The Purple Don

  Joao kicked him in the guts again.

  Joey rolled in the dirt. Gritting his teeth.

  “One thing I don’t get,” he said as he caught his breath and blinked the tears of agony from his eyes, “How did you find out about Leoluca? The Prosecutor? If his real identity and position was such a tight secret…who knew to blab?”

  Joey knew he had to play for time. If he was going to get out of this alive—and it was looking increasingly like he wouldn’t—then he had to delay whatever they had planned for him long enough to at least get enough strength to make a fight of it.

  There was only one gun—that he could see—and Sophia was holding that. If she came close enough to kick it out of her hand…maybe…maybe there was…

  “Frocio!”

  Another voice from behind him. A voice he’d known his whole life.

  Vincenzo. His father.

  Vincenzo Diamanti, dressed in the chauffeur uniform he’d worn to drive Joey and Te Amo into this concrete kill zone, stepped around Joey’s frozen form.

  “Not only are you a fuckin’ Frocio but you sold out your family to Sal fuckin’ Romano. I curse the day my wife spat you out of her cunt. You have soiled my name, my reputation, and my family.”

  Joey couldn’t find words. His throat was stilled with shock now.

  “Leoluca couldn’t be more different than you Joey, except in one important respect: he’s as greedy as you,” Vincenzo explained. Pulling a small Beretta from a hip holster, he checked it, snapping the mag out and back in, and flicking off the safety with his thumb. “He went to Sal Romano and offered him the same deal for their family, as he had with his own. Like you he’d gotten too big for his boots, Joey. Must run in my genes, eh? I’m sure he’ll survive six maybe seven months in jail. We’ll just give him the idea that he’s not gonna be whacked and then…kaboom.”

  Vincenzo winced as he knelt down beside Joey, his steely eyes still those of a young buck full of spunk and raw power. The craggy face around those eyes may have given away his true age, but Joey could see in his father the thrill of the approaching kill. His lips were parted so his quickening breath could move freely, a pulse throbbed in his neck showing how his heart rate was up.

  Joey knew these feelings all too well. He was his father’s son.

  “And so, like you, Leoluca had to be dealt with. Sure it’s going to put the heat on the Diamanti name for a while, but I’ve spent the last five years making contingencies for today, Joey. You won’t see the day out, but the family you’ve dragged through the dirt will. The Reyes too. They’re here for retribution and revenge as well. Sophia’s daughter, disrespected in the most appalling fashion, and Enrico—who was like a son to Sophia—killed by your own hand. You’ve stacked up more enemies than a man could reasonably expect to outrun, son. And today is the day we’ve decided to catch up with you.”

  Vincenzo lifted the Beretta and placed it against Joey’s forehead.

  “Pop…please.”

  Vincenzo shook his head. “Don’t beg, Joey, be a man. Do something right for me. Just one thing. Be a man. It’s your very last chance.”

  Joey looked into his father’s eyes. The eyes of the man who was about to end his life. It was like looking into the face of God.

  And so he began to pray.