Deadly Embrace

on his face.
‘Who the fuck’s dumb now?’ sneered the leader, waving the Uzi threateningly round the room. ‘Not me!’
Then he began yelling at his two cohorts to lock the doors and get everyone into the centre of the restaurant.
‘Christ!’ Cole muttered. ‘We’re screwed.’
And Madison had a gut feeling he was right.
Tuesday, 10 July 2001, Las Vegas
Vincent Castle watched his pretty wife, Jenna, through hooded eyes. Jenna wasn’t merely pretty, she was a true peach, with soft-as-satin skin, natural honey blonde shoulder-length hair, wide-apart pale blue eyes, real breasts and extraordinarily long legs.
Vincent was no slouch in the looks department himself: six feet three inches tall, with dark curly hair, intense black eyes, a straight nose, dimpled chin and worked-out body. Women creamed themselves over Vincent Castle. Not only was he a partner in the extremely successful Castle Hotel and Casino, he was also hot, and rich, and still only thirty-six. But unfortunately for the women who continually circled this fine prospect, he was married to the delectable Jenna.
And even more of an obstacle, he was faithful.
Of course, they had not been married a year yet, so there was still time.
‘Jenna seems happy tonight,’ the woman sitting next to Vincent on the red-leather booth said, in a sly, seductive voice, placing an elegant hand on his thigh. Her name was Jolie Sanchez, and she was the wife of Vincent’s business partner and childhood friend, Nando. Jolie was also a beauty. In her early thirties she had cat-like, amber eyes, turned-down sensual lips and long, raven hair.
Vincent knew that if he wanted to, he could avail himself of everything she had to offer.
He didn’t, because other men’s wives were not his style, and he would certainly never go near his partner’s. Besides, Nando–who was half Colombian and half French–had an out-of-control temper. He’d once cut off the ear of a rival he believed had screwed him in a deal. Unfortunately, the man had almost bled to death, causing Nando to think three times before losing his violent temper again.
‘She admires movie stars,’ Vincent said, casually shifting his leg so that Jolie was forced to move her hand.
‘Ah, but no movie star is as gorgeous as her husband,’ Jolie murmured, flattering him, which was her way.
Vincent gave a thin smile, keeping his rising anger under control. Jenna was disrespecting him the way she was draping herself all over Andy Dale, a one-hit movie wonder with lank, dirty-blond hair and a boyish grin. Andy Dale was in town for the big fight taking place the following night. He was accompanied by Anais, a surly black supermodel who was quite obviously coked out of her head and couldn’t care less who he came on to. Nando had invited them for dinner and then promptly left, making the excuse that he had a business meeting.
Lately Vincent was beginning to wonder if he’d made a wrong move in marrying Jenna. She was a very young twenty-two year old, and surprisingly inexperienced. Unlike him. He’d covered the waterfront, exactly the way his father, Michael, had taught him to. At the age of seventeen, Michael had set him up with a twenty-year-old call-girl in a suite at the MGM Grand for twenty-four hours, all expenses paid. What a deal! What a dad!
The young girl had taught him everything he was supposed to know about pleasing a woman, and although at the time he had not appreciated sticking his tongue between her legs and eating her out, he’d soon learned how much girls got off on it.
‘Good looks are not what’s gonna get you places,’ his father had lectured him. ‘You have to be the fastest an’ the smartest in business, and you gotta know how to treat a woman in bed. That way you’ll have the world by the balls. Believe me, son, that’s what makes a man.’
Michael Castelli was a man who did indeed have the world by the balls. Vincent looked up to him–in spite of the fact that Michael had never married Dani, Vincent’s mom.
Vincent had not yet heard about the arrest warrant and his father’s disappearance. He was hardly in contact with his half-sister, Madison, whom he’d only met once, several months ago under strained circumstances. Michael had called him up and said he needed a favour. Naturally Vincent had obliged.
Some favour. Madison had been locked up in a Vegas hotel room with a girlfriend, Jamie, and the dead body of a billionaire’s son. Jamie had apparently screwed the poor guy into an early grave. It was Vincent’s task to dispose of the body discreetly. Which he did. No questions asked.
It galled him that Madison had had no clue about Michael’s other family. How come he’d been told the truth, and yet she’d led some kind of sheltered life believing she was an only child?
Well, she wasn’t. There was him and his younger sister, Sofia. And if Madison thought she was any better than them, she was very much mistaken.
‘Oooh, stop!’ Jenna squealed, smooth cheeks flushed as she playfully pushed Andy Dale away.
‘What’s going on?’ Vincent asked, keeping his slow-burning temper under control.
‘Andy’s trying to see if I’m ticklish,’ Jenna giggled.
‘Bet you are!’ Andy said, lunging once again, his groping hands brushing up against her perky breasts.
Vincent stood up. ‘Andy,’ he said pleasantly, ‘got something to show you.’
‘What?’ Andy questioned. He was young, famous and full of himself. He was a fucking movie star, for crissakes. He could have anything or anyone he wanted.
‘You’ll like it,’ Vincent promised, with a thin smile.
‘Not,’ Jolie murmured under her breath.
Andy stood up. He was five feet eight, thanks to cleverly concealed lifts in his custom-made shoes–without them he barely grazed five-six. ‘Where we goin’?’ he asked, following Vincent out of the plush restaurant into the packed casino.
‘There’s something in my office that might interest you,’ Vincent said evenly.
‘If I can snort it or fuck it, I’m your man,’ Andy chortled.
Cretin, Vincent thought. Two more movies and you’re over.
Tuesday, 10 July 2001, Marbella,