Joey dreamt that Seth was riding his dick backwards, calling out his name in passionate anguish. When he awoke, he realized it wasn’t a dream, but it wasn’t Seth. It was Te Amo.
“You couldn’t wait for me to wake up?” Joey asked, amused. He crossed his arms behind his head and watched Te Amo’s perfect figure as she rode him like a wave.
“You didn’t ha—” she began but was interrupted with a guttural moan, “—have anything to do with it.”
“Can I watch?” he smirked.
“Wait, wait,” Te Amo gasped, riding him harder and digging her nails into his stomach. She threw her head back, and with a shriek came all over his dick.
“Too late,” she giggled, then leaned down and gave him a kiss. “You should make a mold of your dick. You’d make a fortune.”
Te Amo got off him and headed to the bathroom.
“What about me?” he yelled after her.
“You’re a big boy. You can take care of yourself.”
She jumped in the shower. Joey chuckled, shaking his head at her audacity. He got up and followed her into the bathroom. She was showering with the curtain open.
“Move over,” he told her.
She handed him the soap and he lathered up her back.
“So what’s the deal with the Russians?”
“All taken care of. They want to meet at three,” she answered.
He massaged her as he lathered her up.
“Whaddya know about these guys?”
“Nothing. I thought you knew something about them.”
“Seth set it up, but we never had a chance to meet.”
“Think we need some extra bodies?” she questioned.
He thought about it for a moment, then answered.
“Naw. They don’t have a reason to be less than friendly…yet,” he smirked.
She glanced over her shoulder, with a lust in her eyes and a devilish grin on her face.
“Yet? What are you plotting in that mind of yours?”
He licked his lips, slid his hands along the small of her back and up to her shoulder.
“I can show you better than I can tell you,” he said. And with that, bent her over and finished what she started.
They were in Little Havana, at a Cuban sandwich shop that Te Amo said served the best Cuban sandwiches in Miami. When they arrived, the Russians were already there. Joey glanced around casually, as he could see how the Russians had a couple of men strategically placed around the restaurant’s outdoor-seating area. In the center of all the security sat a man not much older than Joey. He was dressed casually, in khakis and a Cuban-style shirt, but Joey could tell that the man carried weight. Joey took it as a good sign that they didn’t send a lackey to meet with him.
As he and Te Amo approached, the man stood up to greet them.
“Joey Diamonds,” he said with a strong Russian accent, hand extended. “It is good to meet you, yes?”
Joey shook his hand and found that he had a strong grip. Up close, Joey could see that he was a body builder.
“Same here, ah…” Joey returned, asking for his name without asking.
“Zev,” he answered.
“Zev? Just Zev?”
“Just Zev,” Zev assured him. A friendly smile was plastered on his face. He turned to Te Amo. “And it is even better to meet you.”
When she extended her hand, he kissed it.
“Sit, sit,” he urged them. “You drink vodka, yes? Drink vodka with me,” Zev suggested, then snapped his fingers and the waiter brought over a bottle of vodka, three glasses, and some bread. Zev took the bottle and filled the three glasses.
“Whoa, I’m used to vodka in shots,” Te Amo snickered.
“Ah, Americans,” he playfully waved her off. “You nibble, nibble. In my country, you drink, you drink. And friends, we come together. We break bread, yes?”
Joey understood the importance of custom, so he didn’t object. He lifted his glass as Zev toasted, “To health.”
“Salud,” Joey seconded.
Te Amo nodded as they all drank, downing a good portion of their drinks and taking bites of the brown bread.
“And…it is very sad what happened to Seth, eh?” Zev remarked.
Joey nodded solemnly.
“Yeah, I wish I could’ve stopped it, you know?”
“Those things happen, but it is upsetting when they happen so close to home.”
“Close to home?” Joey echoed, because Zev’s tone said he was speaking personally.
“Seth was my cousin. I was the one that asked him to speak to you.”
“I see,” Joey replied, subtly glancing around, mentally re-assessing the situation.
Sensing the air of tension, Zev remarked, “As I said, these things happen. I blame nobody but those who pulled the trigger, which is part of why I wanted to see you. Zev is with you against who is responsible.”
The two men locked gazes, and Joey knew he had an ally. He grabbed the vodka bottle, refilled their glasses then toasted, “To Seth.”
“Da,” Zev seconded.
“Salud,” Te Amo chimed in.
Then they drank and again broke bread.
“I appreciate your offer of assistance…truly. I can promise you, his death won’t go unpunished, but I can’t tell you when. Things are crazy in New York, but the sooner I can re-establish myself, the sooner I can straighten everything out. Which is why I wanted to see you,” Joey explained.
Zev nodded, downed the rest of his vodka and replied, “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to decline your offer.”
Joey was instantly disappointed, but concealed it well.
“Why so?”
Zev shrugged humbly.
“Because I’m not the Boss. My word, how you say, carries weight. But the deal I brought to you has already been taken.”
“By who?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.”
Joey nodded.
“I understand. But tell me, would it be possible if I spoke to the Boss?”
Zev eyed him curiously, popped a piece of bread into his mouth and replied, “I don’t see why not, but I don’t see why.”
“Because I think I can make him a better deal,” Joey answered. “Besides, I’m a confident man, and I can be pretty convincing when I have to be.”
Zev filled his glass halfway, pondering.
“No disrespect, but the word in the City is that you have…fallen from grace. I don’t see what you have to offer.”
Joey shrugged, nonchalantly, downed his glass then responded, “Like I said, I can be pretty convincing. I mean, hey I convinced you, right?” Then he hit him with the pearly whites.
Zev chuckled.
“Let’s just say, I’m curious.”
Zev barked something in Russian, and a few seconds later, one of his goons came over and handed him a mobile phone. He dialed, spoke in Russian, listened, looked at Joey then said goodbye in Russian, hanging up. “Two days from today in New York.”
Joey nodded, then stood up. Zev and Te Amo followed suit. The two men shook hands firmly. “Nice meeting you, Just Zev. I’ll see you in New York.”
Zev smirked.
As Joey and Te Amo walked away, he asked her, “Whaddya think?”
“I think if we’re going to New York, we’re gonna need a crew.”
“You musta read my mind.”
“You call this a crew?” Joey quipped, as he glanced around the dimly lit strip club that night.
Te Amo had just pointed out the team she had in mind. They were all women, nine total. Four were Spanish, three were Black, and two were White. They were all dancers and waitresses at a little out-of-the-way club in Liberty City, a rough part of Miami that no tourist would dare to tread.
“Believe me,” Te Amo assured him, “looks can be deceiving.”
Joey scrutinized them closer. He watched one of the Spanish girls work the pole like an exotic acrobat, wrapping herself around it with the graceful slither of a snake. They were all beautiful, but he still doubted their prowess.
He wouldn’t for long.
“They’re fuckin’ strippers,” he chuckled.
“You’re expecting a bunch of no-neck guidos?” she cracked.
“I mean, a little testosterone wouldn’t hurt.”
“Look who’s talking,” she snickered.
“Fuck you,” he replied, without malice.
He surveyed the girls again. He caught the eye of the Black waitress. She winked and blew him a kiss.
“You say they’re good?”
“Not the best, but very good,” she assured him.
“Let’s find out how good.”
Later that night, he met all of the girls back at Te Amo’s condo. As they filed in, Joey looked them over, one by one. Looking each in the eye as they passed, he could see each had seen their own version of hell. Beautiful on the outside, but life had taken their beauty on the inside. It’s much harder for a woman to mask true coldness, and from what Joey saw, he knew it would put a chill up anyone’s spine.
Most took seats around the room, some chose to stand, but they all watched and assessed Joey just as he had done them.
“I appreciate all of you for coming. Te Amo, you wanna do the honors?” Joey requested.
“No problem,” she replied, and then introduced each girl. She started with Maria, who resembled Rosie Perez so much that Joey had to do a double take. Next was Chi-Chi, so dark he thought she was Black until she opened her mouth and her accent came out Latin-flavored. The next girl was Black, jet-black: the color of midnight, had it been made out of silk. She was a Nigerian named Maliah, long-legged like a black widow and just as deadly.
Next were the two White girls: twins named Alicia and Amanda, both blond with blue eyes. They looked like America’s dream, but in the trailer parks of Columbus, Georgia, they had lived America’s nightmare. Standing beside them were two more Black girls: Bianca and Marilyn. They called her Marilyn because she was light enough to pass for White, and with her blond hair, she resembled Marilyn Monroe. Bianca was straight ghetto: gum-popping with a sassy Black attitude, but her smooth cinnamon complexion broke hearts, and the razor she often had in her mouth made many a kiss taste like death.
The last two girls looked Indian, but hey were Nicaraguan; the most exotic of the bunch and the most dangerous. Mianna and Anita looked like sisters, but were not related, except for the fact that they were both stone cold killers. After the introductions, Joey looked around and began.
“It’s good to meet cha. All of youse. Now, Te Amo has vouched for every one of you, but I need you to vouch for yourselves. So what I mean is, what we’re about to do could easily get us all killed, or…make us all very rich. But the bottom line, if the former ain’t worth the risk of the latter then so be it, but I’ma hafta ask you to leave, because once I open this door, there’s no turning back.”
He paused to give anyone who wanted to leave time to go. Instead, Chi-Chi said, “Nobody’s going anywhere. We’re a team, and our loyalty is to Te Amo and the Reyes family.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled across the room.
“‘Til death do us part,” Maria vowed.
Joey nodded, approvingly.
“Okay, I like that. So here we go. Do youse know who I am?”
A few nodded, and Marilyn remarked, “I sure wanna get to know you, cutie.”
Joey smirked.
“And you will. I’m Joey Diamonds, from New York. I’m here because some people back home don’t think I deserve what goes with that name. I’ma prove ‘em wrong. But to do that…I need your help,” he explained, pouring himself a drink. He took a sip and continued.
“Now Te Amo says you’re pretty good. Well, the people we’re goin’ against are even better. Besides that, they’ve got the whole City under their thumb. Between the five families, they’ve got half of the NYPD on the take. Now, for anybody takin’ score, they’ll make the odds pretty long, huh? But an old-timer once told me, “Sometimes being underestimated has its own odds.” I believe that, but now…we gotta prove it. If we can do that…when we do that, the City is ours.”
For the moment, no one spoke, contemplating the words. Then Bianca said, “So let me get this straight. You want us to go in wit’ you against the whole fuckin’ Mafia?”
“If that’s what it takes,” he answered dead seriously.
Bianca laughed.
“Yo, Te Amo, who the fuck is this guido?! He’s fuckin’ crazy! But you know what, I fuckin’ love crazy!” she snickered, flipping the razor with her tongue. “I’m in!”
Bianca’s remark made everyone laugh, including Joey.
“Me too! I ain’t never been to New York City,” Amanda said, purposely exaggerating her Southern drawl.
Te Amo looked at Joey and smiled.
“Looks like you got your crew. So what do we do now?”
Joey smirked and replied, “We start with the Russians.”
Mikhail “Mickey” Pavlov was one of the biggest Russian gangsters in the City. He had his hands in all of the Russian rackets and a few joint ventures with Mob families. He ran a crew out of Brighton Beach, made up of mostly Russian Jews from Moscow by way of Israel. He usually held court in a bar in Coney Island. He and Zev were there, waiting for Joey to arrive. The contrast between the two was stark. Up against Zev’s smooth looking youthfulness, Mickey wore his age with rugged gruffness. Covered in tattoos, with wisps of grey hair haloing his head, he resembled a thuggish Boris Yeltsin. A former bodybuilder, at 60 he still had his size but he also had a huge beer gut to match. With his goons spread out around the room, he and Zev sat in his favorite back booth, enjoying their favorite pastime: drinking vodka.
“Man, pretty girls in here tonight, eh?” Mickey remarked, eying the women spread out around the bar—some talking to his goons, others talking to each other.
“It’s a bar; they come for the two d’s: drinks and dick,” Zev said with a smirk.
Mickey roared with laughter.
“Very good, Zev, very good. I must remember that. Look at that one, Zev, the Black one. She is Black like Cuban, No? Have you ever fucked a Black bitch, my friend?”
Zev poured more vodka.
“Probably in Vegas.”
“I fuck them all. I am like, Russian bull. Black bitches love it,” Mickey chuckled.
Several moments later, Joey walked in. The goon by the door got off his stool and approached him. Joey raised his arms as if he were ready to be frisked. Zev called out something in Russian and the goon looked at him. He waved the goon off and waved Joey over. Joey still opened his coat to reveal that he was unarmed, then walked over to their table. Zev stood up to receive him with a firm handshake.
“It’s good to see you,” Zev greeted.
“I appreciate the opportunity to be heard,” Joey returned.
Mickey leaned back in his chair and gave Joey the once over, wearing a curious smirk.
“So this is Joey Diamonds, eh?”
“Sans the Diamonds,” Joey quipped, adding with a shrug. “I’m currently unemployed.”
Mickey chuckled and accepted Joey’s outstretched hand. His glove-like hand swallowed Joey’s, putting his hand in a Russian bear hug.
Joey sat down and Mickey waved the waitress over. She was a cute blond with a short skirt.
“Bring us another bottle of vodka, and a glass for my friend,” Mickey ordered.
“Sho’ thang,” she replied with a wink and country drawl, as she sashayed away.
The three men watched her swaying ass.
“New waitress,” Mickey remarked. “Never saw her before. When she says she come from Georgia, I get confused. I think she mean country of Georgia,” Mickey chuckled.
Joey smiled.
“They come from all over to take a bite of the Big Apple; what can I tell you. God bless America, huh?”
She brought back the bottle and sat a glass in front of Joey. Again, Mickey watched her walk away. His mind already tasted her country flesh.
“So Mr. Pavlov,” Joey began, but Mickey cut him off.
“Mickey. Call me Mickey. Any friend of Zev’s is a friend of mine.”
Joey nodded with subtle grace.
“Thank you. It’s an honor to call a man such as yourself, a friend.”
Mickey opened the new bottle, poured them all a glassful; he toasted to friendship, drank, then remarked, “I like you, Joey Diamonds, so I’m not going to waste your time…or mine. What you ask of me, I cannot do. I have a deal in place for the X, and I am a man of my word.”
“I understand, but some of the men with which you deal are…less honorable. No disrespect to your judgment, but some of these guys ain’t worth the air they breathe. Now this was my deal; you brought it to me first, but I got…cut out. So I’m cutting back in, and I’m askin’ for this dance if I can clean the dance floor, you follow?” Joey proposed, keeping steady eye contact with Mickey.
Mickey smiled at the metaphor.
“My dance card is full. So please, I hate to tell a friend no. Embarrass me no longer.”
His tone was polite, but Joey could tell he was firmly closing the door on further discussion of the matter. He had come prepared for that. Unfortunately, Mickey wasn’t prepared for Joey.
“I understand,” Joey nodded. “But hopefully, in the future, we can find common ground.”
“To the future,” Mickey toasted, downing his glass.
“Salud,” Joey seconded then did the same. “But listen, I know you guys love vodka. But me, when I celebrate, I do it with champagne and a new friendship is definitely a cause for celebration,” he added, waving the waitress over. When she got there, he said, “Listen sweetheart, you got any Dom back there? Whatever you got, bring me your best, will ya?”
Joey pulled out a wad of money, peeled off a couple of hundreds then handed them to her.
She eyed his bankroll and quipped, “For all that, you got it all…” she winked.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Joey smirked as she walked off. He turned back to Mickey and Zev. “Now listen, I’ve got this thing. It’s not official, but maybe we can work together.”
“I’m all ears,” Mickey responded.
The waitress returned, carrying a bottle of Dom and two champagne glasses by the stems. When she sat them down, she bent in front of Joey to put one of the glasses in front of Zev. Joey eyed her ass and thighs.
“You part thoroughbred or somethin’, sweetheart? You’re built like a stallion,” Joey retorted. Lustfully and without hesitation, he slid his hand up the back of her skirt. She jumped slightly, then bit her bottom lip.
“You sure you know what to do with that?” she purred.
“Watch me.”
He slid his hand out, but what was in it, Mickey never saw coming.
From the minute Joey walked in, he was set in murder mode. Looking around, he saw the girls spread out strategically around the room. He smiled to himself. When the goon approached him, he had expected to be frisked, which is why he didn’t bring a gun. He knew the meeting would be informal, not a lot of security. There was no need for it…or so the Russians thought.
Amanda had just gotten the job the day before. The owner wasn’t hiring, but it’s hard to say no to a beautiful country girl with a killer head game. She sucked the job right out of him. She was the first one Joey saw when he walked in.
But he wanted to give Mickey a chance. Always give a man a chance. Mickey blew it once the champagne was ordered. That was the cue. Amanda slipped the .380-millimeter into the waistband of her panties, grabbed the Dom and two glasses.
Two glasses.
Zev was the only one to notice. She didn’t bring three glasses; she only brought two. In the back of his mind, he asked why, but in the front of his mind—in the place where one’s attention is located—it got caught up in the facial expression Amanda made when Joey slide his hand up her skirt.
The jump was real, because Joey deftly pulled her panties aside and ran a finger up the length of her pussy and grabbed the gun. Her bent body shielded Joey from Mickey. He was caught up in the moment, too. So once Joey said, “Watch me,” and Amanda quickly pulled away, Mickey found himself fact to face with the abyss of a gun barrel.
Without hesitation, Joey pumped two slugs into Mickey’s face at close to point blank range. The first shot entered his eye and exploded through it, leaving a gaping hole. The second hit him in the forehead, dead center. Then, as Joey stood up, he pumped three more into Mickey’s head. He was dead before his body hit the floor. He didn’t even twitch.
It happened so fast, that by the time Mickey’s goons could react, the girls had their guns out ready to spark. One dude tried to go for his gun, but Maliah blew that thought all over the pool table with three shots from her 9mm. Seeing that, the rest cooperated, handing over their guns and laying on the floor.
After Joey lowered his gun, he looked at Zev. The two men eyed each other squarely. Joey put the gun down on the table, knowingly within Zev’s reach, then picked up the bottle of Dom.
“We both know that had to happen. I gave him a chance. He just went the wrong way.” Joey summed it up as he popped open the champagne. He poured Zev a flute full then himself a flute. “Now, you’re the Boss. I’ll be in touch.”
Joey took his swig straight from the bottle then turned for the door, leaving the gun on the table. Zev watched him walk out.
He had forced Zev’s hand and Zev knew it. He had used Zev to get a meeting with Mickey. Now that he lay dead on the floor, Zev was a part of it, whether he liked it or not. He had two options: go to war over Mickey or accept the crown on Joey’s team. Joey figured Zev for the latter. For one, Seth was the common denominator, and Seth already pledged his support to Joey. To go against that would be to go against his word. Besides, everybody wants to rule the world, and Joey had given him the opportunity to rule his. With one deft move, Joey had eliminated an adversary and secured an ally.
Zev mumbled to himself as he contemplated the situation. He slowly raised the flute and drank the champagne.
At the same time in Manhattan, at a restaurant in Little Italy, Louis “Bananas” Bonanno was having dinner with two of his soldiers, Mike Rizzo and Tommy Lombardi. Louis Bananas was the Capo of the Crew that ran the clubs in West Chelsea for the Gambino family. He was a Made Man that wore his Mafioso ties on his sleeve, decking himself in open collar shirts, wraparound sunglasses, and gold chains.
They were discussing business in Sicilian over linguini with clam sauce, when the waitress came over, carrying an expensive bottle of red wine.
“Excuse me, Mr. Bonanno, this is from the lady.”
Louie took the bottle and looked around the restaurant.
“What lady?” he asked.
The waitress pointed at Alicia, across the room, sitting alone. She gave him a friendly, yet flirtatious finger wave.
“She says it’ll be great with your meal,” the waitress added, then walked away.
“Shit, I bet she’ll go even better,” Louie remarked, staring hard at the Southern belle. He waved her over.
Alicia playfully pointed to herself, as if she didn’t know who he was talking to.
“Of course you,” he called, “Come over here, huh? Join us.”
She got up and crossed the room with a strut that commanded attention, especially from Louie and his soldiers. When she got to the table, Louie told Rizzo, “Hey, Rizz, what’s the matter with you? Get the lady a chair!”
Rizzo grabbed a chair from an empty table and sat it next to Louie. Alicia sat down and giggled, “Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” Louie returned, turning on what little charm he had.
“You have good taste in the grapes.”
“Well, actually it wasn’t my suggestion,” she admitted.
“No?” he said with a slight frown, “then whose?”
“Joey,” she answered simply.
“Joey?” Louie echoed, his tone getting tense. He looked at his soldiers.
“Joey Diamanti. He says it’s a peace offering for cancelling your deal with the Russians. He says there’s been a misunderstanding, but he’s willing to sit down, at your convenience.” Alicia delivered the message, word for word.
“A sit down, huh?” Louie chuckled, a sure sign that he was boiling and ready to show her why they called him Bananas. “Listen, you fuckin’ cunt, you tell that fuckin’ cock suckin’ faggot, he can suck my dick. Who the fuck does he think he is?” he barked, bringing attention to the table.
Rizzo reached to calm him down, but Louie already snapped. He grabbed Alicia by the hair and twisted it, pulling her out of the chair and to her knees. He leaned down and hissed in her face, “You’re lucky we’re in public. You tell Joey he’s a fuckin’ dead man and you…if I see your fuckin’ face again, it’ll be on a fuckin’ milk carton.”
He released her, flinging her to the ground. Unruffled, Alicia quickly gained her composure and stood up. The whole restaurant was riveted, especially Rizzo. He would never forget the look in her eyes—a look that told him they’d definitely see her again.
“Enjoy the wine,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Then she walked away.
“Fuck you and the fuckin’ wine!” Louie growled, standing up and launching the bottle at her.
It barely missed her, but Alicia didn’t look back or flinch as the bottle smashed against the exposed brick of the interior. She walked out, leaving only the tingle of the doorbell in her wake.