The Purple Don Page 5

  Te Amo rolled over on her stomach.

  “Later.”

  Joey pulled the sheet off of her and playfully, but firmly slapped her bare ass.

  “Get up!”

  She jumped and, out of instinct kicked at him. He grabbed her ankle and used it to drag her to him.

  “Come on. I gotta put something together before I go back to New York.”

  She sat up and looked at him.

  “New York? You’re going back?” she asked, incredulously.

  Joey chuckled.

  “Of course! What did you think, I was gonna hide out here forever? No fuckin’ way! Father or no father, either I wet my beak in New York or we all die with dry lips.”

  Te Amo looked at him with a subtle smirk playing across her lips.

  “What are you gonna do? Take your father to war?”

  The smile disappeared from Joey’s face and his eyes turned a cold wolf-like shade of grey.

  “If I have to,” he replied, then got up from the bed.

  Te Amo got up after him.

  “Joey, that’s crazy and you know it! Why push your luck? Miami’s an open city. There’s plenty of money to be made.

  He looked at her.

  “Sweetheart, do me a favor, okay? Shut up and get dressed; we got people to see.”

  “Like who?”

  “You’re taking me to see your boyfriend, Enrico,” he replied, then leaped out of the bed.

  Enrico lived in a high-rise condo on South Beach. His fifteenth floor view was panoramic, and seemed to take in the entire Atlantic Ocean. Te Amo pushed the powder blue drop top Ferrari down Ocean Drive, further filling Joey in on Enrico during the drive. She had already told him that he was an expert smuggler that worked for her family, getting drugs in and large sums of money out.

  “Cuban?” Joey inquired.

  “Honduran.”

  “How long has he worked for your family?”

  She shrugged as she turned into the ramp of the underground parking level under the condo.

  “About a year, give or take.”

  “Before that?”

  He ran guns in and out of Nicaragua for the Sandinistas.”

  “And before that?” he delved.

  She looked at him as she parked.

  “He’s good, Joey. Believe me, we checked.”

  “Okay,” Joey shrugged, “but you can never be too careful.”

  They took the elevator up to Enrico’s floor. By the time they got to the door, he was already opening it for them.

  “You have ten minutes,” Enrico said as he walked away from the door.

  “Querido,” Te Amo playfully simpered, “I thought you always had time for me.”

  “I do,” Enrico replied, then added with emphasis, “For you. Seat?”

  Joey sat down, surveying his surroundings. Enrico had very minimalist taste. His hardwood floors were so polished that they looked wet, reflecting every step. The floor-to-ceiling windows covered the South side of the condo and led out onto a patio with a pool. Twelve feet away, an ivory white piano sat alone in the middle of the room. The 50-inch TV displayed highlights from the Heat-Knicks game and held Enrico’s attention, until the sportscaster announced that the Heat had won, 104 to 98.

  “Fuckin’ New York trash,” Enrico chuckled, then looked at Joey, making his last statement seem ambiguous.

  Joey smiled, enjoying Enrico’s futile attempts to engage him. It would happen, but on Joey’s watch.

  “Yeah, I never liked the Knicks either,” Joey began. “Now, the Yankees, that’s a different story.”

  “Nine minutes,” Enrico replied.

  Te Amo spoke up.

  “Joey has a proposition for you.”

  “Yeah? Well first, I want to know more about Joey. Who is he? How long have you known him?” Enrico probed.

  Te Amo looked him in the eyes and said, “Never question me, Enrico. If I bring him, he’s good.”

  Enrico could see Te Amo’s mother in her eyes, so he relented.

  “Lo siento, pero you know I’m a cautious man, Te Amo. You can…” Enrico began, but Joey finished the sentence.

  “…never be too careful. I agree. Listen, maybe we got off on the wrong foot, but I assure you, you have my utmost respect and consideration,” Joey intoned diplomatically.

  Enrico nodded, tented his hands and responded, “Please continue.”

  “I know a guy who knows a guy, who wants to get a package out of Israel.”

  “X?” Enrico surmised.

  “Exactly,” Joey confirmed with a nod.

  “How much are we talking about?”

  “Seventy-five grand.”

  “Seventy-five grand?” Enrico echoed, with a slight chuckle, then looked at Te Amo. “Is he serious?” he asked while still laughing.

  It was at that moment when Joey decided he would break him. But Enrico didn’t sense the rage in Joey. Te Amo did, because she saw his jaw muscles subtly flex.

  “We gotta start somewhere,” Joey remarked, doing well to keep his composure.

  “Not there!” Enrico laughed again, resisting the opportunity to throw Joey’s arrogance back in his face. “Listen, for seventy-five grand, you don’t need a smuggler; you need UPS! I mean, it’s not worth it. Miami’s flooded…”

  “I’m not thinkin’ about Miami. I’m moving it in New York,” Joey corrected him.

  “That’s even worse! The clubs are owned by the fuckin’ mob. The Gambinos, not to mention the Diamanti factor in Manhattan.”

  “Enrico, you’re talking to a Diamanti. Joey Diamanti.”

  Instantly, the laughter subsided. Enrico looked at Te Amo, then at Joey. Joey could tell that Enrico’s mental wheels were turning, but he gave him credit for a good poker face.

  “So what do you need me for?”

  Joey subtly smirked.

  “Me and the old man ain’t seeing eye to eye.”

  “I’m definitely not trying to get in the middle of a family beef.”

  “You won’t be,” Joey assured him.

  Enrico looked at Te Amo.

  “Have you spoken to your mother about this?”

  “That’s our next step,” she answered.

  “And my first concern. I work for her, so before we go any further, I need to know where she is on this,” Enrico remarked.

  “Then I guess our business here is done,” Joey said, standing up. Then Enrico and Te Amo followed suit. “Besides,” Joey added, “by my watch, we only have a minute left on those ten.”

  Joey extended his hand. Enrico accepted it, firmly.

  “And for the record, seventy-five is peanuts to me, too. But, you do this with me, and you’ll see more money than you’ve ever seen in your life. Think about it,” Joey told him, then walked out the door.

  Te Amo kissed Enrico on the cheek.

  Enrico watched her walk out. He disregarded Joey’s words because his mind was too busy screaming, “Jackpot!”

  Enrico went back to the bedroom, threw himself on the bed and howled with laughter.

  Jackpot indeed.

  They called her Reina Coco, the Queen of Cocaine. Her name was Sophia Reyes, but she was born Sophia Sandoval in an impoverished section of Brazil where even the police feared to go.

  Her dark Brazilian hue and long, jet-black hair made her the target of men’s abusive affection at a very young age. One of those men was her uncle, who raped her when she was eleven years old.

  “If you tell,” he hissed in her face—his rotten, drunken breath searing her senses. “I’ll kill you.”

  The next night, she went to him.

  “I want…to do it again,” she mumbled, head down, seemingly in shame.

  He laughed.

  “A whore, just like your mother,” He chuckled, thinking of the days when he raped her mother, his sister.

  He took her behind an abandoned building and threw her on the ground. As he lay to enter her—his savage features exaggerated by lust and illuminated by the light of the fu
ll moon—she watched as his expression abruptly changed from pleasure to indescribable pain.

  She had inserted a razor inside of her pussy. When he penetrated her, he impaled himself on the excessively sharp edge, splitting the head of his dick in half.

  As he howled, she pulled the blade she had concealed in her sleeve and silenced him forever by slitting his throat.

  “You should’ve killed me,” she hissed in his dying ear.

  Sophia rolled him over on his back as he gargled his own blood. Then she went into a zone, slicing him over and over and over, until his body was covered with blood and her heart was covered with coldness.

  When she got home, her mother took one look at her blood-soaked daughter and cried, “Mi Dios!”

  “There is no God,” Sophia replied with a maniacal look in her eye. “I killed him.”

  It took her mother two days to realize that wasn’t one sentence; it was two, and the “him” was her uncle. Being that her uncle was a known gangster, her mother feared for her life. She sent Sophia to America and wouldn’t see her for twenty years, until she returned for Carnival, and met the man that would make her a queen.

  Antonio Reyes.

  Reyes was the head of the only Colombian cartel big enough to rival Pablo Escobar’s. He was a cold-blooded killer, but he had a weakness for beautiful women, and Sophia was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She cast the spell of Carnival on his heart and, two months later, they were married—Antonio to her beauty and Sophia to his money. The marriage was destined to end badly, yet Sophia willed it to end in death. She conspired with Antonio’s chief lieutenant to ambush him, thereby giving control to the lieutenant. But before he could even warm the throne, she murdered him herself in her marriage bed and—with the backing of Escobar—took over the cartel. She kept Antonio’s name simply because she had a sense of humor.

  She stood at the prow of her hundred-foot yacht named Jade. At 47, she could easily pass for 27. Her dark Brazilian tone was still flawless, because she rarely wore makeup. She didn’t need it. She felt the presence of the ocean on her face, blowing open her kimono, to reveal her svelte yet shapely figure in a green, two-piece bathing suit. They were far out in the Atlantic, out in International waters—a place where she liked to conduct business meetings because no country had jurisdiction.

  She liked to keep her enemies off balance.

  One of her bodyguards approached her.

  “Señora Reyes, your daughter is here,” he informed her.

  “Gracias,” she replied, and he walked off.

  Reluctantly, she tore herself from her thoughts to go see her only child.

  Joey and Te Amo had flown out to the yacht in a helicopter. They landed on the helipad onto the top deck of the yacht, then headed below. By the time they got to the yacht’s living room, Sophia was waiting for them, seated with drink in hand.

  “Cómo está, Mama,” Te Amo greeted her mother as she crossed the room. Then she bent down and kissed her mother on the lips.

  “I’m fine, Baby Girl,” Sophia smiled, “and pleasantly surprised that you would come all the way out here to see your poor mother.”

  “Mama, you are a lot of things, but poor isn’t one of them,” Te Amo remarked, making Sophia chuckle. Then she turned to Joey and added, “She likes to exaggerate; it lets her play the victim.”

  Sophia looked at Joey, subtly assessing him.

  “And I assume you are Joey Diamanti.”

  Joey approached her and kissed her hand, saying in Sicilian: “Rose of the Ocean, you are even more beautiful than I imagined.”

  They weren’t just empty words. Sophia had that type of effect on men. It wasn’t just her beauty, but the ethereal quality of her sensuality that cast a spell.

  “My Sicilian is rusty, so you either said I’m beautiful or you’re looking forward to dinner.”

  Joey chuckled.

  “The former.”

  Then I thank you or…grazie,” Sophia replied.

  Te Amo understood every word, which sent a jolt of jealousy through her senses, but she let it go.

  “So tell me, to what do I owe this honor?” Sophia inquired.

  “Joey had a prob—”

  “Joey’s a big boy now; he can speak for himself, Te Amo!” she chided her daughter, then turned to Joey. “Now, come sit. Talk to me.”

  Joey set down next to Sophia, and she adjusted her position to give him her full attention.

  “Basically, I had a problem…with my father,” Joey admitted.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “And I feel like the attempt on my life was…his call,” Joey concluded with a clenched jaw. It was still hard for him to fathom his father hated him so much that he wanted him dead.

  “I see,” Sophia nodded. “And the problem you speak of, what happened?”

  Joey glanced at Te Amo, who nodded. He took a deep breath and answered, “It was uh, because of a relationship that I had with a…a relationship with a man.”

  “Oh,” Sophia remarked, her brow slightly raised. She hadn’t expected that. “And for this you feel your father would want you dead?”

  “My father is a product of the old country. Besides, no one would’ve made a move like that without him. So it would seem—”

  “Things…are rarely as they seem,” Sophia scolded him, with a Sphinx-like smile.

  Joey nodded his touché.

  “Still, what walks like a duck, you know?” he continued. “Anyway, I’m goin’ back to New York and carving myself a niche. But to do that, I need a little help,” he explained.

  “What about the problems if we go along with…this niche?” Sophia probed.

  “I’ll handle them as they come.”

  “But then, your problems become my problems,” she surmised.

  “I can handle my own problems, Señora Reyes.”

  “But can you assure me that they won’t become mine?”

  Te Amo, sensing her mother’s reluctance, couldn’t hold her tongue any longer.

  “But Mama, what Joey has in mind can be huge. Besides, we are Reyes; problems are our middle name, no?”

  Sophia eyed her daughter coldly, then turned back to Joey.

  “Joey, I need you to go upstairs while I speak to my niña for a moment,” Sophia requested.

  “No problem,” Joey answered, standing. He turned to her and kissed her hand once more. “Despite the circumstances, it was an honor to meet you, and if I have my way, we will meet again,” he assured her with the brunt of his arrogance.

  “And I bet you’re used to having your way, aren’t you?” she returned, toying him with flirtatiousness.

  Joey let his smile speak for him, then turned and left, closing the door behind him.

  When she was sure he was out of earshot, Sophia stood and faced Te Amo.

  “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. If I didn’t know any better I’d think your father was working an angle on me to get back at me. Has he got anything to do with this? Anything at all?”

  “Nothing.” Te Amo said, squeezing her mother’s hand.

  Sophia studied her daughter’s face.

  “Nothing, I swear Mama. He’s a friend of a friend, and I think he’s worth the trouble,” Te Amo explained.

  “He’s a Diamanti.”

  “I know.”

  Sophia stood, eyeing Te Amo with a steady gaze, until she looked away. She could never hold her mother’s gaze.

  “So you expect me to believe that your father has nothing to do with this, and he’s just a friend you want to go into business with?” Sophia chuckled lightly.

  “It may not seem like it, Mama, but like you just told Joey, things are rarely what they seem.” Te Amo smirked.

  “I have spoiled you, child,” Sophia mused ruefully as she turned to the bar and refreshed her drink. “Sheltered you from the vulgarities of the real world.”

  She looked at her daughter through the mirror behind the bar. She was her spitting image, inside and o
ut. She had the beauty and the swagger of a jaguar in the Brazilian jungle. Inside, she had the cold-heartedness and the cunningness. But she was young and naïve, and Sophia knew that in order for Te Amo to survive in their world, she would have to sacrifice her to it.

  Sophia sipped her drink, then turned around and announced, “If you trust your judgment, so will I. But this is your responsibility. Enrico may get involved in what he chooses, but I will extend nothing more. No protection, no support. You…are on your own, Baby Girl.”

  “Thank you, Mama,” Te Amo responded solemnly.

  “We’ll see,” was Sophia’s enigmatic reply.

  She turned back to her own reflection and watched her daughter’s in the mirror as Te Amo left the room.

  Present Day, August 1997

  The courtroom was filled to capacity for what the press was calling “The trial of the Purple Don.” Besides the media, most of the people were Joey’s supporters, including several well-known movie stars, athletes, and rock stars. Joey knew how to use the media to his advantage. He had come out of the closet at the right time. When the prosecution had least expected it, he used Diane Reynolds’ Night Talk to announce to the world: “I’m gay.”

  His strategy was to put the Federal Prosecutor, Steven Rein, in the position of coming across as a gay-basher, to divert attention from his bloody rise to the top—from spoiled heir to the Diamanti throne, to a powerful Capo in the Romano family. But, it was inevitable that Joey’s strategy ended up tying the Prosecutor’s hands during jury selection, because he was forced to raise the question of sexuality and to disqualify anyone that had religious or personal prejudices against gay people. This put the defense and the prosecution on the same page, minimizing the defense’s need to use preemptory challenges, and weighted the jury in Joey’s favor. Even the legal analysis talking heads had to acknowledge the brilliance of the strategy.

  “Diamanti’s legal team has managed to do what no lawyer has done since the Star Council: get the prosecution to help bias the jury!”

  With this in mind, the Prosecutor gave his opening statement. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, welcome. I want to personally thank each one of you. This may be called jury duty, but it is not only a duty; it is your right. It is your right to make your voice heard, to take an active part in ensuring that your community, my community, our community stays safe from those who would bring it harm,” he began, slowly pacing in front of the jury box.