"I'm loyal," Willow said, pulling on the hem of her T-shirt, which was threatening to expose more than the top of her thighs.

Lady Gaga appeared and threw herself at Sam, barking and licking his face as he picked her up.

"I'm gonna have to get a new carpet," Willow complained, coming up behind him.

"Did you read my script?" Sam asked, trying to keep his eyes off her erect nipples, which were offering themselves up like headlights through her almost see-through T-shirt.

"Yes," she responded. "And I had a fantastic meeting with Eddie Falcon. He wants to fast-track this as an indie project. No studio involved. No agent. No lawyers. He's getting up a letter of intent for you to sign so we can get started immediately."

"As the director, I'm going to need six weeks' prep time," Sam said. "And casting is imperative."

"Yeah, yeah, Eddie understands all of that," Willow said dismissively. "Eddie knows how to get things done fast with no interference."

"You're sure?"

"Course I'm sure," she said with a confident smile. "This'll be a movie you'll be proud of. I'll get you the deal memo tomorrow." She stretched her arms above her head, revealing her shaved pussy in all its girlish glory.

Sam barely looked. In spite of the erect nipples and exposed pussy, Willow Price was simply not his type. Denver was his type, and he wondered what was going on with her. One moment she was into him, the next-nothing. It was confusing.

"Since you're here, wanna have a drink?" Willow offered, thinking that it wouldn't be a bad idea to seal the deal sexually with Sam. The thing was, once they got a taste of what she had to offer, they always came back for more.

Sam demurred. "I'm tired," he said. "Long day."

"I could help you relax," she said with a suggestive wink. "We could both do with a little R and R."

"Not tonight," he said.

"'Not tonight,'" Willow repeated, pouting. "Then when?"

"I'll wait to hear from you."

"That'll be tomorrow."

"Good," Sam said. "Because if this is going to happen, I have a lot to get organized. I'll need preproduction office space, an assistant, and an experienced line producer who can put together a budget and a top-rate crew."

"You got it," Willow said. "Like I told you-Eddie will handle everything."

"Okay, then," Sam said.

"You sure you don't want to stay a while?" she asked, giving him a provocative half smile-the kind of smile most men couldn't resist. After all, she needed him to be on her side when he got the news that she intended to star in his movie. Well, technically it wouldn't be his movie anymore because there would be a whole new script-although maybe he'd still want to direct considering his name would be on it.

"I'll take a pass, Willow," he said, heading briskly for the door.

"Why?" she said, her smile quickly replaced with a sulky frown. "You're not seeing anyone, are you?"

Sam-who had a kind heart-let her down easy. She seemed so eager, almost pathetic in a way. "I'm beat," he explained, managing a fake yawn. "Maybe another time."

"Your choice," she said, shrugging. "Although I can assure you that you have no clue what you're missing."

He had a feeling that he knew exactly what he was missing.

Before she could say another word, he and Lady Gaga were out the door.

Rafael lay on top of the bed in the guest room rehearsing in his mind what he would say to Pablo.

Your son wishes to become a movie producer.

It is an excellent way to launder money.

Your son requires millions of dollars to achieve this.

Fine. Yes, he would say these things, because if he didn't, Alejandro would send the filthy sex tape to Elizabetta. Although what he really wanted to say was: Your son is a sex-crazed fool.

Your son is a blackmailing sick pervert.

Your son is heading toward big trouble.

You picked the wrong son to inherit your kingdom.

Unfortunately, he couldn't say those things. He was forced to eat shit and convince Pablo to hand over enough money to keep Alejandro satisfied.

Life was unfair, and nobody realized it more than Rafael.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE.

"I can always depend on you," Lucky said, offering Chris a cold beer. "You never let me down."

"I try not to," he replied, twisting the cap off the bottle. "It's all a question of reading people. Cops don't have the time to get into it, especially when they've got dozens of houses to canvas."

"Yet you do it so easily," she said, springing open a can of 7-Up.

"I understand people," Chris said quietly. "I spot their weaknesses."

"Which is why you do it so well."

"Maybe."

"Now, don't go getting all modest on me," she said with a warm smile. "That's not your style."

"Put a little effort into it, and one can find out plenty," he answered, taking a swig of beer.

"So..." she said, eager to hear what he had to say. "What exactly did you find out?"

"There's something I have to show you," he said, producing a DVD.

"What's on it?" she asked, feeling a shiver of apprehension.

"You'll see. But in the meantime, I was wondering if Lennie is around?"

"Why do we need Lennie?"

"'Cause I think you might want him with you when you view this."

"Lennie's working," she said impatiently. "And it's me you're talking to. I don't need Lennie or anyone else holding my hand, never have."

"If you're sure..."

"For God's sake," she said roughly. "What's on the goddamn DVD?"

"I got it from one of the neighbors," Chris said. "It's of the crime scene, so I don't know if-"

Gesturing toward her computer, Lucky said, "Let's get on with it, shall we?"

Chris inserted the DVD into the computer.

After a few moments, an image appeared on the screen, revealing the front area of a house and the sidewalk beyond. Blue skies. Palm trees. Perfect landscaping. Solid iron gates.

The gates slowly opened and a dark-gray repair truck drove through them.

Lucky leaned forward as an attractive woman in a short floral dress emerged from the house and ran to greet the muscular man getting out of his truck. They embraced in a very sexual way before vanishing into the house, arms entwined.

"Christi Yassan," Chris said. "Husband's out of town. Boyfriend comes to visit. Which explains why she wasn't prepared to give this to the cops."

"But she gave it to you?"

"I have a way with people."

Lucky waited, holding her breath, for she knew what was to come next.

There was a clear view of the empty sidewalk-nobody on it. Until ... Gino and Paige came walking into the frame. Gino, so robust and alive in his tracksuit and tennis shoes. Gino. Her Gino. Ninety-something and still bouncing around as if he were twenty years younger. Paige strutted beside him in a bright yellow jogging outfit, wearing overly large shades, her frizzy red hair gleaming in the morning sun. It appeared that Gino was speaking, but there was no sound on the DVD. Lucky couldn't help wondering if Gino was telling Paige that he was coming to Vegas the following weekend, and that she wouldn't be accompanying him.

Then a man came into view. A medium-height man dressed all in black, with dark-lensed sunglasses, a full beard, and a baseball cap pulled low obscuring his face. Watching the screen closely, Lucky took in every detail. The man had dark skin and a barely noticeable limp. On his feet were gray Nike tennis shoes with a white stripe down the side. He didn't look American, more European. She noticed the flash of a silver wristwatch. He was heading toward Gino and Paige, passing them before walking out of the shot.

She saw that Gino glanced over his shoulder and stopped to say something to Paige.

Was he suspicious? Had there been something about the stranger that alarmed him?

She'd never know, because Paige pulled on his arm and they continued walking all the way out of the shot.

For a few seconds the screen was empty, except for a profusion of tall palm trees swaying in the breeze. Then the man in black came back onto the screen, retracing his steps.

Lucky held her breath. The inevitable was about to happen and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Choking back a swirl of emotions, she watched as the man raised his gun and pulled the trigger before turning and walking calmly away, like killing a man was no big deal.

Everything was still for a moment, her mind refusing to compute what she had seen.

It was like a silent movie. A deadly silent movie.

"Who is he?" she muttered at last.

"I have someone working over at face recognition," Chris said. "It won't be easy identifying him. There's not much to see."

Lucky was quiet for a moment before speaking. "I ... want ... him ... dead," she said at last, her voice cold as ice.

"No, you don't," Chris argued. "You want him alive so he can tell us who ordered the hit."

"And then I want him fucking dead," Lucky said. "He shot my father, and he will pay for it with his life."

Later, after Chris had left and everyone was home, there was dinner on the terrace. Lennie barbecued steaks, while Lucky tried to put on a normal face for the boys' sake, although it seemed they were doing fine, jostling and wrestling with each other while playing games on their iPhones.

She understood that they didn't really get it. She'd tried to shield them from the truth, saying that Gino's death was the result of a robbery gone wrong. As far as the boys were concerned, death was something that happened to old people, so to them the loss of Gino was inevitable.

"Your uncle Steven gets here tomorrow," Lucky announced. "Anyone want to come to the airport with me?"

"We're goin' surfing again," Gino Junior said, quickly adding, "If that's okay, Mom?"

"Sure it is. Seems like you're having fun," Lucky replied, thinking how like his grandfather Gino Junior looked. The same unruly mop of black hair, the same features. She'd named him well. Gino Junior was pure Santangelo.

"Beats school," Gino Junior said, with a cheeky grin. "Course, I'm way better than Leo. He falls off every time."

"No freakin' way," Leo argued. "You like stink."

"Get it together, boys," Lennie ordered. "The thing to remember is that it's not a competition, it's a sport. It doesn't matter who's the best."

"Oh yes it does!" Gino Junior yelled. "Leo sucks. He sucks at everything big-time."

"Okay, okay-too much noise," Lucky said. "You want security to take you for ice cream?"

"Can I drive?" Gino Junior demanded.

"You got a permit?" Lennie asked.

"Not yet."

"Then no way."

"C'mon, Dad," Gino Junior whined. "Why not? Nobody's gonna know."