Alfredo Agnelli greeted her with a bear hug and kisses on both cheeks. He was a distinguished-looking man, very tall, with a face carved out of rock, extra-large teeth, a deep suntan, and a strident voice. His English was limited, and Max couldn't understand a word he was saying. Lorenzo translated. "Signor Dolcezza welcomes you to the house of Dolcezza, and says they are delighted to see you."

Hmm ... delighted to see her. A good sign.

"May I present Signora Marcella and Signora Gabriella, my dear sisters," Alfredo boomed, gesturing toward the two women in the room.

His dear sisters couldn't have been more different. Marcella was as tall as Alfredo, with sharp features, heavy makeup, long straight blond hair, and a pained expression. Gabriella was short and plump, with rosy cheeks, a twinkle in her eye, and spiky red hair. Max figured that they were both in their fifties.

More cheek kisses were exchanged.

They were meeting in a large room that looked more like a well-appointed living room than an office. Antiques and comfortable leather couches abounded, and right in the center of the room stood an enormous desk, its surface covered in silver frames-all of them filled with photos of smiling, suntanned children doing everything from waterskiing to riding horses.

Alfredo noticed her checking out the frames. "My family," he said with an expansive wave of his hand.

"Wow!" Max exclaimed. "You have a huge family."

"And now you are a part of it," Gabriella said, joining in with a jolly smile.

Things are definitely improving, Max thought. Pink jumpsuit or not, I am about to become part of the Dolcezza family.

An hour and a half later, Beverly Villiers had made copious notes and talked on her cell phone several times. She was now preparing to leave.

"What do you think?" Bobby asked anxiously, his stomach churning as he leaned forward.

"Truth or bullshit?" Beverly said, putting away her notebook.

"You believe me, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," she said, then, after pausing for a moment, she said, "Although, Bobby, surely you should've been able to spot a setup when it was coming at you full force? After all, you're Lucky's son. Gino's grandson." After another, thoughtful pause, she added, "By the way, I was extremely sorry to hear about Gino."

"Huh?"

"I knew him back in the day," Beverly continued. "He was a great man."

"What are you talking about?" Bobby said, alarm sweeping over him. "Has something happened to Gino?"

For a few moments, Beverly almost lost her composure as it occurred to her that Bobby was unaware of the tragedy that had taken place. "He was ... uh ... shot," she said at last. "I thought you knew."

"Gino was shot?" Bobby said feverishly. "How the hell would I know? I've been locked up here all night."

"I was under the impression that you'd spoken to Lucky. Surely she must have told you?"

"No," he said, the knot in his stomach becoming unbearable. "I haven't spoken to anyone. They only allowed me one phone call. All I got was Lucky's voice mail, so I left a message."

"I see," Beverly said.

"Tell me about Gino," Bobby said urgently. "Is he doing okay? Where was he shot? How serious is it?"

"He's gone, Bobby," Beverly said quietly, lowering her voice. "I'm so very, very sorry."

Realization dawned. Was this woman telling him that Gino was dead?

It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. Gino was a survivor-an unstoppable force of nature.

"How did it happen?" he asked, choking back his emotions. "Who did it?"

"Lucky thinks it was a hit. An assailant shot him execution-style while he was out walking with his wife. It was no accident."

"Jesus Christ!" Bobby exclaimed as a black rage overcame him. Here he was stuck in jail for a murder he hadn't committed. Now Gino was dead? Assassinated. Was this a conspiracy against the Santangelos? It sure as hell seemed like it was. And he was trapped in jail, unable to do anything.

"You've got to get me out of here," he said forcefully. "My family needs me."

"I'm on it," Beverly said, nodding. "I've already set up a meeting with the DA, and after the story you've told me, I'm almost sure I can get the charges dropped, or at least get you out on bail."

"When?" he demanded, grief and frustration mixed with a hard cold anger.

"Soon."

"Soon's not soon enough," he said, the words sticking in his throat as he imagined what Lucky must be going through.

"Unfortunately, there are hoops to jump through," Beverly explained. "The positive news is that I'm tight with the ringmaster, so let's see if I can speed up the process. Going to the emergency room and getting tested for drugs was the best thing you could've done. I'll be back this afternoon. Hang in there, Bobby. You know that's what Lucky would want."

Beverly was right: Lucky would expect him to stay strong.

He thought about Denver. Did she know about any of this? And Max, his kid sister, where was she? Still in Europe? Or had Lucky summoned her home? And how about his two younger brothers. Where were they?

Jesus Christ! So much to deal with, and here he was languishing in jail, unable to do anything.

For the first time in his life, he felt powerless. All the money in the world and yet he couldn't buy himself out of this one.

He had to believe in Beverly Villiers. He had to get the fuck out.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

Sam was standing on her doorstep, surprising Willow, because even though she'd given him her cell number, she hadn't given him her address, so how had he found her?

Not that she minded. Sam turning up at her house was an excellent omen. It meant that he was indeed interested in her proposal that he write and direct his own movie. Well, not really his movie-more like her movie. Although what was his movie about anyway? When they'd worked together, she'd had a vague recollection of him telling her it was the story of a young man's journey toward career and love. Hmm ... maybe he could change it to a young woman's story and she would star alongside Billy Melina.

She'd already placed a call to Eddie Falcon. He'd agreed to meet with her later. This was a good sign, since Eddie was one of the hottest agents in town. During the time he'd represented her, they'd shared many an intimate moment. That is, until he'd informed her he could no longer be her agent due to her latest brush with the law-a stupid incident when, high on drugs and tequila, she'd run over a paparazzo with her car, smashed the asshole's camera, and spat at the cops when they'd arrived on the scene. It had not been her finest moment.

Anyway, that was back during her days of really bad behavior. Now she was clean and sober. Well, kind of sober-not exactly, because life without booze would be boring beyond.

"What's up?" she asked Sam. "Are you here to tell me that you've made a decision?"

"Not exactly," he said. "Thought you might do me a favor."

A favor. Oh yes, she'd do him a favor all right, if it meant him getting on board with her project.

"Okay," she said, spotting a lone paparazzo taking shots from a distance. "You'd better move your ass inside before we're all over the tabloids."

Sam quickly made his way into her small, cluttered house. The last thing he needed was to be pictured in the tabloids alongside Willow Price.

Her house was a mess. There were empty wine bottles, trashy magazines, piles of shoes, and random clothes thrown everywhere. There were dirty dishes on the coffee table, and an orchid plant by the window that had seen better days. Worst of all, there was a dead fish floating in a glass bowl full of murky water.

It didn't take a genius to realize that Willow Price was no housekeeper, she was a slob. Immediately Sam had second thoughts about asking her to look after Lady Gaga. Would Gaga end up like her fish? Dead on arrival?

"Can I get you a drink?" Willow offered.

"It's kind of early."

"Stop being such a tight-ass," she said, giggling before adding a flippant, "Just f-ing with you. What's the favor?"

"Have you ever had a dog?" Sam inquired.

"Oh yeah," Willow answered enthusiastically. "There was this one dude who-"

"I mean an animal," he interrupted.

"Trust me," she said, rolling her eyes. "This guy was a total animal. He-"

"A puppy," Sam said, interrupting her again. "A real live puppy."

"What?" Willow said blankly.

"I'm asking if you can look after a puppy for me. I have a meeting in San Francisco. I'll be gone until late tonight. I'll pick her up tomorrow morning."

Willow was no slouch in the one favor deserves another department. She thought for a moment, then said, "If you drop off your script so I can take a read, it's a done deal. Oh yes, and the puppy better be cute."

Sam hesitated. He had no desire to get into business with the likes of Willow Price, even though she had made him a very tempting offer. His script. He could direct. A million bucks. No agent or studio involved. What could be wrong with that? A small interesting detour from his career path. A vanity project in which he would have full control. The money did not tempt him. The full control did.

"Fine," he said. "I'll get you my script."

"Today, before you go."

"Okay."

"Where's the puppy?" she asked.

"In my car."

"Bring it in, then," Willow said, concealing a satisfied smile.

With Sam's script in hand, they were about to be in business. Alejandro should be kissing her ass.

Alejandro was not kissing anyone's ass. He was involved in a verbal skirmish with Rafael, who'd come storming into his living room at noon demanding to know why he'd woken up naked in Alejandro's guest bedroom.

"You were drunk, my man," Alejandro informed him. "You were out of your head. I couldn't allow you to drive, so I brought you here. You should be thanking me instead of screaming."

"Who removed my clothes?" Rafael demanded.

"How the fuck would I know," Alejandro responded, relishing the fact that he'd finally got something over on Rafael.

"Surely you're not saying that I did it myself?"

"Let's hope not," Alejandro said with a knowing sneer. "Let's hope that for once you got laid instead of saving yourself for that puta back in Colombia."

"Do not call Elizabetta names," Rafael spat. "She is a fine woman. The mother of my son. And one day she will be my wife."

"I doubt it," Alejandro sneered.

"Why do you say that? Are you jealous of what we have because you surround yourself with women who use you for what they can get out of you? Money, drugs, mindless sex-you are incapable of having a real relationship. I feel pity for you, Alejandro. You will never know true love."

"Ah," Alejandro sighed, raising his eyebrows. "True love. How romantic. You have that with Elizabetta, do you?"

"You know I do," Rafael said.

A snarky smile crossed Alejandro's face. "I will show you true love," he offered. "I will show you a man so enamored of his woman that he would never touch another."

"What are you talking about?"

"Be patient," Alejandro said, reaching for the remote control to switch on the large flat-screen TV that covered one wall of the room.

"I am not interested in watching one of your porno movies," Rafael said, shaking his head in disgust. "You should be thinking of getting yourself out of here before that DA nails your dumb ass."

"My dumb ass? I will show you whose ass is dumb," Alejandro said, his eyes glittering venom as he activated the TV screen, whereupon an image emerged of Rafael lying on a bed, with Willow straddling him.

Rafael let out a snort of disbelief. "What is this?" he demanded, an angry flush rising from his neck.

"What does it look like?" Alejandro responded with an obsequious smile. "To me it looks like you could be enjoying yourself for once."

"I ... I don't understand," Rafael stammered as the film continued. "It is not possible...."

"Ah, but it is very possible," Alejandro said, enjoying every second of Rafael's discomfort. "Look at you, loving the sex, loving the pussy. You can't get enough. We are not so different after all. Perhaps we are brothers...."

Rafael glared at him. Alejandro got off on pulling this shit-hinting that they might be brothers, then denying it, although he had to know it was true.

On the screen, Rafael watched himself flip the girl over and begin to make love to her. He was sickened by what he saw and heard. The sex sounds, the groans, flesh against flesh, then his anguished shout-"Elizabetta! Elizabetta!"

"Turn it off," he said harshly.