by Solomon
“No, no. It’s okay. Go on.”
Enrico took a deep breath, then replied, “I didn’t know what to do. I know they got more outta me than I know and now, I’m not sure what to do. I want to tell Joey, but do I tell him they asked about him? But then he’ll want to know why I didn’t just take the pinch. Then what can I say? He’ll know I said something and…I don’t know what he’ll do.”
Paul blew air, audibly.
“Wow. Umm, from what you’ve told me before, this X is a pretty big thing and this Joey is pretty…demented. I don’t know if telling him is a good idea.”
“But I’ve got to do something, Paul! I mean, they even want me to wear a wire,” Enrico confided.
“A wire? You mean a recording device?”
Enrico nodded.
“What did you tell them?”
“I said I had to think about it. They gave me a few days. I don’t know what to do!”
Paul hugged him to his chest.
“Whatever you decide, I’ll support you,” he vowed.
“Thank you, I needed to hear that,” Enrico replied. He kissed Paul, wrapping his arms around his neck and laying him down on the bed.
The final straw came a few days later. Enrico came back to his condo to find Maria and the girls topless and prancing around the pool, along with a few girls Enrico had never seen before. The scene irked him, but what sent him over the edge was walking into his own bedroom and finding Joey in bed with Bianca. She was riding him, reverse cowgirl style, gripping his ankles, facing the door and making fuck faces like a porn star.
“Oh, fuck Daddy, put your thumb in my ass while you beat this pussy,” Bianca moaned as she ground her hips into Joey, taking every inch of his big, hard dick.
Enrico was livid as he stood there, frozen. Neither even acknowledged his presence, even though it was obvious they could see him standing there.
“What the hell is going on?” Enrico raged. He felt totally disrespected. Not only was Joey fucking someone else, but in his bed with total disregard for his presence or emotions. He knew right then and there that Joey cared nothing about him.
“Join us,” Joey offered, but Enrico knew it was more of a taunt.
Bianca’s loud moans and squeals followed him up the hall as he headed back out front, fuming.
Twenty minutes later, Joey came out in his Speedo bathing suit, mingling as if nothing ever happened. Enrico kept imagining that Joey reeked of sex, until all he could smell was the scent of Joey’s cum all over everything. He was sick to his stomach.
Joey’s mobile phone rang. Enrico was closest, so he answered it.
“Yeah,” he said, answering the phone as Joey approached. Then he hung up and told Joey, “It was Sal. He said to tell you, ‘congratulations.’”
Joey smiled and caressed his cheek. “C‘mere and say hello to the next Don.” Joey pulled Enrico close and kissed him sensually, causing Enrico to tingle all over. He hated that Joey could do that to him so easily.
Joey smiled at him like he could read his mind, and he wore his smile like a taunt. “Everything is going according to plan,” Joey winked, then smacked Enrico on the ass and walked away.
Enrico watched him with a hate only love could muster. He had a plan, too—one Joey wasn’t planning for—and he contemplated it with a taunting smirk of his own. Enrico picked up the mobile phone and called Paul.
“I’m…I’m going to do it. I’m going to wear the wire.”
Joey couldn’t remember ever being this nervous. His stomach was doing flips, and he couldn’t get there fast enough. He was going to be a Made Man. He dreamt of this day since he was a little kid. Watching the older guys, watching his father and Vito, he idolized their every move. He had played out this day in his mind, over and over. The perhaps greatest thing missing from this fantasy come to life was his father officiating the ceremony. The thought made his heart hurt. But he knew, once he was Made, his father could no longer deny him. He would be a man of respect, worthy of his father’s respect.
The trip around Manhattan took two cars and three hours, just to make sure they weren’t tailed. An induction ceremony was highly secretive. They ended up at an apartment building in Little Italy. The two men accompanying him escorted Joey upstairs. When he entered the room, there were several guys sitting around the room, including Joe Provenzano and Sal Romano. No one spoke to Joey. Some nodded curtly; others didn’t even do that.
Finally, Sal stood up and approached Joey. He looked at him sternly, without a trace of humor.
“Do you know why you are here?” Sal asked.
“No,” Joey said, because he knew it was tradition not to know.
“You are going to be a part of this family. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No.”
Sal nodded then motioned for Joey’s hand. Joey gave him his hand. Sal pricked it with a very sharp dagger. He sprinkled the blood on the card of a Saint, then gave the card to Joey. Joey held it while he lit it then cupped the burning card in his hand.
“Repeat after me: if I should betray my friends,” Sal recited.
“If I should betray my friends,” Joey echoed.
“I and my soul will burn in hell like the Saint.”
“I and my soul will burn in hell like the Saint.”
The card stung his hand, but it was worth it. Joey dropped the smoldering ashes, as a wide grin spread across Sal’s face.
“Congratulations, kid. Welcome to the family.”
“Thanks, Uncle Sally,” Joey replied.
The solemnity of the moment over, everyone gathered around Joey, giving him hugs and kisses.
“I knew this day would come,” Joe Pro greeted, kissing Joey on both cheeks.
“It’s a beautiful day, eh?” Joey announced, smiling proudly.
He had come full circle, from hated homosexual pariah to the newest, celebrated member of one of the oldest traditions in Sicily. Not only was he a Made Man; he was Self-Made Man, and he was proud enough to bask in his own limelight.
Present Day, August 1997
The Prosecutor looked hard at Joey.
Joey had a smirk on his face, and was leaned back in his chair next to Rollins like he didn’t have a care in the whole damn world. The recess was over, and the Prosecutor was about to wipe that smile off Joey Diamonds’ face once and for all.
“Oyez, Oyez!” The bailiff announced, “All rise. The Supreme Court of New York is now in session, the Honorable Judge Hendon Bartholomew presiding."
Everyone in the court rose except Joey. He just slicked back his hair and straightened his tie.
Bartholomew—used to Joey’s insolence by now let it pass, showing that he knew rising to the bait would only show that it bothered him. So with a roll of his eyes he sat down and then everyone else sat, except the Prosecutor. “Your Honor, the prosecution would like to call a witness who does not appear on the sheet for today, if it pleases the court.”
The judge looked at Rollins. Rollins whispered in Joey’s ear, Joey shrugged, and Rollins stood, “No objection here your honor.”
The Prosecutor smiled, and “the State calls Ms. Tia Amo Reyes.”
Joey sat bolt upright, his face dropping through the floor like a fifty-pound lead weight through plywood. The Prosecutor almost heard the wood splitting.
Te Amo sashayed into the court in a virginal white Versace knee length dress that made her brown skin shine with the inner light of truth. Her eyes were skimming the floor, just ahead of her toes as they clipped to the stand, and the court attendant, holding out the Bible said, “Do you solemnly swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
Te Amo leaned forward, gripping the Bible so tight her knuckles flared, but her voice a near whisper. “I do.”
The Prosecutor was going to enjoy this. “Ms. Reyes, can you, for the court, please tell us your relationship to the defendant Mr. Joey Diamanti?”
“We were lovers.”
Joey whispered in Rolli
ns ear with some agitation. Rollins nodded and placated Joey with a gesture.
“And, Ms. Reyes, when you say were lovers, are we to take from that your relationship ended some time ago?”
“Yes, just before he was arrested. We had a falling out and there has not been a reconciliation. We have not spoken for two years.”
The Prosecutor was just warming up now, he walked away from Te Amo, eyeing the gallery, playing to them. When they’d got the notion that he was performing for each and every one of them, he turned back to face the witness stand. “I know Ms. Reyes that you approached the Federal Investigators of your own free will; you weren’t part of their investigation I understand.”
“That is correct. I had no dealings with Joey’s…I mean Mr. Diamanti’s life outside our relationship. He didn’t get involved in my business, and I didn’t get involved in his.”
“I see, it was just a pleasure based relationship?”
“Yes. For the most part. I knew he was bisexual, and that he saw other people, but that didn’t concern me.”
Joey was bolt upright in his chair, Rollins was putting his hand on his wrist to calm him, turning from the witness’s testimony.
“So, I understand however, that you have some evidence that will shed some light on the charges of murder that have been laid against Mr. Diamanti?”
“Oh yes.”
Te Amo looked at Joey for the first time, and her eyes were cold. The Prosecutor had to hold his papers in front of his crotch, so the jury couldn’t see his hard on.
Joey licked his lips, his fingers drumming on the table in front of him.
“I think my testimony will tell you exactly what kind of man Joey Diamanti is…”
January 1995
Joey wasted no time in using his Made Man status to whip up a wave of destruction that washed from L.A. to the East Coast, drowning those in its path as it went.
The protection of the Romanos was a gift from the heavens. Not only did it give him a free hand in L.A., as Bone and his crew ran the day to day operations of distributing the X as it came in from Israel, but he had the Piazza soldiers under his command, and was getting a good slice of income from their gambling, girls, and protection scores.
Cleveland was no longer an issue, there was nothing or no one there with the cajones to face up to him, and those that raised their head above the parapet to spit any venom in his direction were removed from the field with extreme prejudice. It felt good to flex his muscles in his new appropriated clothes of underworld respectability.
His father—recovered from the shooting, but now effectively retired—handed over the day-to-day running of the Diamanti family to Frankie Shots, and he was neutered effectively now that Joey was effectively a Romano.
Joey didn’t speak to his father, but he no longer felt the need to check with him when he wanted to see or talk to his mother.
Life was good.
Even if Enrico was still a problem, it was one that Joey could deal with when he needed to. The look of jealousy had damped down in his eyes a little, and when he wasn’t out of town, he spent all the time he could with Joey. Sitting patiently while Joey conducted business or making himself available for Joey’s dick and whatever he wanted to do with it, whenever he wanted to do it.
The only fly in the ointment was Te Amo. Joey was convinced now that she’d known about the hit the whole time. Known when it was coming and that it wouldn’t have resulted in any injuries to her or Joey.
The meeting at the funeral had obviously been a set up, and so had the meeting with her mother on the yacht. The Queen of Cocaine had kept her nose out of Joey’s business on the West Coast, but perhaps her markets in Miami needed to expand, and what better way to keep a constant flow of information from Joey’s activities, than by putting Te Amo into his operation, and have her Blood affiliates do all the legwork?
But Joey couldn’t work out why the hit had been set up in the first place. For a lot of the time he considered it had been done by his father, but the revelation that it had been Frankie Shots working on the orders of the Gambino family had come as unwelcome news. But then again, Sal had been his savior. Joey was untouchable now. There could be no further attempted hits on him while he was a Made Man and the Commission had not given their consent.
But this was all material to be dealt with in the future.
Right now, he was in New York, and it amused him to no end to know that he was about to make an offer Joe Pro could not refuse.
The old gangster, his face a mixture of worry and contempt, sat with his hands on the table. Behind him were two of Cleveland’s finest, now in Joey’s pocket. Giacomo The Snake Sentelli and his cousin Nunzio Basico. Both slightly older than Joey, and who saw where their bread might be buttered in the future. Snake and Zio stood with their palms crossed in front of their suits, heads slightly bowed like Pall Bearers. Joe Pro couldn’t have missed the symbolism, especially as they’d brought him to the back room of Joey’s club on the Lower East Side, screwed into a coffin that had been slid onto the back of a hearse.
“You cocksucker, Joey.”
“It has been known.”
“May you burn in eternity,” Joe Pro said in Sicilian.
“I hope you enjoyed your ride in the coffin. Gives you something to look forward to in your later years.”
“You’re not going to kill me, you crazy little faggot.”
“That is true.”
“Then what’s all this for, you dumb fuck? I don’t care if you’re under the protection of the Romanos, I certainly don’t care you’re a Diamanti. You have no family because you’re a piece of shit, Joey. No one wants you. You’re just being used.”
“Perhaps. Or maybe I want to get what I want. I don’t care, old man. Like you, there is no need for me to care at all. Because one day, you’ll be dead. And me? Because I have been charged by the Commission to tell you some facts of life.”
The color drained from Joe Pro’s face, and his eyes glittered, not with tears but with the dampness of anger and fear.
“What the fuck…”
Joey launched himself to his feet and slapped the old man across the chops.
“Don’t speak until you’re spoken to!” he screamed, spittle bursting from his mouth and spraying over the old man’s cheek as it turned.
“I’ve killed men for much less,” Joe Pro hissed, wiping the back of his hand across his face.
“Just be grateful I’m not killing you.”
Joe Pro took a couple of breaths. His hands came back to the table, and he was calm again. Joey was impressed, but he wasn’t going to show it.
“That’s better. I want to keep this civil if I can.”
“So. What’s the deal?”
“It’s not a deal. It’s an instruction.”
“Go on.”
“Congratulations on your retirement. I’m sorry we don’t have a clock for you.”
“Retirement?”
“Yes. Go to Florida. Go to Vegas. Go to Timbuktu for all I care, but your time in New York is done.”
“On whose authority?”
Joey raised his hand again. Joe Pro didn’t flinch.
“Okay okay, it’s on your authority. I assume the Commission has nodded this through?”
Joey sat back down. “Of course. You’re old, Joe. You’re old guard. Things are changing.”
“And you’re changing them.”
“In part, but the millennium is coming, technology is advancing. This thing we do needs men of vision, men not afraid to embrace new alliances, get involved with new product, find new ways to diversify.”
“When did you get your MBA?”
Joey smiled. “I just graduated.”
Joey reached down under the table, pulled up an attaché case, placed it flat on the table and sprung the locks. It was full of one hundred dollar bills.
“One million…”
“Jeez that’s small change. You know how much I’m worth? I don’t even know how much I’m worth
.”
“This morning we took inventory of your account codes, keys to your safes, and the portfolio of legit businesses in your personal collection. I know exactly how much you’re worth, Joe Pro, and right now it’s one million dollars.”
Joe’s eyes were wide and filled to the brim with the hottest anger.
“There will be one of these, every six months wherever you decide to settle…away from New York.”
“People aren’t fired from the Mafia.”
“And you’re not being fired. Look at it as a chance to spend more time with your money.”
“My sons?”
“They have a simple choice: continue running their end of the family, for me and Sal, or they can be retired too. But I hear the benefits aren’t as…beneficial. Your final act here in New York will be to tell them of your decision to retire, and that they are to answer to me, until further notice.”
“I would rather die.”
“And that’s why we’re keeping you alive.”
Sal sucked on a cigar as thick as a baby’s thigh, and he sniggered smoke out of his nose. “You took him there in a fucking coffin?”
Joey nodded, his own cigar smoldering between his teeth, “There were flowers too. You sent a wreath. It was very sweet of you.”
Sal’s mouth exploded a gale of laughter. “I like your style, boy.”
“I’m style and substance.”
“Ain’t that the truth?”
Joey took the cigar from his mouth and considered the end like it was a dick he’d just taken from between his lips. Hungry for the taste and the pleasure.
Sal’s eyes crumpled a little. However much the boy was bringing in the cash, he was still not utterly comfortable with Joey’s overt expression of his sexuality. Sal was old school, and when Joey made these kinds of gestures, he felt uncomfortable. For a man like Sal, feeling uncomfortable was not a situation he was used to. Joey could see the effect his mouth and cigar were having on the older man.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
“So,” Sal coughed, laying down his cigar and getting up from the desk. He went to the window, peering through the blinds over the white expanse of Central Park, frozen in its blanket of fresh snow. “What’s next, Joey? You’re not the kind of man to rest on his laurels. I know you’ve got ideas. Let’s hear them.”