image of Vito Tandi’s impressive estate formed in his mind. He had admired Dante Armanno for years, but recently it had become a key element in his future.
Martin glanced at his Rolex. “I’m going to get kicked out of here soon. Before I go, I have a few more questions about your part in Stud Williams’s breakout.”
“I told you I had no part in that. Unfortunately. If Sophia had involved me, we wouldn’t be in here.”
“About these witnesses, Vince…”
“Make ’em disappear, Martin.” When the lawyer just sat there, Vincent came forward and slammed his fist down on the cheap wooden table, his slicked-back gray hair falling forward over his bushy black eyebrows. “Sophia’s only crime, Martin, was loving a man who deceived her. I had a deal with Frank Masado. His son was supposed to marry my daughter. But Joey rejected her. What’s she gonna do, Martin? Turn the other cheek? She’s a D’Lano. We’ve earned the right to demand respect.”
“The court doesn’t care about your sour deal with Frank Masado, Vince. A crime was committed.”
Vincent glared at his lawyer, who continued to sit calmly in his silk suit and spin his diamond ring on his index finger. “I won’t be screwed over by this country’s dumb-ass judicial system.”
With the agility of a man of twenty-five, instead of sixty, Vincent D’Lano grabbed Martin by his suit lapels and lifted him to his feet. Turning his index finger into a toy gun, he pressed it to Martin’s temple and knocked off four shots. When he let go of him and stepped back, the lawyer wilted back onto the chair, his complexion turning as white as his shirt.
Pleased, Vincent said, “You know I don’t make idle threats, Martin. Get me and my daughter out of this stinkhole, or your wife will be looking all over the city for pieces of you to bury for the next ten years.” He patted Martin’s pale cheek. “Crooked lawyers are a dime a dozen. Don’t disappoint me, Martin, or I’ll kill ya. I’ll kill ya dead.”
The exotic dancer was performing for Lucky as if he was the only customer seated at the bar. Melody was her name, and like all the other girls who entertained at the Shedd, the diva had enough curves and sexy bump-and-grind moves to give every man bellied up to the bar tight jeans and a fantasy to take home.
The catwalk where the dancers played tease-and-tickle with the customers ran between a double-sided bar, which allowed the bartenders to easily handle the crowd. Melody, who had been working Lucky for a long twenty minutes, finally gave up and wiggled her curves toward Moody Trafano a half-dozen barstools away. She bent over and shook her full breasts in Moody’s grinning face, her efforts rewarded when he slid a twenty-dollar bill into her cleavage.
It had been two days since Lucky had signed Vito’s papers, making him the new owner of Dante Armanno and CEO of Tandi Inc. The corporation was a conglomerate of various businesses throughout Chicago, and one of those businesses was the Shedd.
Tonight Lucky had come to the exotic bar to check out his property and to meet Jackson Ward. It was after ten, and Jacky was late. His friend hadn’t been too excited about being called out this time of night. Lucky didn’t blame him. Sunni Blais was one beautiful woman, and knowing Jackson the way he did, Jacky most likely had answered his cell phone in a prone position with his lovely fiancée snuggled next to him.
He glanced around the bar. Noted that the loud music and the near-naked dancers were keeping the bar packed and the men drinking. It was funny how fast things changed, Lucky mused. A month ago Milo was strutting through the Shedd playing big shot and now he was dead, and Vito had a new son—on paper, anyway.
He made eye contact with Melody. She smiled and gave him an I-know-how-to-make-you-feel-a-whole-lot-better look. That look reminded Lucky she was a professional off the catwalk, as well as on, and as the new owner of the establishment, getting to know what made each one of his employees tick wouldn’t only be smart, it could be entertaining.
He finished his drink, deciding Melody would have to wait. Jackson would show soon. But maybe afterward he’d see if the dancer was still around.
His glass had been refilled for the third time when he saw her. He wasn’t drunk, so he knew she wasn’t a mirage. Still, he glanced down at the amber liquor in his glass, wondering if someone had slipped him a little surprise. But even as he considered it, his gaze went back to the shadowy entrance where the neon sign over the door was putting a rosy tint in Elena Palazzo’s cheeks.
She looked left, then right. Scanned the bar. When their eyes met and locked, he watched her slip through the crowd, her shiny black hair moving around her slender shoulders.
She wasn’t dressed to be noticed, but that didn’t stop the men from taking a second look. She had an angel’s face, and a walk that would make a man follow her to hell and back on his knees, dragging a dead horse. It was the combination of innocence and that walk that had kick started his own fantasies about her weeks ago.
He’d been around plenty of beautiful women over the years, but Grace’s daughter had it all. Everything. Too much of everything, he decided as his gaze focused on her V-neck white fuzzy sweater and the damn fine job it did of framing her assets.
He raised his glass to his lips, his gaze shifting to where her sweater ended and her pants began. The pants were the color of caramel and rode low on her curvy hips. Low enough for every man to see the shiny gold ring in her navel.
It occurred to him as he glanced around the room that every horny bastard in the place was anticipating Elena taking it all off on the catwalk; that she was assumed to be a dancer looking for a job.
Only they both knew she wasn’t there to work the crowd. She was there to work…him.
She kept walking—no, floating was a better word—toward him, a lightweight black leather jacket tucked under her arm. Six feet away, she licked her full red lips and tossed her head. Two feet from him, she stopped and cleared her throat.
Then it came, the sexiest voice he’d ever heard—the one that had branded him from the moment they’d been formally introduced at Santa Palazzo two weeks ago. “In a bar with a drink in your hand. How original.”
Lucky slid off the barstool, drained his third Scotch, then spun the empty glass back onto the bar. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
“You could have called. Both my number and Joey’s are always with…” Lucky glanced around, rephrased what he’d been about to say. Frank was supposed to be dead. He couldn’t very well claim that a dead man had his son’s phone number. “You can reach me day and night at that number.”
“Listen, you…you know why I didn’t call. Here, or someplace private?”
“How did you know where to find me?”
She glanced at the empty glass. “It wasn’t hard. My first stop was the Stardust at Masado Towers. When I didn’t find you there, the bartender mentioned a few places not far from your house. I just happened to see this place—” she glanced at Melody “—and thought it looked like you.” Her eyes found him once more. “You might say fate has dropped me in your lap.”
Elena’s sexy backside appeared in Lucky’s mind, and he would have liked nothing better than her seated on his lap. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he asked, “Was it Jimmy at the Stardust who gave you my home address?”
“I already had your home address. I found it in the black book. Listen, you…” She took a step closer. “I’m not as ingenuo as I look, so let’s stop playing games and get to it.”
“That means what, exactly?”
“It means I didn’t come all this way to count snow-flakes and share a drink with you in some sleazy bar. I’m here for the truth, and I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”
The bravado she was trying to sell him didn’t match the way her hands nervously rubbed her slender thighs. He liked her hands, her small fingers and tiny unpainted nails. He also liked the fact that she didn’t wear a lot of jewelry or a pound of makeup.
But then, she didn’t need to. She was her mother’s daughter. As beautiful as a midnight star and twice as bright. She was the sea witch, after all.
He shifted in hopes that the pain in his lower back would ease, and that the straining going on inside his jeans didn’t accidentally move the safety off his .22 and blow him to hell and back.
He said, “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Here, as in here—” she eyed the men staring at her, then glanced at Melody again, who was now on all fours, her backside rolling with the music in a circular motion that had netted her several more green bills tucked into her G-string “—or are you talking about here, as in the big bad city of Chicago, where crime never sleeps?”
Without intending to, Lucky found himself grinning, enjoying her wit as much as her sexy voice. But it was short-lived as Moody Trafano eased off his barstool and started toward them.
Like the other men, Moody had been watching Elena since she’d entered the bar. It was no secret that Trafano had a healthy appetite for pretty women, or that he spent more time on his back at the Shedd than sitting at the bar.
As he closed the distance, Lucky reached out and slid his arm around Elena’s trim waist and hauled her into his space. “We’re getting company,” he whispered. “Be careful what you say. Don’t get that pretty mouth of yours in trouble. Say nothing about who you are or why you’re here.”
Lucky’s nose brushed her silky cheek, noting that her skin felt as soft and smooth as satin. He couldn’t pinpoint her unusual scent, but he didn’t need to name it to know he liked it.
She looked up at him with her catlike gold eyes just as Moody said, “You must be the new dancer we’ve all been expecting. My name’s Moody Trafano, the soon-to-be owner of the Shedd. And you are?”
Elena held Lucky’s gaze for a few seconds longer, then slowly turned around. She’d said she wasn’t naive, but Lucky was sure she’d never dealt with a snake quite as slippery as Moody.
In a single glance Elena took Moody’s measure, but didn’t offer him her name. Good girl, Lucky thought. So far so good.
“You’ve got to be the most beautiful doll in this place,” Moody complimented her. “And there’s plenty here to compete with.” His eyes left Elena’s face to ogle the tanned swell of her breasts, then settled on her flat stomach and the gold ring in her navel. “How long have you been dancing?”
He raised his hand as if he couldn’t control the urge to touch her a moment longer. Like a bulldog protecting his bone, Lucky grabbed Moody’s wrist and squeezed. “I never share, Trafano. I never learned how. Get lost.”
Moody wrenched his arm away. “She’s the Shedd’s property. That means she’s anyone’s fun if you got the bucks to spend, Masado. And I got plenty. Technically she’s mine as soon as old man Tandi dies.”
Lucky would have liked nothing better than to enlighten Moody on his recent deal with Vito and explain to him who actually owned the Shedd. He would have loved to watch Moody crap a brick in front of a full house when he heard he wasn’t going to get a dime of Vito Tandi’s fortune. Instead, he said, “The lady isn’t a dancer, Trafano. Back off and have your fun with someone who likes snake oil.”
“Lady?” Moody snorted. “This place don’t get ladies in it.” Eyes back on Elena, he said, “Sorry, doll, but facts are facts, right? And speaking of facts, a piece of information you’ll appreciate is that Masado, here, is physically challenged. It’s a known fact that drunks can’t keep it up. I’m thinking maybe he can’t even get it up anymore.”
Normally Lucky would have driven the man’s teeth down his throat for the insult, but he didn’t feel like throwing any punches tonight.
Actually he hadn’t felt like it in weeks, which was why he was going to let Moody’s remark go by, instead of stomping on his throat and breaking his windpipe.
“What do you say you let me buy you a drink, sweet milk? I’m sure we can find a quiet place to talk. Better yet, how about taking a walk down the red carpet with me? You might as well get initiated by the best. And around here, I’m the best. The girls call me the Italian Stallion.”
Lucky felt Elena’s hand slide between them, and before he believed she would do it, she had stolen his knife. A half second later the stiletto was touching Moody’s jugular. “I’ve made my choice tonight, Mr. Stallion. Unless you want to be gelded right here, I suggest you trot on back to where you came from.”
Her words sent a roar of laughter around the bar, and the color draining from Moody’s face.
How Elena knew where she could find one of his knives was as much a mystery to Lucky as how she’d learned to wield it with such expertise. And by the look on Moody’s face, he was wondering the same damn thing.
While the crowd continued to laugh and enjoy the show at Moody’s expense, Lucky took hold of Elena’s wrist and confiscated the stiletto. The blade back in his pocket, he stuck her to him like a postage stamp, spun her around and started to usher her toward the back rooms.
Before they reached the privacy of the hallway, Elena tried to wriggle out of his hold, but Lucky only squeezed her closer to him and said, “Basta, Elena. No more. We don’t need another scene.”
“I’m not afraid of that albino lizard,” she spat. “He’s a parassita. A sleazy maiale. A pig who—”
To shut her up, Lucky grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off her feet, so that she was dangling at his side. “If you’re not going to shut up,” he said, “I’m going to—”
“The last man who manhandled me, I spit in his face. Let go or I’ll—”
She looked as if she was about to do as she’d warned. He swore, then planted his mouth over hers more to shock her into rethinking that move than anything else. He set her back on her feet a split second later and jerked her into step with him once more. “Walk, Elena, with your mouth shut,” he warned. “Disgracing a man like Trafano in public isn’t smart. Sexy sass a liquored-up man can handle. A woman sticking a knife up his nose he takes personally.”
Lucky glanced over his shoulder to see that Moody hadn’t moved, his angry eyes drilling Elena’s back. His cheeks were no longer pale, but as red as Melody’s spinning red nipple twizzlers.
Elena stopped trying to peel his fingers off her hip. And as he continued to escort her down the back hallway, the one covered in plush red carpet, she asked, “Where are you taking me?”
“Some place private.”
She looked around, her gaze darting to the many doors lining the hallway. “Aren’t these the rooms where…” She looked at him. “I thought we were going to talk.”
“That’s what I planned. You thinking something else?”
He glanced down and caught her glaring at him, the action drawing his attention to the golden flecks in her brown eyes. Had Frank known she wasn’t his flesh and blood? Lucky wondered. Had he known from the beginning she wasn’t his daughter? He had to have known the minute he’d seen her eyes.
She had her mother’s straight little nose and full lips. Her mother’s silky hair. But her eyes…she had her daddy’s eyes.
Yes, he’d noticed her curvy body seconds before he’d noticed her sexy voice. But way before that, he’d noticed her eyes. The eyes that defied the lies and spoke the truth of who she really was.
“Where did you learn to handle a knife like that?” he asked, hoping conversation would keep his mind off how good she smelled and how much his .22 was cutting into his groin.
