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Vegas. Once there he arranged for her to have her hair styled, bought her a designer dress, and gifted her with exquisite diamond ear-studs. Then he said she was to accompany him to an important charity benefit he was giving for Mrs Peter Richmond – Senator Richmond’s wife. Lucky was thrilled. Things were looking up. Only at the dinner he sloughed her off at another table next to Mrs Richmond’s creepy son, Craven, and ignored her all night .
    Later, she sneaked away, changed into jeans, cruised the Strip, and ended up fighting off a drunk in the parking lot .
    Gino was waiting when she arrived back at 3 a.m., her clothes torn and dirty .
    He came straight to the point. She was a little tramp whose only thought in life was to screw around, so he was marrying her off and that was that .
    If she didn’t like it . . .
    Tough .
    *   *   *
     
    Gino had not thought of Susan Martino all night. Nor had the moment been right to mention his involvement to Lucky. So it gave him a jolt when Susan entered the restaurant with a man, smiled, waved and sat down at a nearby table.
    Lucky said, ‘Who’s that?’
    ‘Hey,’ he stalled for a moment. Had somebody told her already? ‘Don’t you know Tiny Martino’s widow?’
    ‘Not the woman,’ Lucky replied dismissively. ‘The old guy with her, he looks familiar.’
    Gino squinted – his eyes were going, but pride prevented him from wearing glasses. ‘Yeh,’ he agreed. ‘I think I know the face.’
    He began a slow burn. The man was over six feet tall, impeccably groomed, with bushy white hair, and hard but handsome features – marred only by a prominent nose. And the sonofabitch was sitting down next to Susan.
    Gino scowled.
    She couldn’t possibly be his date.
    Could she?
    He signalled for the captain. ‘Who are the people at that table?’ he demanded.
    ‘Guests of Mr Traynor’s,’ the captain replied.
    ‘Where the fuck is Mr Traynor?’
    ‘Coming in now, Mr Santangelo.’ The captain backed away nervously.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ said Lucky calmly, used to her father’s outbursts. ‘Is he someone we shouldn’t have in here?’
    ‘I’ll find out soon enough,’ replied Gino grimly. ‘Hey – Matt. Over here,’ he yelled, ignoring the other diners who turned to stare.
    Matt Traynor bore down on them, all smiles, his silver hair gleaming in the candlelit room. ‘Lucky. Welcome back. You look beautiful. And Gino. It’s a pleasure.’
    ‘Who the fuck is that asshole with Susan Martino?’
    Matt Traynor blinked rapidly while he tried to figure out what he’d done wrong. He had heard rumours of Gino Santangelo’s interest in Tiny’s widow, but he hadn’t figured it to be anything serious, so why was Gino bellowing like a jilted lover?
    ‘Susan’s not with anyone,’ he explained quickly. ‘I thought she might enjoy a little company, so I asked her to join me and some of my friends.’ He paused, threw in the punch line with sad sincerity. ‘Tiny was like a brother to me, you know.’
    Gino was untouched. ‘Who’s the prick?’ he growled.
    ‘Am I missing something here?’ interrupted Lucky.
    ‘If I thought it would upset you, Gino—’ Matt said solicitously.
    ‘Who the fuck’s upset!’ screamed Gino. And he stood up.
    ‘Dimitri Stanislopoulos,’ Matt said hurriedly. ‘He arrived this evening. He’s here for the Francesca Fern tribute dinner. We’re comping him in the Presidential Suite. Usually he stays at the Sands, and loses at the Sands – if you get my drift. But I met him in Monte Carlo last month and persuaded him the Magiriano would be more to his taste. The guy has more money than Onassis. And loves to play baccarat.’
    ‘Of course!’ exclaimed Lucky. ‘Olympia’s father! No wonder he looks familiar.’
    ‘Olympia?’ said Gino blankly.
    ‘You remember,’ Lucky continued excitedly. ‘Olympia was my best friend at school – we ran away to the South of France and you and Dimitri tracked us down. It’s him all