Dangerous Kiss (41 page)

Lucky was also getting her fair share of unwanted publicity. According to the press, she was the gangster's daughter who'd made good. The studio head with the shady past. The woman who'd killed a man and pleaded self-defense.

He knew she must be devastated by all the publicity. Lucky's preference was for staying out of the spotlight. He wished he was with her so he could protect her from all this crap. But every time he called and tried to see her, she wanted nothing to do with him.

The last time he'd called she'd been quite even-tempered. 'I understand that you didn't know she was pregnant, Lennie,' she'd said calmly, 'but I'm afraid you betrayed me, so therefore I feel I can never trust you again. And if I can't trust you, I can't be with you. So, please, stop calling.'

Lucky's logic. Sometimes it defied reality.

He'd heard she was forging ahead with her movie with Alex, and that drove him crazy. All Alex wanted was an opportunity to get close to her, then the bastard would move in and cement the deal. Alex was not to be trusted.

Lennie called him up one night when he'd had too much vodka, and Claudia and Leonardo were asleep in the other room. 'Stay away from my wife,' he warned.

'Aren't you separated?' Alex said.

'Stay away from my wife,' he repeated.

'Go fuck yourself,' Alex said.

This situation made Lennie even more uneasy. What was he supposed to do?

How was he going to win her back?

The day before he was due to appear in court, he decided to take them both to Disneyland. The day trip was as much for him as for them. He desperately needed to chill out, put things in perspective.

Claudia was excited, Leonardo too. First he took them to the Gap, where they fell in love with everything.

Their excitement made Lennie feel good. If only Lucky could accept the situation.

Claudia was a beauty, but she meant nothing to him. He'd clung to her in a time of fear and desperation. She'd been his only hope.

Why couldn't Lucky understand?

Chapter Sixty-five

Mila made a short court appearance where, due to the severity of the charge against her, she was refused bail. The public defender in his mud-brown suit tried to argue on her behalf, but the judge dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

Irena, sitting in the front row, was unable to help, even though she'd gone to the bank and withdrawn every penny of her precious savings to assist her daughter in case they allowed bail.

It was probably just as well that they didn't, for if she'd been allowed to take Mila home, Price would more than likely have kept his threat and thrown them both out. As things stood now, he hadn't mentioned again her leaving.

Mila spotted Irena and bounced a quick look off her. Why wasn't her mother doing anything to get her out? Teddy was free because of his rich fucking daddy.

She was locked up because her mother had no damn clout. It wasn't fair.

Irena was torn between wanting to help her daughter and being loyal to the love of her life. For although she'd never told him, Price was the love of her life.

Often, from the age of four, Mila had demanded to know who her father was.

Irena had always lied, making up some story about an old boyfriend from Russia.

It was not the truth. The truth was too awful for anyone to hear. The truth was Irena's dirty little secret.

She would never forget that fateful night. Price and Ginee were upstairs in the bedroom, stoned out of their minds…

They'd kept on buzzing the kitchen with outrageous demands, summoning her, telling her what to do, bossing her around. This was between house calls from two different drug-dealers.

Ginee was Price's girlfriend then, an extraordinarily beautiful woman, with waist-length hair and a devastatingly sexy body.

Irena was in awe of the beautiful black woman, but at the same time she loathed her. She loathed the fact that she and Price were both out of their heads on drugs all the time, and that Ginee was the one who encouraged him to get wasted.

This one particular night they were both completely out of control, and on a twenty-four-hour binge. The third time they summoned Irena to the room, Ginee staggered out of bed wearing nothing at all, waved her inside and locked the bedroom door behind her.

Irena, who was twenty-nine at the time, and quite well versed in the ways of the world, having been a prostitute in Russia for several years, did not think anything of it. However, when Ginee refused to let her out, she began to be concerned.

There she was, trapped in a room with her employer and his girlfriend, both naked, laughing, joking and stoned, and she was their prisoner.

'Tell us about Russia,' Ginee said, sprawling on the bed, legs spread. 'You ever get fucked in the good ole mother country? You ever taken it up the ass?'

Price was lying on the bed snorting, smoking, mainlining. He was not really listening to any of this. It was Ginee's idea to torment her.

'I'm sorry?' Irena said, staring at the woman with loathing in her eyes.

'Cut the crap, Irena, we're all girls together,' Ginee said. 'You ever get laid? You look like you never get any. You look real uptight.'

Price surfaced from his drug haze long enough to say, 'Hey, babe, what's goin'

on here? Thought we was gettin' another girl for tonight. You promised me.'

'Irena was supposed t' arrange it,' Ginee slurred, 'but seems she got a soft spot for you herself, Pricey hon. She wants your fine black body. An' your fine black ass. Oh, yeah, an' that oversized black cock.'

Irena backed towards the door, immediately realizing that she couldn't get out because Ginee had taken the key.

'Step outta your clothes, honey,' Ginee instructed. 'An' stop bein' so goddamn uptight. You know you're creamin' for some action.'

Irena glanced over at Price to see what he wanted her to do. 'Yeah, yeah, go ahead,' he mumbled, his eyes glazing over. 'Chill out.'

'Mebbe she needs a drink,' Ginee suggested. 'Loosen up, for Chrissakes, you're not a bad lookin' fox. Take it all off an' chug a little drinkie.'

Irena shook her head, which infuriated Ginee. 'Whassamatta? You too good for us? You come over from freakin' Moscow or wherever, an' now you're too freakin' good for us? You wanna work for this guy, you better get with it.

Anyway's too late to find us another girl. You're it, hon.'

And with that, Ginee pounced, pulling at Irena's clothes like a madwoman.

Irena didn't know whether to fight back or not. She needed to keep her job, losing it was unthinkable. Would it be such a terrible hardship to sleep with Price? Not if Ginee wasn't around.

Ginee had already ripped off her bra and sweater, now she was dragging on her skirt. Irena did nothing to stop her.

Price attempted to sit up. 'Hey, babe, nice tits,' he said, reaching for them. 'Real nice.'

She decided that if she was going to do it, she may as well make it memorable.

She reached up, removing the pin that held her hair in a tight bun. It came tumbling down around her shoulders. Long brown wavy hair complementing her thin face and porcelain skin - a complete contrast to Ginee, whose skin had a dark black sheen.

Then she picked up the vodka bottle beside the bed and took a long swig, thinking, Why not? Why shouldn't I have some fun? It isn't like I haven't done this before.

Then she was into it. And Ginee was pawing her, hungry hands everywhere, and Price was watching them, cheering the two women on.

As the night continued, she allowed herself to be used by both of them, soon realizing that the thrill of making love to Price was something she'd dreamed about since coming to work for him.

Later, when Ginee and Price fell into a drug-induced sleep, she'd found the key, let herself out, gone back to her room, and hugged herself to sleep, comforting herself because she knew that nobody would remember except her. Tomorrow she'd be just the housekeeper again, someone for Ginee to boss around.

Six weeks later she discovered she was pregnant. She didn't tell anyone because she wanted to have his baby. If she had his baby, he'd have to take notice of her.

While she waited to give birth, she made up a story, told him she was pregnant by an old boyfriend, and Price allowed her to stay on. 'You wanna have a kid, go ahead,' he said, in spite of Ginee's extremely vocal objections. Ginee kept insisting that he fire her. Price refused.

When she gave birth, the baby was white, which shocked her, because since arriving in America, Price was the only man she'd slept with.

Because of the baby's skin colour, she knew there was no way she could convince Price he was the father, and yet she also knew that, without a doubt, he was.

She had no choice but to keep her silence. If she said anything, nobody would believe her, and Ginee would force him to get rid of her.

Eighteen months later Ginee became pregnant, and because of this she managed to nag Price into marrying her. A few months after that Ginee gave birth to Teddy. It took four tumultuous years for Price to decide he'd had enough.

He divorced Ginee, which as far as Irena was concerned was a good thing: she was convinced that if Price didn't clean up his excessive drugging and drinking, he'd be finished.

She'd never told anyone the identity of Mila's real father.

Today there were DNA tests that were extremely accurate. If Mila and Price were tested, they'd be able to tell without a doubt whose daughter she was.

But how could she reveal the truth to him now? How could she tell him, when she suspected Teddy had been sleeping with his own half-sister?

Oh, God, what was she going to do?

For a brief moment she thought about confiding in lawyer, but instinctively she knew Howard Greenspan would be no help.

There must be somebody out there who could advise her. But until she found them, the only thing she could do was keep her silence.

Chapter Sixty-six

Brigette tossed and turned in her sleep before waking with a start, her cheeks flushed.

She was experiencing the same old nightmare - the nightmare that had haunted her for years.

Tim Wealth.

Smiling.

Happy.

Saying, 'How ya doin', little girl?'

His dead body lying in his apartment, while Santino Bonnatti stripped off her clothes and did his degrading deeds, abusing her and Bobby.

The gun.

Santino's gun.

Lying on the table.

Santino, molesting Bobby, his filthy face a smirking mask.

It was up to her to stop him…

She'd crawled across the bed, reaching the weapon, Bobby's screams of terror spurring her on.

With shaking hands she'd picked up the gun.

Santino's gun.

She'd pointed it at him. Squeezed the trigger.

Santino. Blood splattering everywhere. Surprise and fury spilling from every pore.

She'd pulled the trigger two more times, and he had fallen to the floor without another word.

The memories of that fateful day floated around her brain in terrifying detail. Now she had an extention to the nightmare.

Locked in a room.

Carlo and another man coming at her with a syringe. Days.

Weeks.

Maybe even months.

The pure rush of heaven as the heroin hit her system.

Oh, God! What had happened to her? She was pregnant and desperate to get off heroin. But there was no way she could do it by herself. She needed help.

While they were in America she'd planned on telling Lucky, but Carlo had rushed her out of the country before she'd had a chance. She'd argued with him all the way to the airport to no avail. He'd hustled her on a plane to Europe, far away from anyone who could help her. And when they'd arrived in Rome, he'd taken her straight to his parents' palace outside the city, where they'd moved into a suite of rooms at the back. He'd kept her away from everyone, although occasionally she bumped into his mother, a granite-faced woman who looked upon her with disapproval.

What a cruel and thoughtless son-of-a-bitch Carlo was. He'd raped her, forced a powerful addiction on her, and trapped her into marriage. Now he thought he had her exactly where he wanted her. And maybe he did.

She knew that, for the baby's sake, she had to do something about her three-times-a-day habit.

She remembered the doctor in New York who'd told her he could help her, something about putting her on a methadone programme.

'I have to quit,' she told Carlo. 'I know it'll be tough, but I must do it for our baby's sake. I need help. I'm not strong enough to do it on my own.'

'I cannot send you to a clinic,' Carlo grumbled. 'People would know, and they would blame me. If this comes out you would be an embarrassment to the entire family.'

'Carlo,' she said, pleading with him, 'you have to get me help. How about that doctor in New York? He can put me in a methadone programme like he said.

Can we go back to him?'

It occurred to him that if Brigette was not hooked on heroin, she might try to leave him. But then he thought, How could she? They were married, she was pregnant. There was no way she could leave him now, so he might as well help her, because who needed a drug addict for a wife? Especially as one day she would be the mother of his child.

'You are right,' he said. 'I will think of a plan.'

She nodded, relieved. She was prepared to go through anything to get straight.

A few days later he told her to pack a small suitcase and be ready to leave in an hour.

'Where are we going?' she asked.

'To get the help you asked for,' he said.

She was flooded with relief, hopeful that they were returning to New York.

Instead he drove her to the family hunting lodge several hours away in the middle of sparsely populated countryside.

It was a large, overgrown place, deserted and unused because the Vitti family did not have the money for its upkeep.

'Where are we?' Brigette asked, when they arrived. 'This doesn't look like a clinic'

'That's because it isn't,' Carlo said, unloading canned foods and bottled water into the kitchen. 'You will be fine here.'