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

on your own now,’ Vinny had informed him. ‘Your grandma spoiled you, made you soft, it’s time you toughened up.’ Shortly after that charming speech he’d handed his son three hundred bucks and run off to Florida with all the money from the sales.

At first Michael couldn’t believe it: Grandma Lani would turn in her grave and then some. She’d never imagined Vinny would sell everything and leave him out in the cold with only three hundred lousy bucks. She’d wanted him to have the shop and the house, not Vinny.

Fortunately, he’d stashed away some of his profits from the last couple of years–it wasn’t much, but it was sure better than nothing.

Max had come through for him, persuading his mom to let him stay at their house for a few days while he found somewhere to live. He had no clue what he would do next. Three hundred bucks plus his savings was not about to take him very far.

Then Mamie Giovanni had invited him over for dinner–mainly to inform him that Vinny was a no-good bastard, always had been, and she wasn’t surprised that he’d behaved like a selfish, greedy prick.

A week later Vito had summoned him back to the house and suggested he work for him full-time.

‘Doin’ what?’ he’d asked suspiciously.

‘Anythin’ I want,’ Vito had replied, with a crafty laugh.

‘I ain’t gonna be one of your bodyguards,’ he’d said boldly. ‘Not my style.’

Once more Vito had laughed. ‘A punk like you, forget it. I got other things in mind for you.’

When he’d told Max about his new job, his friend had recoiled in horror. ‘He’s a freakin’ gangster, Mike. Whaddaya wanna get involved with him for?’

‘’Cause I need t’make money.’

‘You gotta consider the consequences.’

Screw the consequences. He’d needed a job, and Vito was the only one offering.

A week later, he was on a plane to Las Vegas–a place he’d only ever seen in movies.

Vegas blew him away: the long parade of neon lights and the huge gambling palaces, not to mention the unbelievably gorgeous showgirls and dancers, vast hotels and lavish shows.

Manny Spiven was his contact at the Estradido Hotel where Vito conducted business. They hated each other on sight. Manny was short and overweight with greasy brown hair, pockmarked skin, alarmingly large ears, and a permanent limp. The limp was Manny’s claim to fame. The rumour was that he’d got shot in the thigh protecting Philippe Estradido, the hotel owner, from a Mob hit. Manny had been a parking valet at the time. After that, his fortunes had taken a turn for the better, and now he worked full-time for Mr Estradido doing this and that.

At twenty-one Manny was a couple of years older than Michael, and he used his seniority like a sword, claiming that he knew everything and Michael knew nothing.

‘If you know so much,’ Michael said, shifting his attention from the delectable blonde dancing at the end of the chorus line to Manny, ‘what’s in the packages we exchange?’

Manny’s small squinty eyes darted this way and that, fearful of being overheard. ‘You shittin’ me?’ he spluttered.

‘No,’ Michael said, wondering if Manny actually knew.

‘That’s not the kinda question you’re supposed to ask.’

‘Do you know or not?’

‘Fuck you,’ Manny mumbled. ‘Wouldn’t tell ya if I did.’

‘So you don’t know.’

‘Fuck you,’ Manny repeated, scowling.

They were sitting at a front table in the Starburst Lounge, watching the lacklustre show, which consisted of a tired black singer, a not very funny comedian, and a chorus line of hard-faced, over-made-up women–with the exception of the blonde on the end, who was something else. He might only be nineteen but Michael had an eye for picking the best, and this one was a peach.

He’d only got laid once in Vegas, and that was on his first trip. It had turned out to be an unfortunate experience: the girl had given him a dose of the crabs, and the subsequent itch in his crotch had driven him crazy until he’d got some foul-smelling cream from the pharmacist, which he’d had to plaster all over his pubes. After that particular incident, he’d decided that all the girls in Vegas were probably crawling with sexual diseases. Too much action, too many players. Besides, who needed them? He had enough girls in New York to keep him busy for the next five years.

Although he had to admit, the blonde in the chorus could make him change his mind. She was so pretty and fresh-looking, totally unlike the others in the line.

Manny claimed to know every dancer, cigarette girl and waitress in Vegas. This, of course, was a lie. If they did know him, they ran when they saw him coming. Whereas Michael could strike up a conversation with any one of them. Women were always willing to talk to him, he had the knack. Plus he’d been extremely blessed in the looks department, and it didn’t hurt that he also possessed the gift of charm.

He’d seen photos of his dad before he got shot: Vinny had been handsome too. Mamie had obviously thought so.

When the show finished, he informed Manny he was tired and planning to hit the sack early.

‘Aintcha comin’ t’play craps?’ Manny asked, not particularly caring one way or the other.

‘Naw, my boss don’t want me gambling while I’m here. This trip is strictly business.’

‘Aw, screw business,’ Manny said, picking his nose. ‘Lose a few hundred, win a few–what’s the difference?’

‘The difference is he don’t want me doin’ it.’

Truth was that he suspected Vito couldn’t care less what he did as long as he made a safe delivery and collection.

Manny shrugged and muttered something about ‘no balls’ under his breath. Then they swapped packages, and Manny signed the check and slouched off into the night. Michael circumvented the busy casino, making his way round to the stage door, where he knew the dancers would eventually exit.

He hadn’t decided what he’d say to her, he only knew that something would occur to him when she emerged.

Lighting a cigarette, he paced around impatiently, thinking