Willow laughed to herself as she stalked around her house wearing nothing but sky-high Louboutins, a purple thong, and her new diamond earrings. Seduce! Alejandro had actually used the word seduce. Where the hell had he come up with such an old-fashioned word?

Was Rafael even vaguely seduceable? She barely knew him, and the few times they'd met he'd seemed extremely uptight. Although as Alejandro had said, he was a man, wasn't he? He had a penis, didn't he? And most men were ruled by their dicks.

Was Rafael any different?

Hmm.... she'd never met a man she couldn't seduce.

Her cell rang and she picked it up without checking who it was.

Bad move, for it was her mother, Pammy, who lived in Palm Desert and only called when she needed money.

"Hi, Mom," she said, experiencing that familiar trapped feeling.

"I'm broke," Pammy whined, not a woman to make polite conversation. "You gotta send me a check, an' make it fast, 'cause they're gonna turn off my electricity."

"I sent you a check last month," Willow said tightly.

"It wasn't enough."

It was never enough. Ever since Willow had fired her mother as her manager, Pammy was always after more money. Willow often wondered what Pammy had done with all the money Willow had made as a child actress. When she'd asked, years ago, Pammy had claimed it had all gotten eaten up by taxes and living expenses.

Willow knew this was a blatant lie. It had all gotten eaten up by her mother's various loser drug addict boyfriends over the years. Willow's dad had taken a hike when she was two. She couldn't blame him; her mom was a nightmare.

Thank God she'd had the smarts to dump Pammy as her manager and take control of her money and her life when she reached eighteen. At least now when she blew a paycheck, it was all hers to blow.

"How much do you need?" she sighed.

"Ten thousand," Pammy said briskly, as if it was nothing.

"No way," Willow said, frowning.

"Why not?" Pammy said, reverting to her whiney voice. "You owe me big-time. If it wasn't for me, you'd have no career."

"If it wasn't for you, I'd have savings in the bank," Willow snapped back. "You spent all my money back in the day when I was too young to know what was going on. I made millions, and you blew through it all."

"Jesus, why're you moanin' 'bout that again?" Pammy grumbled. "I told you-it all went to the tax man, an' he's a greedy son of a bitch."

"Tax man my ass," Willow muttered.

"Wash out your mouth. I didn't teach you no bad language."

"Oh, please!" Willow said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm your mother. You should have more respect."

"Leave me alone, Mother. I'm not a frigging bank."

Silence. Then, "I've had an offer to sell my story."

"What story?"

"The one about you."

So ... the veiled threat. Pammy was an expert at veiled threats.

"Okay, okay. I can send you a thousand," Willow said, eager to get off the phone. "That's it, though. I'm not exactly rolling in money right now."

"FedEx me two thousand, and I won't take the offer from the magazine that wants to know all about your teenage years."

"Oh for God's sake," Willow said bitterly. "I'll send you the damn check, and that's it."

The last thing she needed was her stoned mother revealing all her past indiscretions. And she had a few. More than a few. A quickie marriage at fifteen, which was annulled. Two abortions. An affair with a powerful married man decades older than her. No, this was not the time for Pammy to be selling stories. Not when her career was all set to rise again.

Well.... almost. If everything went according to plan, then she could pay off her mom for good.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

Reaching everyone in the family was not easy, but as Lennie had pointed out, the news was more palatable coming from her than from the Internet, so even though she didn't feel like talking to anyone, Lucky steeled herself and called her half brother, Steven, in Brazil.

Steven was devastated, especially since he hadn't seen Gino in two years, although he'd been planning a trip to California. "Goddamn it, I loved that man," Steven said, his voice breaking with emotion.

"I know," Lucky answered softly, feeling his pain.

"It's hard to believe," Steven said flatly. "Gino was the man." After a long beat, he added, "Who did this to him?"

"I wish I knew, but you can bet that I'm sure as hell going to find out."

"Knowing you, it won't be a problem."

"No it won't, Steven. 'Cause when I find who did this, they'll wish they were dead, and then they will be."

"Hard words."

"True words."

"What can I do?"

"You can fly here and be with the family. The funeral service is going to be in Vegas. He always said that's where he wanted to spend his last day, so that's what's happening."

"I get it," Steven said. "Vegas has special memories for all of us."

"It sure does," Lucky agreed, aware that like her, Steven was reflecting on their colorful past. New York, Vegas, L.A. It had taken years before she'd found out that Steven was her half brother-the result of a one-night stand Gino had had with a beautiful black woman, Carrie. And when they'd discovered they were half siblings, they'd bonded as if they'd always known. She loved Steven dearly.

"My assistant, Danny, will make all the hotel and flight arrangements," she said. "It won't be a funeral, it'll be an amazing celebration of Gino's life, 'cause here's the deal-first we have a very special service, then later we party."

"Sounds like exactly what Gino would've wanted."

As soon as she'd finished speaking with Steven, Lucky called Max, then Bobby. Neither of them picked up their phones. It seemed nobody ever did anymore-it was all about texting. She left them both a terse message to call her back.

Meanwhile, Danny was busy contacting the head of Gino Junior and Leo's summer camp. He told the man in charge that he'd be sending a car to pick the boys up. "I'd appreciate it if you can keep them away from any news stories," Danny requested, although he knew it was a futile request, since the boys were bound to find out.

Later, Lucky bid good-bye to Lennie. He was reluctant to leave her, although he understood. Lennie always understood, which is why she loved him so much.

With Lennie on his way back to L.A., she went into Gino's study feeling a strong urge to be alone. Detective Allan and his partner were still around, waiting to question Paige further when the widow emerged from her bedroom. Lucky had already sussed out that they had nothing. No clues. No eyewitnesses. No shit. She wasn't surprised. Whoever had done this was a professional.

Shutting the study door, she settled into Gino's well-worn leather chair behind his desk and took a deep breath. She noted that the room smelled of her father's favorite cigars-Cubans, of course. Only the best for Gino Santangelo. The aroma still lingered in the air, while the stub of a cigar rested in a marble ashtray next to Gino's usual drink-a Jack and Coke-the glass almost empty.

For a brief moment she closed her eyes, trying to picture Gino the night before, sitting at his desk, smoking his cigar, nursing his drink, never imagining the unspeakable violence that would take place the following morning.

Violent death never gives you a warning, it simply takes you-just like that.

Thank God she'd spoken to him the previous day. He'd promised to come see her in Vegas without bringing Paige. Time alone with Gino was precious.

She'd been so revved up about sharing her plans for the new hotel with him. She could just imagine what he would've said. He would've told her she was crazy-what did she need it for? The Keys is spectacular, he'd have said with an affectionate chuckle. My daughter-the overachiever. Then he would've gotten into it, going over every detail of what she planned to create.

Since he was a big fan of movies, he would've really loved the idea of incorporating a movie studio. Anything with Pacino, De Niro, or Nicholson and he was there. He'd always harbored a big crush on Sharon Stone and often commented that Sandra Bullock reminded him of Maria.

Ah, Maria, Lucky's beautiful, gentle mother.... Lucky still missed her so very much. She often daydreamed about how different her life might have been if Maria had lived.

There was a solitary silver photo frame on Gino's desk containing a photo of her father and mother on their wedding day, arms entwined, the two of them so happy and in love.

Lucky wondered how Paige felt about that.

Then she started wondering if perhaps Paige had any motive for wanting Gino dead.

It was a wild thought. Still ... always expect the unexpected, as Gino often said.

She knew her father had taken care of Paige in his will. However, she also knew that by no means did Paige inherit everything. According to Gino, he'd left Paige a few million dollars plus the Palm Springs house. The rest of his estate-and it was substantial-was in trust for his grandchildren. Or at least that's what he'd told her.

Maybe Paige had persuaded him to change his will. It was possible. Anything was possible. Gino might have been old, but he certainly hadn't been senile; he'd remained as sharp as ever.

Paige would not have been able to get anything past him.

Or would she?

Lucky wasn't at all sure. Right now she trusted no one.

When Paige finally emerged, Lucky immediately noticed that her stepmother had applied fresh makeup, styled her hair, and put on a pencil skirt, a fancy silk blouse, and high heels.

Is this what grief looks like? Lucky thought, her suspicions building.

Paige Wheeler. Gino's fourth wife. A short, tough redhead with a pocket-Venus body. Years ago, Gino had caught Paige in bed with his previous wife, Susan Martino, and after that it had been all systems go. He'd divorced Susan and married Paige. Lucky had never really warmed to her.

"You're still here," Paige exclaimed, finding Lucky in Gino's study.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Lucky responded, picking up an engraved silver paper opener and transferring it from hand to hand. "I thought you'd want to talk about what happened."

"Of course, dear. However, first I must speak with the detectives," Paige said, seemingly calm and in control, unlike the hysterical wreck from earlier. "I've already told them everything I know, but it seems they would like me to go over every single detail one more time."

Hmm. From hysterical wreck to lady of the manor, Lucky thought. What's that about?

"Sure," Lucky said. "I'll be around. I've decided to stay the night."

"Oh," Paige said, raising a surprised eyebrow. "I must tell the housekeeper to make sure the guest room is ready for a visitor."

Lucky glowered. A visitor! Was she fucking kidding? A fucking visitor indeed!

I'm not a visitor, she felt like yelling. I'm Gino's daughter.

However, controlling her emotions in times of stress was something else Gino had taught her, among many other things.

Gino is dead.

Murdered.

Shot.

Assassinated.

Too bad for whoever did it. Too bad, for she would make sure that they burned in hell.

Paige trotted off to speak with the detectives, while Lucky stayed put. It occurred to her that it might be a smart move to check out the drawers in Gino's desk, try to find out if anything was going on that he hadn't mentioned to her. He was supposed to have given up all business dealings ten years ago, only knowing Gino, it was probably not the case. He was always involved in something-whether it was helping old friends or investing in a project that interested him. Gino was an easy touch; he'd always had compassion for friends in need. Nothing wrong with that, although he'd lent money as if it were going out of style.

The desk drawers were jammed with miscellaneous papers, bills, and receipts. Organization had never been his thing.

She started a methodical search, stacking the papers she took from the drawers on the desktop, trying to sort them into piles. Somebody had to do it, and it might as well be her, for she didn't want a stranger going through Gino's private papers, and Paige would never have the patience.

There was nothing of real interest. A stack of IOU's. No surprise. When Gino lent money, he never expected to get it back. She had no doubt that he'd want her to tear them up, so she did so, placing the torn pieces of paper in her purse. If Paige got hold of them, she might insist that the debts be paid.

The lower-right-hand drawer was locked. Gino, a creature of habit, always kept his keys in a hidden compartment located at the bottom of his maple-wood cigar humidifier. Sure enough, the key was there, along with the keys to a couple of safe-deposit boxes only she and Gino had access to.

"Anythin' ever happens t' me, kiddo," he'd told her many times, "you go to the bank an' clear out those boxes. Just you, nobody else. Got it?"

Yes. She got it.

The locked drawer contained a Glock, a small hand pistol, and several boxes of bullets. Probably both guns were unlicensed. Best to get them out of here.

She dropped them into her oversized purse. There were also stacks of hundred-dollar bills held together with elastic bands. Gino had always kept plenty of cash on hand. Finally, she came across an envelope addressed to Gino Santangelo and family. The envelope was pale beige and there was no postmark or return address. It had obviously been hand delivered.

Lucky felt a sudden chill. Was this the clue she'd been looking for?