They called her the Black Widow of Las Vegas. Five husbands, five fortunes, five funerals. By the time Bonnie Lee Bley walked away from her fifth marriage, she had inherited more than $300 million across her life, owned stakes in four casinos, two resort properties, and enough real estate to rank among the wealthiest women in Nevada. But the public narrative never captured what those who knew the men said: every single one of them died happy.
Bonnie Lee Houseman was born into poverty in Wampum, Pennsylvania, a dying mill town with a population of about 800. Her father worked at the steel mill until it closed. Her mother cleaned houses. She was the youngest of four girls and learned early that beauty was her most valuable asset when little else was available.
In 1981, at age 16, she left Wampum with $200 and a Greyhound bus ticket to Los Angeles. She planned to become an actress, but with no connections, she took a job as a cocktail waitress at a gentleman’s club. She studied the dancers and realized the real money was not on the stage but in private conversations with men who could be made to feel special. Six months later, in 1982, she moved to Las Vegas.
The city was between eras: the mob was mostly gone, Howard Hughes had died, and corporations were moving in. Bonnie was hired as a showgirl at the Stardust, dancing in the back row of the chorus line. She was patient. While other women wanted to marry rich quickly, Bonnie understood she needed to marry men who were already old, already wealthy, and grateful for companionship in their final years.
Her first husband was Robert Pollson, a 68-year-old construction magnate who built much of the Strip in the 1960s and 1970s. Worth about $20 million, he had been widowed for three years and ate dinner alone most nights. They met at a private party at Caesars Palace in April 1986. She asked if he had seen the Sinatra show.
By July they were engaged, and by September they were married at the Little Church of the West. Pollson’s children accused her of being a gold digger and threatened to contest the will. He told them they could leave. The marriage lasted three years.
He died of a heart attack in his sleep in January 1989. The autopsy found nothing suspicious. His will left his children the house and $5 million. Bonnie received $15 million in cash and assets.
The children sued, claiming undue influence, but a judge dismissed the case because Pollson had updated his will six months after the wedding while still healthy. At 24 years old, Bonnie walked away with her first fortune. More importantly, she had a blueprint: marriage required documentation, timing, and ensuring the man died happy so his family could not claim abuse. Her second husband was Gerald “Jerry” Kimmelman, a 72-year-old real estate mogul worth $40 million.
A widower with no children, he was known as sharp and difficult. They met at a charity gala in 1990. She let him be the smartest man in the room. They married in June 1991.
For four years, she accompanied him to business meetings, hosted dinners, and made sure his associates saw her as far more than arm candy. Kimmelman suffered a stroke and died in October 1995, with Bonnie at his side through months of decline. The will left her $32 million. His business partners were surprised he had not left everything to charity, but Kimmelman had been clear that Bonnie was the only person who cared about him as a person.
This time there were whispers. Two husbands, two fortunes, two funerals. Her third husband was Marshall “Marty” Rothstein, a casino executive worth $60 million who had risen from pit boss to vice president of operations at the Tropicana. Divorced and estranged from three children, he was bitter and distrustful.
Bonnie was patient. They married in March 1997 at the Bellagio, which had just opened. Rothstein’s children hired a private investigator and built a case before he died. Bonnie kept records of every gift and every message from Rothstein expressing his love.
He died in 2001 after an 18-month battle with cancer. She had attended every chemotherapy appointment and held his hand through every bad night. The will left her $55 million. His children contested immediately.
The legal battle lasted two years. Bonnie won when the judge ruled Rothstein had been of sound mind and that his estrangement from his children predated his marriage. But the damage was done: newspapers began calling her the Black Widow. Comedians made jokes.
Some Las Vegas insiders stopped inviting her to events. Bonnie, now worth over $100 million, did not care. Her fourth husband was different. Lawrence Adelstein, not to be confused with a similarly named casino billionaire, was an 81-year-old manufacturing magnate who built his fortune in defense contracts, casino equipment, and slot machine components.
He was worth about $1 billion. He had read the articles and heard the rumors, and he said he did not care. On their third date, he told her he could die tomorrow or live another decade. His children would inherit the company.
The cash, he said, he would rather give to someone who would enjoy it. They married in November 2004. No prenuptial agreement. His lawyers and children begged him to sign one.
He refused. Bonnie gave Lawrence seven years of travel, private jets, and dinner with senators and executives. He died peacefully in his sleep in 2011 at his Palm Springs estate. The will left Bonnie $180 million.
His children received the business, worth over a billion. No lawsuit followed. Lawrence had recorded video depositions explaining his decision and undergone psychiatric evaluations to prove his competency. Overnight, Bonnie became one of the wealthiest women in Nevada.
She bought a penthouse at the Waldorf Astoria and started a charitable foundation. Husband number five changed everything. Vincent “Vinnie” Duca was 84 years old, a living piece of old Las Vegas. He had started as a pit boss at the Sands in 1953 at age 21 and risen through the ranks to become a casino host and part owner of three properties.
He sold his stakes for $300 million in the 1990s. His true wealth was his network: politicians, old mob-era figures, and new corporate money all respected him. Bonnie met him at a Frank Sinatra tribute concert in May 2012. She was 59, worth nearly $200 million, and not looking for anyone.
Vinnie recognized her and mentioned he had known her first husband Bobby Pollson, calling him a good man. They talked through the entire second half of the concert. For the first time, there was no calculation. Vinnie needed nothing from her and wanted nothing from her.
They became friends, having dinner weekly and sharing stories about old Vegas. In February 2013, Vinnie told her about his congestive heart failure. Doctors had given him two or three years. He said he would rather have two happy years than ten miserable ones.
They married in August 2013 at the Bellagio, with about 30 guests. His health declined faster than expected. Bonnie cared for him, reading to him when his eyes tired, sitting with him through bad nights, telling him stories about her life she had never shared. He told her he had not thought he would fall in love again after his first wife died in 1998.
In January 2016, he called her “a gift. ”
Vinnie died at home in his sleep on March 7, 2016. Bonnie sat with him for 20 minutes before calling the paramedics, holding his hand and saying goodbye. The will left her $300 million in real estate, stocks, bonds, and treasury notes.
She was now worth over $400 million. And, she later said, completely alone for the first time. The newspapers ran the expected story: five husbands, five fortunes, five funerals. But something was different.
There was no outrage, no calls for investigation. Vinnie’s two adult children, both financially secure, released a statement saying their father had spent his final years happier than they had seen him in decades. Bonnie had given him something they could not. Perhaps it was also because Bonnie had become a fixture in Las Vegas charity circles, serving on boards, writing million-dollar checks, and showing up when no cameras were present.
She never remarried. In 2018, she told a reporter from Vegas magazine that she had five great loves, more than most people get in a lifetime, and that she was not greedy. Today, Bonnie lives quietly in Las Vegas. She is in her early seventies, still attends charity galas, still writes large checks, and still sits on nonprofit boards.
The Stardust, where she began as a showgirl, was imploded in 2007 and replaced. The fuller story, as those who knew the men tell it, is less about a gold digger and more about an exchange. Lonely, wealthy, older men wanted companionship, care, and someone to listen to their stories. Bonnie provided that.
When they died, they left her their money because they believed she had earned it. Every one of them could have left her nothing. They chose not to. Whether that makes her a villain, a survivor, or a genius depends on who is asked.
What is documented is this: five marriages, five inheritances, and no evidence of any crime.