Deadly Embrace by Jackie Collins (best 7 inch ereader .TXT) 📗

sniggering.

She wondered how she could collect her clothes from the other room and escape. Spying a white terry-cloth bathrobe behind the door, she got up gingerly and slipped it on.

Now what? She couldn’t go back inside, it was too humiliating.

Of course, she could always tell Vincent that Andy Dale had raped her. Knowing Vincent, he’d probably beat Andy to a pulp, and she didn’t want it to go that far.

Still…she refused to go back into the other room, which meant there was no way she could get out of the suite unless Vincent came to rescue her.

There was a phone next to the basin. She picked up the receiver.

When Vincent answered, she began to cry. ‘Help me,’ she sobbed. ‘Please come and get me. I need help.’

Sitting on the plane Vincent had chartered to fly him to L.A., Michael was totally calm on the outside and churning up on the inside.

Mamie and Bone.

He should’ve finished them off years ago, exactly like they deserved.

They were scum. Two old pieces of shit who needed eliminating.

And he would do it. There was nobody to stop him.

Before this night was over, Mamie and Bone would be history.

‘Everybody get the fuck out,’ the gunman said. ‘An’ no smart moves.’

Hurriedly everyone got out of the van. Madison put her arms round Natalie and hugged her. ‘We’ll be all right,’ she whispered. ‘I promise you, we’ll be all right.’

Natalie nodded. She was shivering and shaking. Cole came over and embraced the two of them, giving them a solid hug.

Madison looked round: there were two other hostages, five altogether, including them.

Just as they were all wondering what was about to happen next, an old black Cadillac came cruising down the street, loud rap music blasting from the windows.

‘You,’ the gunman snarled at Madison, ‘in the back.’

‘What are you talking about?’ she said, her heart pounding.

‘Do it, bitch. Get in the fuckin’ car.’

And he grabbed her arm, twisted it behind her back, and shoved her into the back seat of the Cadillac. Then he jumped in after her.

There was nothing she could do. As soon as she was in, the car took off, racing away into the night.

Chapter Fifty

Michael and Madison: 1995

‘I want you to look at this,’ Madison said, racing into Michael’s office, waving a magazine in front of his face.

‘What?’ he said, always delighted to see his daughter.

‘Remember years ago when we were in Miami, and I told you I’d make you proud?’ she said, perching on the edge of his desk.

‘Yeah?’

‘Well, take a look at this,’ she said, triumphantly thrusting a magazine called Manhattan Style at him. On the front cover was her byline, Profiles in Power by Madison Castelli.

‘Jesus, kid,’ Michael said, staring at the magazine. ‘All those years in college finally paid off.’

‘They certainly did,’ she said excitedly. ‘Guess who my first subject is?’

‘Who?’

‘Would you believe Henry Kissinger?’

‘Holy shit!’ Michael said. ‘This I gotta read!’

‘And,’ she said, ‘I’d like you to note that my picture is included at the beginning of the magazine.’

Two years ago, fresh out of college, she’d been discovered by Victor Simons, the editor of Manhattan Style. He’d seen a small piece she’d had published in Esquire about the still rampant double standard between men and women. Victor had read it, liked it, and taken her out to lunch. He’d encouraged her to get more experience then come back to see him.

‘Why don’t you hire me now?’ she’d asked boldly. ‘Grab me while you can.’

‘No, but one of these days I will,’ he’d said.

And, true to his word, he had. She’d been working at Manhattan Style for several months, and this was her first big assignment with her own byline.

‘Sweetheart, this is great,’ Michael said, studying the piece, a big smile spreading across his face. ‘Has Stella seen it?’

‘I haven’t shown her yet.’

‘Call and tell her. She’ll be excited.’

‘Oh, c’mon, Michael–when have you ever seen Stella excited?’

Stella and Madison did not enjoy the warm and wonderful mother/daughter relationship Michael had hoped for. Instead, things were somewhat strained between them.

‘You’re her daughter, Madison,’ he said. ‘I’m telling you, she’ll be very happy for you.’

‘You show her. Take this copy home.’

‘How about we go out to dinner tonight and celebrate?’ he suggested.

‘Can’t. I’ve got plans with the girls.’

‘What girls?’

‘Natalie’s in town from L.A. and Jamie’s set something up. I can’t let them down.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘One of the clubs. Why? You want to join us?’

‘I’ve had my club days,’ he said ruefully.

‘Really? Well, I still think you’re the most handsome man around.’

‘And out of the mouths of daughters…’

‘Anyway,’ she said happily, ‘I couldn’t wait to show you.’

‘Thanks, sweetheart. I’m glad you dropped by. I’m very proud.’

As soon as Madison left his office, he instructed Marcie to call Vito Giovanni.

‘I’ve left messages for Mr Giovanni three days in a row,’ Marcie stated.

‘I know that, Marcie,’ he said patiently. ‘That’s why we’ve got to keep trying.’

‘Perhaps he’s out of town.’

‘Who answers anyway?’

‘An answering-machine,’ Marcie said.

‘Okay, give it another shot.’

He needed to talk to Vito about the two million dollars he’d invested for the old man. Over the years the money had almost doubled, and Vito had expressed no interest in how he was supposed to get it back.

Michael didn’t feel comfortable holding the investments in his name. Even though he’d buried it and nobody could ever trace it to Vito, the fact remained that it was Vito’s money.

Marcie tried again, once more getting the answering machine.

‘I’m going over there,’ Michael decided, grabbing Manhattan Style and heading out of the door. ‘Call my driver. Have him meet me outside.’

Travelling down in the elevator, he began reading Madison’s profile on Henry Kissinger. Unfucking believable! His daughter, a published writer–a journalist interviewing an important politician in a big-shot magazine. Jesus! What a thrill.

Once he hit the street he called Dani in Vegas on his cellphone. He wanted to tell her to go out and buy the magazine.

Sofia answered. ‘Hi, Daddy.’

‘Hi, chicken. Is your