Last Man Standing

“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.