Last Man Standing

“Your father brought me a new silk scarf. Ann helped me put it on. She doesn’t do as nice a job as you do, Lannie, but she’s getting the hang of it.”

Ann was Grace’s new live-in nurse. Elena eyed the lavender silk turban on her mother’s head. “It matches your nightgown perfectly. From what I can see, I agree. Ann’s attempt looks like she’s improving. You look stunning.”

Grace’s eyes lit up. She loved compliments, even though she knew the scar that cut deep into her cheek had destroyed any chance of her being truly beautiful ever again. Still, the silk turbans she wore and the soft lingerie that draped her fifty-seven-year-old body salvaged a degree of her dignity.

Over the years Frank had gotten into a routine of sending monthly gifts in the mail when he was away. Grace’s favorite had been the colorful silk scarves. To make them more usable, Elena had come up with the idea to fashion them into turbans to cover the numerous scars on her mother’s head. Grace had loved the idea, and they’d had fun buying matching nightgowns and silk pant outfits to match the scarves.

“Your father retired from his job. Did he tell you?”

“He told me.”

“I’m so happy.”

In many ways Grace lived in a child’s fairy tale. She had no idea where Frank had spent his time for the past twenty-four years, and Elena hadn’t known, either. Until a few weeks ago.

“Rub my leg, would you, Lannie? It always feels so good. You have such magic in your hands.”

Elena reached for a tissue from the bedside table and dabbed at Grace’s mouth. One of the strokes had paralyzed her right side, and she rarely knew when she was drooling.

The muscles in her right leg had atrophied, as well. Despite Elena’s concentrated efforts to slow the process down with massage therapy, the leg was shrinking.

She slid the hem up on her mother’s nightgown and began to massage the shriveled limb.

“I’m glad you suggested that Frank learn how to do this for me. He’s getting very good. He says he’s going to take over the job so you can have more free time. Would you like that, Lannie? You could take a vacation with some of your friends.”

“Maybe a short trip,” Elena agreed, knowing she would be taking one very soon. But she wouldn’t be going with friends.

“Guess what, Lannie? Frank says he’s going to take me out in the boat. And guess what else? He says we can go every day if I get stronger.”

“Then you need to eat,” Elena reminded her.

“Guess what else? Frank says…”

Grace fell asleep with Frank’s name on her lips. Twenty minutes later Elena left the room by way of the open door that led onto the sprawling oceanside villa’s veranda. As she headed for the long stairway, Frank’s voice stopped her.

“Elena.”

She turned to find him standing in the shadows.

“Where are you going?”

“For a walk.”

“It’s late.”

“I’ll take one of the dogs with me.” When that didn’t seem to appease him, she added, “I’ll ask Romano to accompany me.”

“You’ve been very distant since I told you about Chicago and…my other life.”

For years Elena had never questioned her father’s extensive traveling or the guards that patrolled their oceanside estate. She had believed that he was what he had claimed to be—a corporate salesman—and that the guards were just a cautionary measure because he was away so much. Days ago he’d revealed that he’d been living a double life, and that his true identity was not Frank Palazzo, but Frank Masado. His occupation: a capo in the Chicago Italian mafia.

Chin raised, Elena asked, “If Mother could remember her life before the accident, would she want to return to Chicago?”

The question brought Frank out of the shadows. He wore a white linen shirt and black pants, and with the black patch covering his right eye, he looked very much like the mobster he claimed to be.

“You said you were born in Chicago. Did my mother grow up there, too? Is that where you met her?”

“Your mother was born in Detroit. She had one brother. He, along with her parents, died in a car accident when she was twenty. But none of that is important now. It happened a long time ago.”

“Mother’s thrilled you’ve retired. Retired from your salesman position, that is. How long do you intend to keep that lie going?”

“There is no reason to tell her differently. I am retired, Elena. I can’t go back to Chicago. I’m dead as far as the organization knows. Dead and buried at Rose-wood Cemetery. For years I wanted to be here with you and your mother, but I didn’t know how to make that happen. Not until my sons came up with a plan to fake my death.”

“Oh, yes, my mystery brothers.”

“I know that was a shock, Elena, learning that I had another family, but my life was not my own for many years. I did what I had to do to keep my family from being destroyed. Both families. My sons, and you and your mother.”

Elena had been stunned when she’d first learned that Frank’s other life included two adult sons, who were also a part of the mafia. On top of that, Frank had told her that there had been a contract put out on him.

“For your mother’s sake, Elena, you must try to understand the situation. Accept it and forget it.”

“I’m trying to understand. I just need more information for that to happen.”

“Staging my death was a genius idea. I owe Joey and Lucky a great debt for finding me a way out. My sons were right. There was only one way out for me. I had to die in order to live.”

Elena studied the man who, for twenty-four years, had allowed her to call him Father and believe it was true. She gazed at his ruggedly handsome face, then the black eye patch, and suddenly another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Rocked by the significance of her revelation, she brought her hand to her throat.

“What is it, Elena? What’s wrong?”

“Your eye… Since I was little you’ve worn that patch. Oh, God! Is that it? Did someone in the organization do that to you? Did they hurt my mother, too?”

For years she had silently questioned her mother’s so-called accident. By the look on Frank’s face, she had been right to be suspicious.

“Mother didn’t have an accident, did she? That’s why you brought her here, isn’t it? The reason for the guards? Why you became two people? You said it’s complicated. Why is that? Is Mother supposed to be dead, too? And me? What kind of complication am I?”

She saw him stiffen, saw that he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his big hands. He shifted his body, which put his face in shadow again. “I’ve told you what you need to know. What’s important for you to know, Elena. The rest will only make you—”

“What? Afraid? Ask more questions? Questions like, who am I?”

He turned quickly. “You are Elena Donata Palazzo. My daughter. A beautiful young woman with a bright future ahead of her.”

Elena played along. “And in this bright future will I have children?”

“Of course, if you wish.”

“So if I have children, are you suggesting that I lie to them as you are lying to me right now?”

She watched his jaw clench.

“In other words, Frank,” she went on, “who should I name when I tell my children who their grandfather is? You, the only father I have ever known? Or my real father, the man whose blood runs through my veins?”

His mouth moved, but no words came out. As if he was paralyzed both in mind and body, he just stood there looking angry and formidable.

Only, Elena wasn’t afraid. Frank might look capable of snapping her neck, but he had never shown an ounce of violence toward her. He hadn’t even swatted her butt as a child when she’d deserved it.

“I know you’re not my father,” she said softly. “So don’t try to placate me with another lie. I know my blood is not your blood. Unfortunately the records at the hospital don’t list whose blood it is.”

“Elena—”

“No.” She held up her hand. “No more games.”

“This was never a game.”

Elena studied her father. No, not her father, the man who had posed as her father for twenty-four years. “You know who he is, don’t you?”

“Elena, please.”

“You know, don’t you?” Against her best attempt to keep her emotions in check, Elena fought tears. “Tell me the truth! Do you know him?”

“Yes. I know him.”

“But you’re not going to tell me his name, are you? If you never wanted to play this game, end it now.”

He shook his head. “Non posso.”

“You can’t, or won’t?”

“He doesn’t know you exist. He can never know.”

Tears on her cheeks, Elena started down the stairs.

“Elena!”

She didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Frank followed her. “I was there the day you were born,” he called out. “You are my daughter. Maybe not by blood, but I have loved you the same as I love my sons. Will forever love you as my daughter.”

Elena spun back around, the ocean breeze swirling her white skirt about her shapely calves. Tossing her midnight-black hair out of her eyes, she said, “You should have told me years ago, Papa. I would have found a way to understand. You should have trusted me enough. Loved me enough!”

“Maybe you would have understood. Your real father would not have. And if your curiosity had led you to him…” He shook his head. “You’re right, your mother is also dead in Chicago, as I am. That is what has kept her safe for twenty-four years. I’m sorry, Elena, but I couldn’t tell you the truth years ago, and I still can’t.”

Chapter 2

After a week in an iron cell, Vincent D’Lano was twice as ornery as his reputation. “Listen, Martin, Carlo Talupa and I were in the middle of a deal worth billions. Do you think I would kill him before that happened?”

“This deal, will it still go through even though he’s dead?”

Vincent shoved his stocky body out of his chair to pace the small room where he and his lawyer were meeting at the Cook County Jail. “Yes. If I can get my ass out of here.”

“Then maybe you decided to kill Carlo and double your take.”

The urge to strangle Martin English sent Vincent’s hands into his pockets. If he killed his lawyer, he’d never get out of jail.

“I want out of this sewer, Martin. I want Sophia out, too. What are you doing about that?”

At fifty-eight, Martin English was not only a veteran lawyer, but had worked for Vincent for fifteen years. Accustomed to his client’s needs, as well as his temper, he said, “I might get you out within a week or ten days, Vince, but Sophia’s going to have to be patient. The police have evidence that she hired two convicts in Joliet to break out Stud Williams. Unless we can make that evidence disappear, she may have to do some time.”

“So get off your skinny ass and make the evidence disappear. Fix it, Martin, or I swear you’ll look back on this year as the nightmare that never ended. Your wife won’t just be crying at your funeral. Capiche?”

“These things take time, Vince. You’ve been named as an accessory to your daughter’s crime. That—”

“You’re not listening, Martin. Make it all go away. There are a dozen ways. Pick one. Do it. I was in the middle of a once-in-a-lifetime deal when this happened. And while I’m in here, Moody’s running my affairs. Unchaperoned. You and I both know my son can’t cross the street without pissing someone off.”

Vincent had been a two-bit hood when he’d first met Carlo Talupa. But he’d been a smart hood, and he’d put too much time into his current plan to let his lawyer screw it up now.

He licked his lips as the image of Vito Tandi’s impressive estate formed in his mind. He had admired Dante Armanno for years, but recently it had become a key element in his future.

Martin glanced at his Rolex. “I’m going to get kicked out of here soon. Before I go, I have a few more questions about your part in Stud Williams’s breakout.”

“I told you I had no part in that. Unfortunately. If Sophia had involved me, we wouldn’t be in here.”

“About these witnesses, Vince…”

“Make ’em disappear, Martin.” When the lawyer just sat there, Vincent came forward and slammed his fist down on the cheap wooden table, his slicked-back gray hair falling forward over his bushy black eyebrows. “Sophia’s only crime, Martin, was loving a man who deceived her. I had a deal with Frank Masado. His son was supposed to marry my daughter. But Joey rejected her. What’s she gonna do, Martin? Turn the other cheek? She’s a D’Lano. We’ve earned the right to demand respect.”

“The court doesn’t care about your sour deal with Frank Masado, Vince. A crime was committed.”

Vincent glared at his lawyer, who continued to sit calmly in his silk suit and spin his diamond ring on his index finger. “I won’t be screwed over by this country’s dumb-ass judicial system.”

With the agility of a man of twenty-five, instead of sixty, Vincent D’Lano grabbed Martin by his suit lapels and lifted him to his feet. Turning his index finger into a toy gun, he pressed it to Martin’s temple and knocked off four shots. When he let go of him and stepped back, the lawyer wilted back onto the chair, his complexion turning as white as his shirt.

Pleased, Vincent said, “You know I don’t make idle threats, Martin. Get me and my daughter out of this stinkhole, or your wife will be looking all over the city for pieces of you to bury for the next ten years.” He patted Martin’s pale cheek. “Crooked lawyers are a dime a dozen. Don’t disappoint me, Martin, or I’ll kill ya. I’ll kill ya dead.”

The exotic dancer was performing for Lucky as if he was the only customer seated at the bar. Melody was her name, and like all the other girls who entertained at the Shedd, the diva had enough curves and sexy bump-and-grind moves to give every man bellied up to the bar tight jeans and a fantasy to take home.

The catwalk where the dancers played tease-and-tickle with the customers ran between a double-sided bar, which allowed the bartenders to easily handle the crowd. Melody, who had been working Lucky for a long twenty minutes, finally gave up and wiggled her curves toward Moody Trafano a half-dozen barstools away. She bent over and shook her full breasts in Moody’s grinning face, her efforts rewarded when he slid a twenty-dollar bill into her cleavage.

It had been two days since Lucky had signed Vito’s papers, making him the new owner of Dante Armanno and CEO of Tandi Inc. The corporation was a conglomerate of various businesses throughout Chicago, and one of those businesses was the Shedd.

Tonight Lucky had come to the exotic bar to check out his property and to meet Jackson Ward. It was after ten, and Jacky was late. His friend hadn’t been too excited about being called out this time of night. Lucky didn’t blame him. Sunni Blais was one beautiful woman, and knowing Jackson the way he did, Jacky most likely had answered his cell phone in a prone position with his lovely fiancée snuggled next to him.

He glanced around the bar. Noted that the loud music and the near-naked dancers were keeping the bar packed and the men drinking. It was funny how fast things changed, Lucky mused. A month ago Milo was strutting through the Shedd playing big shot and now he was dead, and Vito had a new son—on paper, anyway.

He made eye contact with Melody. She smiled and gave him an I-know-how-to-make-you-feel-a-whole-lot-better look. That look reminded Lucky she was a professional off the catwalk, as well as on, and as the new owner of the establishment, getting to know what made each one of his employees tick wouldn’t only be smart, it could be entertaining.

He finished his drink, deciding Melody would have to wait. Jackson would show soon. But maybe afterward he’d see if the dancer was still around.

His glass had been refilled for the third time when he saw her. He wasn’t drunk, so he knew she wasn’t a mirage. Still, he glanced down at the amber liquor in his glass, wondering if someone had slipped him a little surprise. But even as he considered it, his gaze went back to the shadowy entrance where the neon sign over the door was putting a rosy tint in Elena Palazzo’s cheeks.

She looked left, then right. Scanned the bar. When their eyes met and locked, he watched her slip through the crowd, her shiny black hair moving around her slender shoulders.

She wasn’t dressed to be noticed, but that didn’t stop the men from taking a second look. She had an angel’s face, and a walk that would make a man follow her to hell and back on his knees, dragging a dead horse. It was the combination of innocence and that walk that had kick started his own fantasies about her weeks ago.

He’d been around plenty of beautiful women over the years, but Grace’s daughter had it all. Everything. Too much of everything, he decided as his gaze focused on her V-neck white fuzzy sweater and the damn fine job it did of framing her assets.

He raised his glass to his lips, his gaze shifting to where her sweater ended and her pants began. The pants were the color of caramel and rode low on her curvy hips. Low enough for every man to see the shiny gold ring in her navel.

It occurred to him as he glanced around the room that every horny bastard in the place was anticipating Elena taking it all off on the catwalk; that she was assumed to be a dancer looking for a job.

Only they both knew she wasn’t there to work the crowd. She was there to work…him.

She kept walking—no, floating was a better word—toward him, a lightweight black leather jacket tucked under her arm. Six feet away, she licked her full red lips and tossed her head. Two feet from him, she stopped and cleared her throat.

Then it came, the sexiest voice he’d ever heard—the one that had branded him from the moment they’d been formally introduced at Santa Palazzo two weeks ago. “In a bar with a drink in your hand. How original.”

Lucky slid off the barstool, drained his third Scotch, then spun the empty glass back onto the bar. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

“You could have called. Both my number and Joey’s are always with…” Lucky glanced around, rephrased what he’d been about to say. Frank was supposed to be dead. He couldn’t very well claim that a dead man had his son’s phone number. “You can reach me day and night at that number.”

“Listen, you…you know why I didn’t call. Here, or someplace private?”

“How did you know where to find me?”

She glanced at the empty glass. “It wasn’t hard. My first stop was the Stardust at Masado Towers. When I didn’t find you there, the bartender mentioned a few places not far from your house. I just happened to see this place—” she glanced at Melody “—and thought it looked like you.” Her eyes found him once more. “You might say fate has dropped me in your lap.”

Elena’s sexy backside appeared in Lucky’s mind, and he would have liked nothing better than her seated on his lap. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he asked, “Was it Jimmy at the Stardust who gave you my home address?”

“I already had your home address. I found it in the black book. Listen, you…” She took a step closer. “I’m not as ingenuo as I look, so let’s stop playing games and get to it.”

“That means what, exactly?”

“It means I didn’t come all this way to count snow-flakes and share a drink with you in some sleazy bar. I’m here for the truth, and I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

The bravado she was trying to sell him didn’t match the way her hands nervously rubbed her slender thighs. He liked her hands, her small fingers and tiny unpainted nails. He also liked the fact that she didn’t wear a lot of jewelry or a pound of makeup.

But then, she didn’t need to. She was her mother’s daughter. As beautiful as a midnight star and twice as bright. She was the sea witch, after all.

He shifted in hopes that the pain in his lower back would ease, and that the straining going on inside his jeans didn’t accidentally move the safety off his .22 and blow him to hell and back.

He said, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Here, as in here—” she eyed the men staring at her, then glanced at Melody again, who was now on all fours, her backside rolling with the music in a circular motion that had netted her several more green bills tucked into her G-string “—or are you talking about here, as in the big bad city of Chicago, where crime never sleeps?”

Without intending to, Lucky found himself grinning, enjoying her wit as much as her sexy voice. But it was short-lived as Moody Trafano eased off his barstool and started toward them.

Like the other men, Moody had been watching Elena since she’d entered the bar. It was no secret that Trafano had a healthy appetite for pretty women, or that he spent more time on his back at the Shedd than sitting at the bar.

As he closed the distance, Lucky reached out and slid his arm around Elena’s trim waist and hauled her into his space. “We’re getting company,” he whispered. “Be careful what you say. Don’t get that pretty mouth of yours in trouble. Say nothing about who you are or why you’re here.”

Lucky’s nose brushed her silky cheek, noting that her skin felt as soft and smooth as satin. He couldn’t pinpoint her unusual scent, but he didn’t need to name it to know he liked it.

She looked up at him with her catlike gold eyes just as Moody said, “You must be the new dancer we’ve all been expecting. My name’s Moody Trafano, the soon-to-be owner of the Shedd. And you are?”

Elena held Lucky’s gaze for a few seconds longer, then slowly turned around. She’d said she wasn’t naive, but Lucky was sure she’d never dealt with a snake quite as slippery as Moody.

In a single glance Elena took Moody’s measure, but didn’t offer him her name. Good girl, Lucky thought. So far so good.

“You’ve got to be the most beautiful doll in this place,” Moody complimented her. “And there’s plenty here to compete with.” His eyes left Elena’s face to ogle the tanned swell of her breasts, then settled on her flat stomach and the gold ring in her navel. “How long have you been dancing?”

He raised his hand as if he couldn’t control the urge to touch her a moment longer. Like a bulldog protecting his bone, Lucky grabbed Moody’s wrist and squeezed. “I never share, Trafano. I never learned how. Get lost.”

Moody wrenched his arm away. “She’s the Shedd’s property. That means she’s anyone’s fun if you got the bucks to spend, Masado. And I got plenty. Technically she’s mine as soon as old man Tandi dies.”

Lucky would have liked nothing better than to enlighten Moody on his recent deal with Vito and explain to him who actually owned the Shedd. He would have loved to watch Moody crap a brick in front of a full house when he heard he wasn’t going to get a dime of Vito Tandi’s fortune. Instead, he said, “The lady isn’t a dancer, Trafano. Back off and have your fun with someone who likes snake oil.”

“Lady?” Moody snorted. “This place don’t get ladies in it.” Eyes back on Elena, he said, “Sorry, doll, but facts are facts, right? And speaking of facts, a piece of information you’ll appreciate is that Masado, here, is physically challenged. It’s a known fact that drunks can’t keep it up. I’m thinking maybe he can’t even get it up anymore.”

Normally Lucky would have driven the man’s teeth down his throat for the insult, but he didn’t feel like throwing any punches tonight.

Actually he hadn’t felt like it in weeks, which was why he was going to let Moody’s remark go by, instead of stomping on his throat and breaking his windpipe.

“What do you say you let me buy you a drink, sweet milk? I’m sure we can find a quiet place to talk. Better yet, how about taking a walk down the red carpet with me? You might as well get initiated by the best. And around here, I’m the best. The girls call me the Italian Stallion.”

Lucky felt Elena’s hand slide between them, and before he believed she would do it, she had stolen his knife. A half second later the stiletto was touching Moody’s jugular. “I’ve made my choice tonight, Mr. Stallion. Unless you want to be gelded right here, I suggest you trot on back to where you came from.”

Her words sent a roar of laughter around the bar, and the color draining from Moody’s face.