Lethal Revelations: An Entanglements Novel

By Gina Marie Martini

A father is gone. His son is left to decipher a mystery. Danny Cavallo follows the startling clues composed in his father's enthralling autobiography before his world exploded. Tommy Cavallo's book crafted an explicit map, leading to his greatest nemeses--one who, Danny believes, is accountable for his death.

As an attorney, Danny knows the legal system. As Tommy's son, he quickly adapts to the laws of the Las Vegas streets. He pursues justice by meeting his father's enemies face-to-face, triggering catastrophic consequences. Danny hopes to glean information from the women of Tommy's past: Sadie Cavallo--Danny's strong, elusive mother; Angie Russo-Morgan--Tommy's enchanting former mistress who maintains a tight connection to the Mafia; and Victoria Ursini--the mesmerizing actress, governor's wife, and Tommy's lover before his passing.

A sexual harassment suit hits close to home, and one of his clients becomes the prime suspect in a high-profile homicide. Despite threats received and a hefty caseload to manage, Danny relentlessly searches for the missing pieces to solve his most puzzling case of all--his father's murder. Will Danny find the proof he seeks to catch Tommy's killer, or will his own life shatter in the process?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662479458

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Lethal Revelations

An Entanglements Novel

Gina Marie Martini

Copyright © 2022 Gina Marie Martini

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and events in this book are based on the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, or business establishments are purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-6624-7943-4 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-7945-8 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Epilogue

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

About the Author

The Entanglements Novels by Gina Marie Martini

Lethal Revelations

Love Affair: Tommy's Memoirs

Moonlight Confessions

The Mistress Chronicles

In loving memory of Elvira Martini, a.k.a. Vera, Tootie, and Toots. She had many nicknames, but the most precious title she held with the utmost love, respect, and devotion was Gram.

Your mind will always believe everything you tell it.

Feed it faith.

Feed it truth.

Feed it with love.

—Unknown

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to my wonderful friends who acted as nurse consultants on this project—Sally Diglio, RN; Paula Jandreau, RN; Joyce Sullivan, RN; and Joan Valenti, RN—for sharing your expertise about medical conditions and health-care procedures, and for all the good times and laughs along the way.

I'd like to thank my friend and former colleague, Caroline Vitale Koziatek, a human resource professional whose vast knowledge and experience in organizational policies and procedures contributed to parts of this story.

Thank you, Pegge Dixon, for your razor-sharp attention to detail and assistance with the editing process. I appreciate your time and value our friendship.

To my fabulous friends Darlene Ashford, Donna Barent, Joanne Colavolpe, and Sally Diglio, thank you for your time to review this story and offer feedback. Your opinions are greatly valued.

Special thanks to my friend Jenny Fagerlund for reviewing the complexities of the disease thalassemia with me. You are such a strong and wonderful mother who lives and breathes the intricate processes each day with your husband, Alex, to ensure your beautiful son, Greyson, lives a happy and healthy life. You are amazing! Thank you for allowing me to share Greyson's medical condition and treatment within a fictional tale to educate others about this genetic blood disorder.

For more information about thalassemia and the Cooley's Anemia Foundation, or to donate to support medical research for advanced treatment opportunities, please visit https://www.thalassemia.org/.

Chapter 1

December 10, 2010

I knew the time would come—feeling anxious yet scared as hell. Nothing could have prepared me for this chilly day, bordering winter temperatures. Las Vegas, Nevada, rarely saw a drizzle of snowflakes, but temps below sixty defied the law of nature for this warm-blooded community.

Nurse, here comes the first one, the obstetrician announced in a low, calm melody.

I rushed to the doctor to greet my first newborn, a son we chose to name after my beloved father. Little Thomas John Cavallo looked perfect despite the oozy substance that framed his tiny pink body. Adoration poured from my heart as a loud screech of cries echoed through the walls of the operating room. The cord was snipped as a tall nurse with a mass of dark hair curled up inside a surgical cap fussed with my boy before delicately cradling him in my wife's arms on the opposite side of the partition.

Hey, TJ. Welcome to the world, I said, nuzzling close to my wife and newborn as he squirmed across Bianca's breasts, expressing slight whimpers.

Bianca's face lit up as her blue eyes absorbed our treasured boy's small shape, despite feeling exhausted and weak after hours of pushing through the fierce pains of labor. Her blood pressure had risen to an extreme level, forcing the doctor to perform a Caesarean section instead of the natural childbirth route—the way our daughters, Emma and Kristina, entered the world.

My wife had been a wonderful mother to our girls, who were probably watching my mom pace in circles in the hospital lounge, excited, albeit impatient to meet her twin grandsons.

He's amazing, Danny. Bianca's porcelain skin beamed as she watched his chest rise and fall with every breath he took.

I nodded, attempting to control my emotions as the nurse confiscated TJ from us to check his vitals, setting him gently in a cart layered with warm towels. Then she swaddled him tightly in a cozy fabric that immobilized his precious frame.

Here comes baby boy number two, the doctor calmly advised.

My eyes shifted momentarily from TJ as I observed the doctor use steel devices to maneuver through the incision of my wife's stomach tissue, where my next little boy eagerly awaited to greet the world.

The doctor slipped him out, releasing a contented breath. He snipped the cord, then instantaneously handed my baby to the tall, dark-haired nurse.

Something seemed off. My younger son didn't cry like his older brother by several minutes, and the nurse didn't bring him to Bianca and me as quickly as she brought us TJ.

While remaining composed, she called for assistance as a male nurse rushed to her with a plastic syringe. He pumped the nozzle, sucking debris from my boy's delicate lips.

Code blue! someone shouted.

In an instant, other clinicians raced into the room.

I got pushed out of the way as the health professionals surrounded my son. I couldn't see what they were doing, but I didn't want to disrupt their efforts to help him. I stood frozen. Immobile. Helpless. A thick lump nestled in my throat as tears formed in my sockets, ready to gush a steady stream.

TJ began to whimper.

Danny, what's happening? Bianca screamed, blinded by the curtained partition hovering above her chest. She was incapable of leaping from the table as she would have done had her body not been weakened by anesthetics.

What's wrong with my son? I hollered, unable to see through the barrier of health-care workers surrounding him. My heart landed in my gut. I attempted to calm Bianca, muttering inaudible words while approaching TJ. I patted his belly to soothe him, then wheeled the cart closer to my wife to occupy her frenzied mind.

As much as she wanted to watch TJ rest serenely through the chaos, Bianca's concern couldn't leave our other boy and the serious attention he required.

I said a prayer immediately to God to save my son, followed by a plea to my pop. His death six months ago still seemed surreal. I never referred to Tommy Cavallo as an angel. But in heaven's realm, he'd ferociously protect my children and me at all costs as he would have done if he still lived.

Suddenly, a loud, ear-piercing wail was released. The precious cry didn't stem from TJ.

We got him! He's breathing, a nurse yelled, wearing a satisfied smile.

My eyes closed as a feeling of relief pulsated through me, ridding my mind of the unbearable possibilities.

The clinical team applauded as a man in dark-blue scrubs brought Tyler Patrick to us. Bianca's head slammed back into her pillow, grateful both of our sons were alive.

May I hold him? I needed to see him for myself. Whether his life was spared because of the skilled professionals, my prayer to God, or my plea to Pop, I felt incredibly blessed and thankful.

The male nurse handed Tyler to me and warned me he'd need him back in a minute to monitor him. The rest of the medical team went on about their duties in the operating room as if the threat of my sweet boy's bout with death never occurred.

Hey, you. You know that wasn't right, scaring your mom and me half to death like that. I inched closer with Tyler in my arms to meet his mother. No words could describe the immense bliss of my grateful heart.

Chapter 2

Pop? You're alive? How is this possible? So many questions spewed quickly from my lips, envisioning the figure of my father standing over me.

You don't have to worry about me, Danny boy, he whispered, highlighting his infamous smirk before fading from my sight.

Slight moans resonated.

My eyes refused to focus as my lids lifted. Through the blinds, my blurred vision detected a trace of moonlight against pitch-darkness. I pinched my cheeks and realized I had another dream about Pop. I missed my father more than I ever thought possible. I believed my dreams were a sign—a soothing message, alluding that Pop was okay, wherever his spirit rested.

The sound of one of the twins fussing in his crib was heard through the baby monitor. Before he woke the other, I twisted my tired body from the bed. The clock on the nightstand displayed 2:00 a.m.

Bianca slept peacefully for a change, five weeks postdelivery—still recovering from the C-section. Having four children proved exhausting. I could catch a slight break from the daily ruckus when at the office.

As I stepped quietly to reach the nursery, I felt the ball of my foot crack against a sharp object. Shit! I bit my lip to conceal the unexpected pain and muffle my tone. When my eyes focused, I noticed a broken teacup beneath my toes. Emma would certainly be upset that I broke her pink plastic cup, but not nearly as upset as I felt at this moment, picking out a pointy plastic piece from the bottom of my foot. I'd be sure to scold her for leaving her toys out. But then she'd shed a few tears, melting my heart like butter on toasted rye.

When I entered the twin's bedroom with colorful baseball designs clung to the sky-blue walls, I noticed TJ's legs were highly animated, kicking about. He didn't seem to be crying for food. This little rascal sought attention while Tyler slept soundly.

The ominous scent became more severe as I approached the crib. Once changed, I wrapped him within the baby sling, so he nuzzled securely against my chest as we bounced to the kitchen to prepare his bottle. When warmed, I sat and watched him gobble up the liquid meal.

You were hungry, weren't you?

Peace and quiet, unusual household occurrences with four active little ones. I recalled the dream remnants about Pop as I watched TJ enjoy his moonlight snack.

Pop's death last June came as a surprise. My old man was as sharp as a tack, intelligent, tenacious, and healthy—although his heart did him in. I had difficulty accepting Pop's death, even after the memorial service and tempestuous will reading.

My father always took care of his family. If I didn't love my career as a lawyer so much, I could retire early, thanks to his wealth and generous soul.

Your namesake, your poppy, was a great man, TJ. I'll tell you all about him. Mommy and I will take you and your brother and sisters on fantastic voyages to the faraway places Poppy used to take me when I was young, like the gorgeous white-sand beaches in Aruba. There's this crazy tower in Italy that tilts to one side. Really, this building looks like it's going to crash!

TJ's eyes began to close as a crooked grin formed. He wasn't quite finished with his snack, but his lids grew heavy between sips, listening to my description of the vivid memories Pop and I created in extraordinary places. As soon as I attempted to burp TJ, Tyler started to fuss. His lungs were a bit more potent than TJ's when hungry. I hurried up the stairs to send TJ off to dreamland. Then I calmed Tyler with snuggles before preparing his bottle.

Chapter 3

Each morning, my mother stopped by to help at the zoo, also known as our home. Whether she cared for the twins or assisted the girls with dressing, she loved spending time with her grandchildren, and we enjoyed her company.

Bianca still struggled post-surgery, lifting the girls at ages four and two. Emma started preschool. Watching my oldest child transition into a big girl pained me to some degree. But the pride I felt outshined that wounded feeling. Emma, the spitting image of Bianca, would twirl her long strawberry-blond locks anytime she was nervous or tired. She'd blink those round blue eyes as the freckles across the bridge of her nose scrunched in time with a big yawn.

Kristina favored me and my pop with chocolate-brown hair and gray eyes, a trait carried through my grandmother Cavallo's genes, according to Pop. His parents passed before my birth. I never had the pleasure to know them outside of the memories Pop shared. It saddened me that my children would know their poppy merely through my recollections as well.

It was too premature to know whom TJ and Tyler favored. Of course, their looks didn't matter. Bianca and I joked about how many children would favor the Warner side versus the Cavallo side. Every now and again, Mom would chime in, reminding me that I was half Meade too. She hoped one of her grandchildren would have her blond hair and crystal-blue eyes.

Bianca strolled through the door, breathless. Emma does not stop talking. I'm exhausted listening to her chatter away about her friends at school.

But she is adorable, we said in stereo. Jinx!

The twins rocked in their swing in front of Elmo, who sang and danced along Sesame Street with his friend, Zoe.

Danny, the TV again? My wife let out a heavy sigh.

I had some calls to make. Besides, they love those colorful characters.

They're only six weeks old. Her sharp blue eyes glared in a scolding manner.

Before we learned Bianca carried twins, she had established a thriving career as an elementary schoolteacher here in Summerlin, an upscale region on the outskirts of Las Vegas. With four kids and the fortune my father left me, she chose to stay home to raise our children comfortably rather than hiring a nanny or dropping the babies off at a day-care facility.

Mom strolled into the kitchen with Kristina dressed appropriately for the day—her hair pulled back into a neat French braid. She never allowed me to touch her hair, but her gammy had a knack for managing her ornery mood swings.

Daddy, me make cookies with gammy! Kristina spoke fairly well for a two-year-old if you listened carefully.

Really? What kind? I asked with excitement in my tone.

She shrugged, then looked at my mother for help with answering my question.

I bought these cool princess cookie cutters. We'll make sugar cookies today. I know your daddy used to love making sugar cookies.

I liked eating the dough more than baking, Ma. I can't wait to gobble them all up!

Kristina giggled.

Thank you, Sadie, for keeping her occupied. It's difficult to give her the attention she craves. Bianca sighed wearily.

You know I love spending time with all my grandbabies. They keep me young. Mom bent over to kiss the top of Kristina's head. Then they began preparing the buttery cookie mixture. Most likely, more dough would cover Kristina's hands and arms than what would make it to the oven.

I need to call Len Stein, I said, announcing my thoughts aloud.

Your father's attorney? Bianca confirmed.

Yeah, he left me several messages. While the boys are mesmerized by Big Bird, I'll return his call. I slapped a wet kiss upon my wife's cheek so she wouldn't lecture me again about the twins mindlessly staring at the TV. Then I rushed through the hallway to my office.

Len Stein wasn't merely Pop's attorney. They were friends going way back to the birth of the Montgomery, the hotel and casino dwelling in the heart of the Vegas Strip. For more than forty years, my pop owned this luxurious resort. He built an empire in the hotel industry, adding more hotels under the Montgomery umbrella in various states, the Caribbean, and Europe. Len assisted me with all matters regarding my father's will. One item still needed to be addressed—an essential detail I procrastinated making a decision about.

Len expected to retire soon since Pop had been his main client. Because of Pop's death, nothing should prevent Len from enjoying a leisurely retirement.

Pop had two business partners and good friends, Jack and Rob Lubitski, brothers who owned 49 percent of the business. Fifty-one percent could be mine if I wanted the responsibility, or my father's shares would be sold.

My father allowed me time to decide if I wanted to use my inheritance to buy into the business or walk away with the millions he left me. He claimed to have his reasons for not handing the business directly to me. As a lawyer, I acquired a profitable career, working for a firm instituted in the Las Vegas community for twenty years.

Maybe Len needed to assess which way I leaned. Did I want to run Pop's empire? Could I let it go, knowing he poured his heart and soul into the Montgomery, allowing us financial freedom? A legacy to leave my four children was an enticing consideration.

The urn that held my father's remains sat upon a shelf in my office, high enough so the kids couldn't access it. Morning, Pop, I whispered, stroking its smooth, golden surface before dialing Len's number. His secretary placed me on hold, listening to Neil Diamond's jazzy Cracklin' Rosie tune while I contemplated what to do with my father's ashes. Len finally picked up my call, disrupting melancholic thoughts. Danny, how are you? How are the twins? Boy, your pop would be proud!

My smile grew, hearing those words. Thanks, Len. The family's good. The adjustments at home with twin babies and two demanding daughters keep me pretty busy. This is the first chance I had to call you back. What do you need?

"You know I managed a wide variety of items for your father. He had one last wish for me to administer delicately."

Related to the hotel?

Uh, no. He paused and coughed, that yacking type of smoker's cough triggered by decades of tobacco abuse. Danny, your father wrote his life story. You need to be aware—

Hold on. I disrupted Len's sentence, waiting for my brain to fully comprehend his words. Pop wrote a book?

Yes, Danny. I've read it, of course. It's projected to release in less than two weeks. Before it hits the shelves, I wanted you to be prepared. His story could garner media attention.

For what? I don't understand. Pop was a shrewd businessman, and he loved to travel. I'm sure he had some exciting times in his life, but an autobiography?

Tommy would never do anything to intentionally hurt you, Danny. But I'm afraid some of the material could be deemed a bit fragile, especially where your mother is concerned.

As Len continued to speak, my thoughts zipped in circles. What could Pop have written about Mom and their marriage? Why didn't he tell me he was writing? A bright, innovative guy with a hefty bank account probably had juicy stories to share, but I had no clue he was an aspiring author.

Len explained Pop procured a publisher who helped frame his story into an exciting read. He wouldn't share the details of the contents, but he promised me an advanced copy.

I said a quick goodbye and headed to the kitchen in a fog.

Kristina's fingers appeared sticky with sugar cookie dough as Mom helped her press firmly on the cookie cutters to create princess-shaped treats.

Mom! I didn't mean to yell with harsh intensity.

She snapped her head in my direction without losing her focus on Kristina.

Pop wrote a book! Len told me his book will be out soon.

What kind of book? When on earth would your father have had time to write?

My eyes found their way to Bianca. I signaled her with a serious nod. She developed a sixth sense in reading my thoughts and understood my need for privacy.

Despite Kristina's stubborn disposition, she marched away with her mommy, licking the dough from her fingers, begging to finish making cookies with her gammy.

"The reason Len's been trying to contact me is to tell me about Pop's book. He wrote his life story—memoirs. Len warned me that some details could be sensitive to our family."

I studied her perfected, clueless look. Given her silence, Mom's brain probably raced with questions.

I can't imagine anything Pop would write about Bianca and me that would be harmful. But I'm worried about you.

You don't ever have to worry about me, sweetheart. I'm quite a survivor. Her eyes swerved from mine. No eye contact meant she was busy processing this information before offering me any hints that drifted through her crafty mind.

Ma, I won't pretend that you and Pop had a good marriage. But if there's anything you think I should know before his book is released, please tell me.

Her response sounded suspect at best, diverting attention from herself, claiming my father's demand for attention fueled his lust to write. Without making eye contact or uttering another sound, she stepped outside.

My folks were married for eighteen years, divorcing after I turned five. They barely spoke a full sentence to each other after they split up. I didn't ask many questions, but Pop erroneously exposed a few years back that he married Mom because she became pregnant in the late sixties. Sometimes, I imagined what my life would have been like with an older sibling. Unfortunately, Mom suffered a miscarriage, yet they remained husband and wife for many years afterward—unhappily.

At the will reading, Pop revealed his love for a woman named Angie Russo. He cheated on my mother with Angie for nearly a decade. If he loved Angie so much, I couldn't fathom why he didn't divorce my mother and marry her. Perhaps his affair with Angie would be the highlight of his memoirs, which could be embarrassing to my mother and grandparents, the Meades. Grandpa Meade held old-fashioned, traditional views. Grandma was sweet and pure of heart. They might feel ashamed if they learned about my father's indiscretion.

The twins began to fuss and cry, one louder than the other. I allowed my mother her privacy to contemplate this news while I tended to my sons.

Chapter 4

In three days, Pop's book would hit the shelves. Len received several advanced hardcovers from the publisher, so I requested two copies for my mother and me. We had the opportunity to read his book before the whole world became introduced to the late Tommy Cavallo and all his vices.

I heard stories about my father through the years, mostly by eavesdropping. Other versions of the truth sprang to mind as told by friends or slants in newspapers where the Montgomery was concerned. Of course, Pop knew how to spin a tale, always making me laugh or surprising me with his hero-like antics. In every story, Pop saved the day somehow like Batman.

Bianca picked Emma up from preschool early. A nasty stomach bug crept up, attacking the majority of students, including my little girl. Within no time, our entire house became incapacitated by this vile predator.

Bianca and I were as sick as all four kids, yet we needed to care for them. Watching my babies cry from bellyaches proved far worse than struggling with my own discomforts.

The pediatrician suggested we kept everyone hydrated with plenty of fluids—a difficult feat when no one could keep anything down.

Mom and Hank arrived at the front door, wearing surgical masks and gloves. I couldn't help but laugh when I opened the door to such a silly sight.

I told you not to come here, Ma.

You need help. That's what family is for. I taught you that since you were little, Mom said as she placed her latex-covered hand against my forehead. At least you don't have a fever, but you're as pale as a ghost, Danny.

This package was sitting on the porch. Hank handed me a deep, nine-by-twelve-inch cardboard box. Hank and Mom had been a faithful couple for as long as I could remember. As committed as they were to each other, they never married. I couldn't recall a time in my life when Hank wasn't in it. He and Mom established a good friendship, working together in support of a shelter she founded in the early seventies. A New Beginning program remained in effect today to help the homeless. I was always proud of her accomplishments in serving the community.

Mom scoped out the label on the box. Hmm, looks like it's from Len.

I ripped the loose line of tape and flipped the box top open to find two books wrapped tightly in Bubble Wrap. I gasped. Pop's memoirs.

This is his book? Mom inched closer as I tore through the thick plastic wrap, popping a few bubbles to access his autobiography and hold it in my hands.

"Love Affair: Tommy's Memoirs," I read aloud. I gawked in amazement at the cover that displayed a serene orange-and-yellow sunset as a backdrop to an intimate picture of him from his younger days with his arms possessively molded around a woman whose face was obscured. The couple, encircled in flames, sat above an image of the Vegas Strip near the Paris Hotel.

Mom simply stared at the shiny cover. This book and the contents it stored suddenly became more real. The title, Love Affair, certainly implied his book was about his affair with Angie Russo.

Here. I handed one of the books to her. I asked Len for two advanced copies.

Mom cautiously accepted it. She seemed more silent than I thought possible. Her eyes remained focused on the title. Maybe she didn't want to know about Pop's love for another woman while married to her.

Are you okay? Hank asked Mom, raising his dark brows.

Without offering a response, Mom gently handed the book to Hank. She turned her petite frame and marched in the direction of a crying baby. Frankly, I had no idea which child let out a cry at that moment, but I felt a twinge of relief that she came to help.

The girls saw their grandmother wearing a mysterious mask across her mouth and nose. They screeched in that dramatic, ear-piercing manner I had become familiar with, thinking their silly grammy was acting like a scary monster. Mom raised her arms high in the air while treading with long, maniacal strides. She really played up the part, causing them to shriek.

I rolled my eyes, then leaned against the cream-colored wall, feeling at ease with their presence.

Chapter 5

As weary as I felt from this despicable bug, I had difficulty putting down Pop's book. The prologue alone seized my interest. Pop received death threats! Someone wanted him dead. But why? Although my eyes were desperate to close, I couldn't stop reading the numerous surprises that leaped through each chapter. Did I even know my father? The man I idolized throughout my life appeared madly untamed and reckless in the pages before me.

Some details were shocking to absorb. I worried his story would injure my mother's pride and reputation. Perhaps some information was heavily inflated to entertain strangers who craved an exciting plot within a fairy tale. But at my mother's expense? I wasn't surprised to confirm my parents weren't in love. They never spent time together, and their prickly body language and lack of physical expression when in proximity spoke volumes.

Pop loved another woman, yet he needed my mother to stay in their unhealthy marriage to hold on to the family business. I never met my grandfather, Rocky Cavallo, but Pop said he controlled his whole world, limiting his freedom.

In spite of his motives, Pop strung my mother along for many years. No matter what he wrote about Mom's impetuous past and his dark suspicions, one of them should have left their marriage much earlier than they had. Then again, I wouldn't have been born if they divorced sooner. Pop wrote about destiny and the importance of knowing familial roots. Reading his memoirs provided me with quite an ancestral history lesson.

Numerous documentaries about the Mafia's interest in Vegas had been available for as long as I could remember. Being born and raised in this town whet my appetite for more knowledge about mob chronicles. No one could live here, ignorant of the city's notorious glory days. One visit to the local Mob Museum showcased the lengthy accounts of the deceptive contagion that once loomed in the Vegas community.

Pop never shared his ties to organized crime with me—not even when I became an adult. He