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keep on stripping in a show—’

‘I do not strip,’ she said frostily. ‘I am a showgirl. I glide round the stage in gorgeous outfits. Something wrong with that?’

‘Vincent isn’t happy about it.’

‘Vincent should realize that what I do keeps us in the style to which he has become accustomed,’ she snapped, fed up with criticism.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘When will you be back?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he said, hesitating for a moment. ‘There’s a woman I’ve been seeing.’

‘Are you getting married again?’ she asked lightly.

‘If you won’t have me, probably.’

‘Hmm…then perhaps this time you should try and remember to get a pre-nuptial,’ she teased.

‘Yes, dear.’

They smiled at each other. They had an intimate friendship. And over time it seemed to strengthen and get better.

Nando’s visit turned into Dani’s nightmare. Just as she’d thought, he was wilder than ever, and an extremely bad influence on Vincent. Running round town was his activity of choice.

‘You’re too young to play in the casinos,’ she warned him.

‘Wouldn’t do that, Mrs Castle,’ Nando replied, pseudo innocent to the hilt, fake ID stashed firmly in his pants pocket.

She didn’t believe him. And she knew he was smoking pot: the smell permeated the house.

‘Vincent,’ she asked her son, ‘does Nando do drugs?’

‘No, Mom.’

‘I can smell grass.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Vincent answered vaguely. ‘That’s Nando’s special cigarettes. He has to smoke them for his, uh…throat.’

‘What are you talking about?’ she said, frowning. ‘Do you think I’m a complete idiot?’

‘No, Mom, honestly–they’re medicinal.’

‘Not in this house. Tell Nando he cannot smoke here, medicinal or otherwise.’

‘C’mon, Mom. I’ll look like a real jerk if I tell him that.’

‘Should I tell him, then?’

‘No way,’ Vincent said sulkily. ‘I’ll do it.’

Nando was into the Rolling Stones. He played their music day and night at full volume. The raunchy rock-and-roll sounds reverberated throughout the house, giving Dani a permanent headache.

God knows what they got up to while she was at work. Unfortunately she was unable to watch them twenty-four hours a day.

One night she came home and there were girls in the house. Not one, not two, but five, all sitting round in her kitchen, smoking, drinking wine, and generally enjoying themselves. They were in their twenties and looked suspiciously like hookers in barely there outfits.

‘Vincent,’ she said, standing at the kitchen door, feeling like a prison guard, ‘can I see you for a moment?’

He emerged, unsteady on his feet. ‘Yeah, Mom?’

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘No.’

‘What is going on?’

‘Huh?’ he mumbled, obviously drunk.

She was furious. ‘Who are these girls?’ she asked.

‘Friends of Nando’s,’ he explained, a stupid grin on his handsome face. ‘I said it was okay for them to hang out.’

‘Well, it’s not.’

‘You mean I can’t have friends over to the house?’ he said, spoiling for a fight.

‘I’m not saying that.’

‘Then what are you saying?’

She didn’t want to create a scene in front of people–it certainly wouldn’t help matters to humiliate him. ‘Make sure they stay in the kitchen,’ she said firmly. ‘Do not take them upstairs to your room.’

‘Sure, Mom,’ he mumbled sarcastically. ‘Wouldn’t wanna do anything to upset you.’

It was at that precise moment it occurred to her that Vincent definitely needed a strong man to control him. He needed a father.

The truth was he had a father. Michael Castelli. A man she’d sent away. Only now was she beginning to regret it. Oh, yes, he’d been accused of a murder, and Dean seemed to think that he’d done it. But according to the newspapers he had been acquitted, and she hadn’t even given him a chance to explain why he hadn’t told her.

She was beginning to realize that it wasn’t fair to deprive Vincent of his real father.

Sometimes, when she thought about Michael, she was overcome with deep feelings of regret. She’d never fallen out of love with him, and that was something she had to face up to.

As soon as Nando left, she was taking Vincent to New York, where they were going to check out some college campuses. In her mind she made a major decision. When she got to New York, she would contact Michael and tell him the truth.

Vincent deserved to know who his real father was. It was time.

Chapter Forty-one

Tuesday, 10 July 2001

The van hurtled down Beverly Boulevard at full speed. Madison was scared that if they crashed she’d be thrown through the windshield. She wished she could reach for a seatbelt. Kind of a stupid thought in view of the circumstances.

Cole wasn’t saying a word: he was concentrating on his driving, which was good. Unfortunately the helicopter still hovered above them, shining lights in the black sky.

‘Get that fuckin’ ’copter outta here!’ the gunman yelled.

‘It’s not in my control,’ Madison responded.

‘Fuckin’ bitch!’ he muttered. ‘Think you’re so fuckin’ smart.’

‘There’s nothing I can do,’ she said, through clenched teeth. ‘It’s the media–they play by their own rules.’

‘They better get the fuck outta here. ’Cause two more minutes, an’ one of you mothafuckers leaves this van.’

The young woman in the back began to moan.

‘Don’t you have any conscience?’ Madison asked, staring at him angrily. ‘You’ve already shot two people. What kind of an animal are you?’

‘I got nothin’ to lose,’ he jeered, small, pig eyes full of hate. ‘You’re the fuckin’ losers. It ain’t my fault if you can’t control shit.’

The Manray was an extremely spacious and noisy establishment, with blow-up photographs of naked girls displayed outside and a man on the street doing his best to lure customers inside.

Nando pulled up his Ferrari at the door and handed the parking valet twenty bucks. ‘Keep a watch on this car, and there’s another twenty for you when I come out.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well,’ Jolie drawled, surveying the scene, ‘this looks like a pleasant little place.’

‘Remember what I told you,’ Nando said, taking her arm as they walked inside. ‘Sure, it’s sleazy now, but here’s my thinking. We can make it into the hottest strip club in town. A place where guys can spend their money and not feel as

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