Now he was stuck in a city he did not love with no family and no doubt a considerable bounty on his head, for Pablo Fernandez Diego would not take his absconding with millions of dollars lightly.

Rafael continued to lay low. He had no other choice.

Disappointed, student nurse Felicity Lever did not become a worldwide celebrity. Stuck at the hospital in Barstow, she had only her selfies with Willow Price and Max Golden to remind her of the day she almost became famous.

But she did have a plan. One of these days, she was going to take a trip to Hollywood and look up Willow Price.

Surely there would be a job waiting for her; she'd make a great personal assistant.

Felicity had her dreams, and they kept her going.

Chris Warwick decided that he needed a change of scene. While he was fine working for Lucky, Vegas did not offer him the kind of lifestyle he relished. He'd seen too much, done too much, chased down too many sleazebags. It was time for a shake-up.

One morning, he woke up, sold his van, stored his classic Mustang with a friend, headed to the airport by cab, and booked a ticket on the first flight to Hawaii. It took him all the way to Maui.

On the plane, he'd hooked up with a mysterious Hawaiian woman who'd invited him to stay with her. It turned out she was rich. Very rich.

Chris did not need her money, but he did enjoy her company. Eventually he'd moved into her oceanfront mansion.

After a few weeks, he was surprised to discover that she had an ex-jailbird husband she'd failed to mention, and that they were in the middle of an acrimonious divorce.

Was it his imagination, or did she keep dropping hints that if her husband were to have a deadly accident, their life would be so much easier?

Chris had the distinct feeling it was time to move on.

A baby girl was born to Annabelle and Eddie Falcon. They named her Princess Angel.

Eddie was not involving himself in any Daddy duties, nor was Annabelle prepared to be a stay-at-home-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night mom. They hired two baby nurses and visited little Princess Angel once a day in her designer nursery. They were both too busy to see her more often than that. Annabelle was intent on getting her figure back, while Eddie was negotiating a lucrative deal to run Cameron Studios.

Everything was working out well for the Falcons.

Pammy and Jeff Williams got married in Vegas. Where else would such a classy couple celebrate their nuptials? An Elvis impersonator officiated. Pammy had always had a thing for Elvis; she was under the mistaken impression that she might have even dated him once.

To celebrate the occasion of their wedding they headed to a sleazy strip club, followed by a night of binge drinking and gambling at a downtown casino, where Jeff won six thousand dollars playing craps.

The money was rolling in. Jeff had already negotiated a deal with a New York publisher for them to write a book about the trials and tribulations of Willow Price.

Pammy was ecstatic. Had she finally hooked up with the man of her dreams? Or would Jeff turn out to be a loser, like every other man she'd been with?

Only time would tell.

Willow refused to attend her mom's wedding. She was furious that Pammy and Jeff were collaborating on a tell-all book about her life to be called Poor Little Bad Girl. It was disappointing enough that her dreams of producing and starring in her own movie were off the table. Alejandro was dead, and quite frankly-crass as he'd been-she actually missed him. He'd been generous to her in his own way. He'd bought her expensive presents, supplied her with the drugs of her choice, and promised her a comeback movie.

Now everything was gone, and all she had left was old movie-star Ralph Maestro, a man who was tighter than a virgin when it came to his considerable fortune.

She had to admit that he had come through when she'd needed him. He'd sent a car and driver to pick her up from the hospital in Barstow.

The big drag was that he'd expected a blow job in exchange for his good deed, even though she had a broken leg.

Men! Disgusting pigs!

She'd obliged, because she was an obliging kind of girl. And although Ralph was kind of old to still consider himself an action-movie star, he had no intention of quitting. There were-according to him-many more big-budget movies in his future. Movies that it was possible he might even think of putting her in.

Willow always veered toward the sunny side. It wasn't too late. She still had so much to accomplish. And with Ralph by her side, who knew what her future held?

It was quite simple for Paige to walk away from Darlene. Her lesbian friend was damaged goods, and unfortunate physical disabilities did not appeal to Paige. Darlene had lost the sight in one of her eyes due to the suicide bombers' attack, and after visiting her in the hospital once or twice, Paige had cut off all contact.

Being a free woman, she wished to explore other possibilities. There was no one to keep her in check. No Gino. No Darlene.

Within weeks she headed for Europe with Bud Pappas in tow. Bud was the perfect traveling companion. He was a once famous old man who had nothing to say about what she got up to. And she got up to plenty, living out all her sexual fantasies.

Unluckily for her, one cold night in Paris she ended up in a dungeon of pain with a dominatrix who took things too far. Paige choked to death after indulging in a session of ligotage where she was tied up with leather restraints for her erotic pleasure.

Paige died in the throes of an orgasm.

Forgetting about Bobby was not easy for Denver, although moving in with Sam softened the blow. Sam adored her; he would never cheat on her; he was successful, an amazing cook, and an extremely attentive lover.

He was not Bobby.

Nobody would ever be Bobby. Denver had resigned herself to that fact.

Bobby Santangelo Stanislopoulos. The onetime love of her life.

Now it was all about Sam, and the truth was, she had no regrets.

Venus and Bobby made a mutual decision that it was wise to keep their affair on the down-low. Who needed the attention it would bring if they appeared publicly as a couple? They would be dogged by the paparazzi, trailed by TMZ, written about on all the blogs. Yes, keeping things under wraps was definitely the way to go, especially as neither of them were that anxious to come out to Lucky.

Their arrangement worked well. Venus was gearing up for a very hectic awards season, promoting her performance in the movie she'd made with her Venezuelan ex-boyfriend, Hugo Santos. There was talk in the press of an Oscar nomination. Meanwhile, Bobby and M.J. had nailed Miami as their next location for Mood, and they were also talking about building an ultramodern hotel in Dubai.

Venus and Bobby were two work-oriented people. But work didn't stop them from getting together, and when they did, it was as exciting as the first time.

The sex was where it was at. Mind-blowing, passionate, incredible sex. They couldn't get enough of each other.

And the fact that nobody knew what was going on made it all the more exhilarating.

The house in Tuscany was perfect for a newly engaged couple. It was not a glamorous retreat, more like a cozy nest for two people who wished to stay out of the limelight.

Max was happier than she'd ever been. The Dolcezza campaign had fallen by the wayside-the family in Italy had canceled the campaign out of respect for Dante-but Max couldn't care less about not being the face of Dolcezza.

Billy was back in her life with a vengeance, and she did care about Billy. And this time he seemed to care about her.

Coming out of the coma, she'd felt weak and disoriented, but otherwise she'd been miraculously back to her normal self. The doctors had said that she was very, very fortunate. They'd done a battery of tests and discovered no brain damage, no impairments. However, they'd insisted that she remain in the hospital for observation.

While she was recovering, Billy had visited her every day, bringing books, magazines, and movies on his iPad that they watched together. He was self-deprecating and funny and she'd fallen in love with him all over again, although she couldn't help herself from thinking that one day he might not turn up, once more breaking her heart.

"You're not a nice person," she'd told him from her hospital bed.

"Hey," Billy had replied, grinning. "Some people like me."

"You think you can play me like a violin," she'd sighed.

"And the girl is sounding smart," he'd responded.

"I am smart. Smart enough to know that I should stay away from you."

"I'm here, aren't I?" he'd said, giving her the famous Billy Melina look. "I left the set in Italy to be with you. The studio's threatening to sue my ass."

"Too bad."

"Yeah, too bad, 'cause who cares? You needed me, an' here I am."

"Yes, here you are."

"I like having you exactly where I want you."

"And where would that be?"

"Helplessly lying there," he'd said, still grinning.

"I am so not helpless," she'd said indignantly. "I'll be out of here any day now."

"Then I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously, Green Eyes. Get used to it. I want us to be together all the time."

They'd gotten engaged a few weeks after Max was released from the hospital. A secret engagement that only the family was privy to.

Currently they were in paparazzi-free Tuscany, lazing around and enjoying each other's company.

Max had an unbreakable feeling that she'd found her soul mate. Billy was it, and even though she was still young, she knew for sure that this time it was all going to work out.

Lennie wasn't thrilled that Billy was back with Max; he did not view him as a suitable boyfriend for his teenage daughter.

It took her a while, but Lucky had managed to talk him down. "If it wasn't for Billy, Max might still be in a coma," she'd pointed out. "We should be thanking him."

"Bullshit," Lennie had growled, until finally he'd been forced to accept the situation because it was what Max wanted.

The day they'd announced their engagement, Lennie had freaked all over again. "She's too young," he'd bemoaned.

"She's nineteen," Lucky had responded. "Let's not forget that I was married at sixteen."

"Okay, okay," Lennie had said, shaking his head. "I'll shut the fuck up."

"You do that."

All was peaceful at the Malibu house. Lennie had finished postproduction on his movie, and Lucky was busy working with her team of architects to create the perfect plans for her new hotel complex.

Lennie wandered out onto the deck overlooking the ocean and handed her a drink. "How're you feeling?" he asked.

"You've got to stop asking me that," she responded. "It's over."

"Can't help it."

"I guess I feel ... vindicated," she said thoughtfully.

"Hey, all is good in the world. Max is happy, Bobby's working, the boys are doing fine, the son of a bitch who arranged the hit on Gino is dead-and not by your hand, thank God, because that would've opened up a shitload of trouble."

"You know something, Lennie? I would've preferred to have put a bullet in the back of his head," Lucky said calmly, meaning every word.

"Now you really sound like Gino."

"I'm glad, because Gino did things his way, and that's exactly how it should be. Let me tell you about the Santangelo philosophy: if somebody screws you, screw them back. An eye for an eye. Street justice rules. I'm a believer."

"Not to mention a badass."

"Yes, and don't you love it?" she teased.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he said, stroking the back of her neck. "You're my badass, and that's all I care about."

"Really?"

"You know it."

They exchanged smiles, for they knew that whatever came their way they could handle it. Together.

They had each other, and that was all that really mattered.