Deadly Embrace (2 page)

"She admires movie stars," Vincent said, casually shifting his leg
so that Jolie was forced to move her hand.

"Ah, but no movie star is as gorgeous as her husband," Jolie
murmured, flattering him, which was her way.

Vincent gave a thin smile, keeping his rising anger under control.
Jenna was disrespecting him, the way she was draping herself all over
Andy Dale—a one-hit movie wonder with lank dirty blond hair and
a boyish grin. Andy Dale was in town for the big fight taking place
the following night. He was accompanied by Anais, a surly black
supermodel who was quite obviously coked out of her head and couldn't
care less
who
he came on to. Nando had invited them for dinner
and then promptly left, making the excuse that he had a business
meeting.

Lately Vincent was beginning to wonder if he'd made a wrong move
marrying Jenna. She was a very young twenty-two-year-old and
surprisingly inexperienced. Unlike him. He'd covered the waterfront,
exactly the way his father, Michael, had taught him to. At the age of
seventeen, Michael had set him up with a twenty-year-old call girl in
a suite at the MGM Grand for twenty-four hours, all expenses paid.
What a deal! What a dad!

The young girl had taught him everything he was supposed to know
about pleasing a woman, and although at the time he had not
appreciated sticking his tongue between her legs and eating her out,
he'd soon learned how much girls got off on it.

"Good looks are not what's gonna get you places," his father had
lectured him. "You have to be the fastest an' the smartest in
business,
and
you gotta know how to treat a woman in bed. That
way you'll have the world by the balls. Believe me, son,
that's
what makes a man."

Michael Castelli was a man who did indeed have the world by the
balls. Vincent looked up to him—in spite of the fact that
Michael had never married Dani, Vincent's mom.

Vincent had not yet heard about the arrest warrant and his
father's disappearance. He was hardly in contact with his half
sister, Madison—whom he'd only met once, several months ago,
under strained circumstances. Michael had called him up and said he
needed a favor. Naturally, Vincent had obliged.

It galled him that Madison had no clue about Michael's other
family. How come
he'd
been told the truth, and yet
she'd
led some kind of sheltered life, believing she was an only
child?

Well, she wasn't. There was him and his younger sister, Sofia. And
if Madison thought she was any better than them, she was very much
mistaken.

"Oooh,
stop
!" Jenna squealed, smooth cheeks flushed as she
playfully pushed Andy Dale away.

"What's going on?" Vincent asked, keeping his slow-burning temper
under control.

"Andy's trying to see if I'm ticklish," Jenna giggled.

"Bet you are!" Andy said, lunging once again, his groping hands
brushing up against her perky breasts.

Vincent stood up. "Andy," he said pleasantly. "Got something to
show you."

"What?" Andy questioned. He was young, famous, and full of
himself. He was a fucking
movie star
, for crissakes. He could
have anything or anyone he wanted.

"You'll like it," Vincent promised with a thin smile.

"
Not
," Jolie murmured under her breath.

Andy stood up. He was five feet eight, thanks to cleverly
concealed lifts in his custom-made shoes—without them he barely
grazed five six. "Where we goin'?" he asked, following Vincent out of
the plush restaurant into the packed casino.

"There's something in my office that might interest you " Vincent
said evenly.

"If I can snort it or fuck it, I'm your man," Andy chortled.

Cretin
, Vincent thought.
Two more movies and you're
over
.

Sofia Castle was a wild one. Tall, tanned, lean, and street smart,
she had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. A school dropout
at fifteen, she'd rejected the very thought of college, and for three
years had backpacked her way around the world with two girlfriends
and a gay guy. One by one they'd all gotten into trouble. First, one
of her girlfriends was arrested in Thailand for smuggling drugs. A
year later, in Hawaii, her other girlfriend ran off with a married
surfer she'd only known for five days. And Jace, her gay friend,
managed to get himself beaten up wherever they went.

"like—what the hell do you
do
?" she'd demanded of
him.

"Nothing," he'd answered primly, "except be myself."

Which was too gay for most people.

So eventually Sofia had ended up alone, apart from a series of
transient boyfriends.

In spite of being by herself, Sofia had no desire to go home to
Las Vegas, where her big brother, Vincent, bossed the crap out of her
and her mom was always trying to tell her what to do. Yes, the
gambling capital had lost its appeal long ago, so instead of heading
home, she'd moved on to Marbella and landed a job as a roving
photographer covering the nightclub scene during the tourist
season.

At eighteen, Sofia was a free spirit, and nobody could stop her.
Not her mother—who, God knew, had tried. Nor Vincent—with
whom she enjoyed a love-hate relationship. And certainly not her
father, Michael—a man she resented big time because he'd never
been around when she'd needed him.

Sofia was her own person. Only, tonight she wasn't so sure.
Tonight she was trapped in a penthouse apartment with two drugged-out
Spanish playboys who were old (at least forty) and very, very
horny.

Earlier she'd hooked up with a group of people at one of the clubs
and thought they were fun. Never one to turn down free champagne and
plenty of grass, she'd gone with the group to the penthouse, and
suddenly everyone else seemed to have vanished, leaving her stuck
with two horny old men.

"Gotta go," she announced nonchalantly.

"No!" horny Spaniard number one said. His name was Paco and he had
slit eyes and slicked-back boot-polish brown hair.

"You stay with us," horny Spaniard number two said, making kissing
noises with his lips. He was a thin man in an off-white seersucker
suit and shiny two-tone patent leather shoes. He smelled of
lavender.

Stoned as she was, Sofia knew it was time to get out. She also
suspected that they'd locked the front door, which was
not
a
good sign.

"Sorry, guys," she said, heading for the door and trying the
handle. Yes, it was locked. Damn! "My old man's a cop," she said
sharply, furious that she'd gotten caught in such a sucker situation.
"So we don't want any trouble, do we? You'd better let me out. And I
do mean
now
."

"No, no—you come here,
caro
," Paco crooned, coming
after her and pawing her bare shoulder with his sweaty palm. "We show
you sexy time."

"No
thanks
," she said, twisting away from him. "And open
this
fucking
door before I kick it in."

The men exchanged conspiratorial looks, then Paco grabbed her
while the other man moved in.

Sofia experienced a shiver of fear for the first time in her young
life.

She knew she was in trouble, and it wasn't a feeling she
appreciated.

My daughter is in trouble
. The thought kept running through
Dani Castle's mind. She'd awoken that morning after experiencing a
vivid nightmare about Sofia, and hadn't been able to stop thinking
about her since. Now it was nighttime, and she was having dinner with
the man she
should
have married, but even so, she couldn't
concentrate—her mind was elsewhere.

Dean King, a distinguished-looking man in his sixties, tall and
barrel chested, with a thick head of silver hair, had never failed
her, never let her down. However, in spite of their long
relationship, she still lived with the hope that one day Michael
would marry her and legalize their union.

Michael Castelli. The love of her life.

The father of her two children, Vincent and Sofia.

She loved him. She always would.

Dani was, at fifty-three, a beautiful woman—tall and
naturally blond, with smooth skin, ocean blue eyes, and a showgirl's
body. Once a headline performer in Vegas, she now organized the
occasional PR event at her son's hotel. She was very proud of
Vincent; he'd done so well—with only a small amount of help
from his dad.

Yes, Vincent could certainly take care of himself. It was Sofia
she was worried about.

Both of her children bore a strong resemblance to Michael. They
had inherited his deep olive skin and jet black hair. And Sofia had
definitely inherited his wild streak. One memorable day, after a big
fight with her dad, she'd dropped out of school and taken off,
leaving only a short note.

Fifteen years old and she was gone. The only contact Dani had had
with her since then was the occasional phone call or postcard.

There was nothing she could do about it. Sofia possessed a will of
steel, exactly like Michael, who had not seemed at all concerned by
his daughter's taking off. "The kid can look after herself," he'd
assured her. "You gotta stop worrying."

Easy for
him
to say.

Sometimes Dani thought the only offspring he
really
cared
about was Madison, his daughter from another woman.

"What are you thinking?" Dean asked, leaning across the table and
attempting to take her hand.

She pulled back. Dean's devotion was endless; maybe rejection
did
make the heart grow fonder. It certainly did in his case.

Dean lived in Houston. He owned oil wells, and was extremely rich
and quite powerful in his own way.

So why didn't you marry him, Dani
?

Because I never loved him
.

"I'm thinking about Sofia," she sighed, sipping her wine. "I worry
about her so much. I wish I could see her."

Dean studied her face. "Have you heard from her lately?" he
asked.

"A few weeks ago. She's in Spain somewhere, she never says exactly
where."

"I've told you many times," he said. "If you want me to, I can
hire people who'll find her and bring her home."

"No." She shook her head. "Sofia will come back when she's
ready."

"Then you've got to stop worrying."

God! He sounded like Michael!

"I have an early meeting," she said, placing her napkin on the
table and pushing her chair back.

"Does this mean dinner is over?" he asked, raising a quizzical
eyebrow.

"You don't mind, do you?"

"Would it matter if I did?" he said, thinking that this woman
drove him insane—she always had. The problem was that he
couldn't stop being crazy about her. Two marriages to other women
along the way had done nothing to extinguish the flame.

"Of course it would," she lied, trying to figure out why she kept
Dean in the wings.

"Well...," he said hesitantly. "I can postpone leaving and stay
another day."

It
won't do you any good
, she wanted to say, but she
didn't. Dean lived to please her, and she lived to please Michael,
whom she hadn't heard from in months. She wondered where he was and
what he was doing.

She refused to call him. She had her pride.

Thirty-six years ago, at the age of seventeen, she'd given birth
to his only son—and then eighteen years later, a daughter. He'd
never married her, and yet there was no way she could ever stop
loving him.

Yes, it's true, she thought ruefully, rejection
does
make
the heart grow fonder.

I'm running
, Michael Castelli thought.
I'm running like
a rat being chased through the sewers, and I hate myself for doing
this
.

But I have no choice
.

I
have no fucking choice
.

His past had finally caught up with him, and it was either run and
discover the truth, or rot in some lousy jail.

Michael knew that if he was ever incarcerated again, he would
never survive.

And in Michael's world, survival was the name of the game.

Anna Maria was a pretty girl. Dark haired with a heart-shaped
face, she spoke only a small amount of English. Her husband, Vinny
Castellino, had tried to teach her, but not with much success. He
didn't mind; as far as he was concerned, Anna Maria could do no
wrong. So what if she couldn't speak the language? He was there to
look after her
and
the baby she was carrying.

Vinny was the proudest man on the block. He couldn't take his eyes
off his wife. Such a little girl. Such a big belly.

He'd run into Anna Maria at the end of the war outside of Naples.
She was frightened and lonely—most of her family had perished
in the war and she was by herself. Vinny had befriended her, gifted
her with chocolates and nylons, slept with her, and promised to keep
in touch.

Then he'd returned to his steady girlfriend in America, and tried
to forget about the young Italian girl with the big soulful eyes and
voluptuous body.

His girlfriend, Marnie, a flashy blond hairdresser who lived near
him in Queens, was immediately suspicious. "You do anything you
shouldn't while you was overseas?" she demanded, while treating him
to a vigorous blow job in the back of her cousin's beat-up old
Pontiac.

"'Course not," he answered guiltily.

"You
sure
?" Marnie persisted.

"I'm sure," he lied.

"You better not have," she threatened, "or I'll have your balls
for earrings!"

Mamie had a colorful way of putting things.

Vinny was used to it.

"Oh yeah—
yeah
!" he yelled, reaching a satisfying
climax.

The truth was, he couldn't get Anna Maria out of his head. She
lingered in his thoughts, and as the weeks passed he knew he had to
see her again in spite of Marnie's threats of bodily harm if he so
much as looked at another woman. Marnie was marriage minded. If he
wasn't careful she'd have him marching down the aisle before he knew
it.