Mafia Prince: Inside America's Most Violent Crime Family

by Phil Leonetti

  Within a few days of Bruno’s killing, Caponigro was called to a meeting inside a dingy social club in New York City’s Greenwich Village that served as the primary headquarters of the Genovese crime family

  Caponigro thought he was being called to the sit-down to be named the new boss of the Philadelphia mob, and, once again, Tony Bananas thought wrong.

  Joining the 67-year-old Caponigro on this fateful trip was his 64-year-old brother-in-law Alfred “Freddie” Salerno, who was made to wait at the bar of a nearby Italian restaurant, as Caponigro was ushered into a private meeting with the hierarchy of the Genovese crime family, which included the cigar chomping Anthony “Fat Tony” Salerno, the treacherous Frank “Funzi” Tieri, the underworld power broker Bobby Manna, and the supreme leader of the Genovese crime family himself, Vincent “The Chin” Gigante.

  Bobby Manna told me and my uncle what happened next: So Caponigro is called in and he sits down in a chair and faces Fat Tony, Tieri, Bobby Manna, and the Chin, who are seated across from him behind a table. So the Chin says, “We’re here to find out who gave you permission to whack out your boss, Angelo Bruno. Can you tell us?” So Caponigro looks at Tieri, and Tieri looks back at him stone-faced. So Caponigro says, “Funzi told me I had the okay, that the Commission approved the hit.” So the Chin says, “Frank, what’s he talking about?” And Tieri looks at Caponigro and says, “I told you to straighten it out, not to kill him.”

  Sensing he had been double-crossed, Caponigro began pleading for his life with the men, but was already being beaten by Genovese enforcers, who had suddenly appeared in the room.

  At the direction of Vincent “The Chin” Gigante, Caponigro was brutally and unmercifully tortured, sodomized, and murdered, sending a powerful message to the entire United States underworld that the unsanctioned killing of a boss would not be tolerated, certainly not by the likes of Vincent “The Chin” Gigante, who was now in prime position to be the head of the Commission.

  As Caponigro’s corpse lay dead in the clubhouse basement, several Genovese enforcers walked a few blocks to a nondescript Little Italy café to retrieve Caponigro’s brother-in-law, Alfred “Freddie” Salerno, under the ruse that Tony Bananas had asked them to come and get him.

  When the men arrived they discovered that Salerno was conversing with a man at the bar that one of them mistakenly believed was Nicky Scarfo and another man, whose identity they did not know. With the knowledge of what had just happened to Caponigro and what was about to happen to Salerno, one of the would-be Genovese hit men told the man they believed to be Scarfo and his companion to wait at the bar for Caponigro and Salerno to return.

  The men walked Freddie Salerno into the prearranged death trap. Salerno, like Caponigro, never saw it coming. He too was brutally beaten, tortured, sodomized, and murdered, his corpse left to rot next to Caponigro’s.

  When the Genovese death squad reported back to Gigante, Manna, and the others that Caponigro and Salerno were dead, one of them mentioned that they believed Nicky Scarfo was sitting at a bar around the corner with another guy they didn’t recognize.

  Manna immediately ordered the men to go back to the bar and bring the two men to the Genovese clubhouse, as he knew that his men were mistaken.

  The man at the bar was not Nicky Scarfo, it was John Stanfa, the young Sicilian-born mob associate who had driven Angelo Bruno home on the night that he was killed, and the man he was with was longtime Bruno mob captain Frank “the Barracuda” Sindone.

  When the men returned to the bar moments later, Stanfa and Sindone were gone.

  The next day after they killed Caponigro in New York, Blackie Napoli comes down to Atlantic City and tells us, “Tony’s dead, his brother-in-law Freddie, too.” He then says to my uncle, “Bobby wants to see you and Phil Testa in New York tomorrow.”

  Now with Caponigro dead, Blackie is the top guy in North Jersey. He was one of the guys in Yardville with my uncle and Bobby Manna. Blackie told me and my uncle that he is the one who gave Caponigro the shotgun that he used to kill Ange.

  So my uncle calls for Salvie to come down from Philadelphia and he tells him, “Tell your dad, me and him gotta take a drive tomorrow.”

  Now me, my uncle, and Lawrence are still restricted, meaning we can’t leave Atlantic County because of our bail in the Falcone case.

  So my uncle says to me, “Find a way I can sneak out of here tomorrow through one of the back alleys and I will meet Phil Testa and Salvie a couple blocks away.” Salvie was gonna drive his dad and my uncle to New York.

  My uncle says, “Park the car right in front of the office on Georgia Avenue and I want you to stay outside all day in front of the office.”

  He’s saying this because he wants me to attract the attention of the detectives that would watch us, so that he could sneak away, and then sneak back without getting caught.

  The Scarfo compound on Georgia Avenue backed up to a maze of alleys and terraces that went in many different directions.

  If you knew your way around back there, you could go a few blocks without anyone seeing you. It was perfect for us when we were trying to avoid the law.

  So my uncle and Phil Testa go up to New York and meet the same group that killed Caponigro. It’s basically the same setup, except this time the Chin tells Phil Testa that the Commission has decided that he is now the boss of the Philadelphia mob and that the Commission wants him to name my uncle either underboss or consigliere, and that the Commission wants anyone and everyone involved in Ange’s death to be identified and killed. He also tells him that Blackie Napoli is to remain as boss of the family’s North Jersey operation.

  Now what Phil Testa doesn’t know, but my uncle does, is that the main reason Ange is dead and now Caponigro, too, are the four guys sitting across from him in this room. They set it all up and now they want everyone who had a hand in it to be killed. That’s how treacherous they were. But to them this was all about money and power, it was business and nothing personal.

  The bodies of Antonio “Tony Bananas” Caponigro and Alfred “Freddie” Salerno were found stuffed in the trunk of a car on a deserted street in the South Bronx.

  Their mutilated bodies had $5 bills stuffed in their mouths and in their anuses, a message from their killers that the men had become greedy.

  A few days later Phil Testa called a meeting for the upper brass of the Philadelphia mob in a back room at Virgilio’s, the popular Old City restaurant that he owned, which also served as his headquarters.

  In attendance were longtime reputed South Philadelphia Bruno mob captains Santo “Big Santo” Idone, Joseph “Joe” Scafidi, Alfred “Freddie” Iezzi, John “Johnny” Cappello, and the newly appointed boss of the family’s North Jersey operation, Ralph “Blackie” Napoli.

  Nicodemo “Little Nicky” Scarfo, the boss of the family’s Atlantic City operation, was also in attendance, having successfully avoided detection as he snuck out of Atlantic City, despite his bail restriction.

  Scarfo would arrive at the meeting with his longtime pal, Louis “Bobby” Manna, the Genovese family consigliere and mob power broker who had played a significant behind-the-scenes role in the deaths of both Bruno and Caponigro.

  Manna’s attendance was designed to both legitimize Testa as the family’s new boss and to solidify the relationship between the new Bruno family leadership and the Genovese crime family, which Manna represented.

  At the meeting, Phil Testa announced that Pete Casella would serve as underboss and that Nicky Scarfo would serve as consigliere.

  Now my uncle doesn’t say anything, but he was expecting to be underboss, not consigliere. Pete Casella was an old-time guy who was around Ange who had recently gotten out jail for dealing drugs. My uncle never fooled with drugs; the rules of La Cosa Nostra forbid it. Now we have a drug dealer as our underboss. The best way I can describe it is when John McCain picked, what’s her name, Sarah Palin, to be his running mate in the 2008 Presidential election. Pete Casella as underboss? It had everybody scratchin�
�� their heads, me and my uncle were stunned, but there was nothing we could do. In La Cosa Nostra, the boss is the boss.

  The once-stable Bruno crime family was off to a rocky start with new boss, Philip “Chicken Man” Testa, at the helm.

  Almost immediately after he becomes the boss, true to his word, Phil Testa sends word to my uncle that he wants to make me, Salvie, Chuckie, and Lawrence—formally induct us into La Cosa Nostra.

  He knows that we have the Falcone trial coming up in a couple of months and he tells my uncle, “If, God forbid, you don’t win, I want these kids”—meaning me and Lawrence—“to be able to go to jail as men,” meaning as made members.

  Being initiated into La Cosa Nostra was the dream of every knock-around guy, every wannabe wise guy.

  For Philip Leonetti, it was about to become a reality.

  Blood Oath

  PHILIP LEONETTI HAD ALL THE BONA FIDES NECESSARY TO BECOME A MADE MAN, A FULLY INITIATED MEMBER OF LA COSA NOSTRA, THE SECRET SOCIETY THAT LUCKY LUCIANO AND HIS FRIENDS HAD STARTED IN 1929.

  He was a two-time killer who had personally ended the lives of a wayward hustler named Louie DeMarco, in 1976, and of a disobedient mob associate named Vincent Falcone in 1979.

  He had been involved in the planning of two more mob murders: the 1977 murder of Pepe Leva and the 1978 killing of Municipal Court Judge Edwin Helfant.

  He was the nephew and constant companion of Nicodemo “Little Nicky” Scarfo, the newly appointed consigliere of the Philadelphia mob and one of the most feared gangsters on the entire East Coast.

  He had rubbed shoulders with men like Angelo Bruno and Antonio “Tony Bananas” Caponigro, both now deceased, and had maintained long relationships with their successors, Philip “Chicken Man” Testa and Ralph “Blackie” Napoli.

  He was feared and respected on the streets of Atlantic City and South Philadelphia. He was known to the men in North Jersey and in the social clubs in Little Italy.

  He was a “good kid” in the eyes of Bobby Manna, the powerful Genovese family consigliere, and, most importantly, his bloodlines were pure: he was 100-percent Italian.

  He was only 27 years old.

  It was June 8, 1980, a few months after Ange got killed and Phil Testa became the boss. The Falcone trial was less than two months away. One day my uncle takes me, Chuckie, and Lawrence to Scannicchio’s for lunch.

  While we were eating he tells us, “Tomorrow’s gonna be your day for this,” and he rubs his index finger and his thumb together, meaning the button. He tells us, “Don’t be nervous, everything’s gonna go nice and smooth.”

  So the next morning we were up early, showered and shaved and wearing our best suits. The night before I had borrowed a car from a friend and parked it a few blocks away. We left the Cadillac in front of the office on Georgia Avenue. So me, my uncle, and Lawrence sneak out the back of Georgia Avenue through the alleys and we make it to the car that I had parked on Texas Avenue.

  As we’re driving, my uncle tells us the ceremony is going to be at a house in South Philadelphia belonging to Pete Casella’s brother-in-law Johnny Cappello. I’m driving, my uncle’s in the passenger’s seat and Lawrence is in the back. We had to pick up Chuckie, and then head to Johnny Cappello’s house. As we’re driving, my uncle is telling us all about the ceremony and what to expect. Because this was a clean car, we felt comfortable talking in it.

  Now it’s summertime and it’s scorching hot out and my uncle doesn’t like air conditioning because it bothers his allergies. So we’re driving, and me and Lawrence are dying with the heat while he’s talking. He’s as cool as a cucumber, but we are melting. I catch Lawrence’s eyes a few times in the backseat and we gave each other the look, but we can’t say nothing.

  So we pick up Chuckie and we head over to Johnny Cappello’s house. People were arriving as we were. Blackie Napoli and Patty “Specs” Martirano were there from North Jersey. Sindone was there with Chick Ciancaglini. Pete Casella was there. Santo Idone was there. Freddie Iezzi, Chickie Narducci, and his son Frank were there. Coo Coo Johnny Grande was there with his son Salvatore, whom we all called Wayne. Frank Monte was there. The Blonde Babe was there. Even my great uncles, the Piccolo Brothers. I can’t even remember everyone else, but the house was packed. The whole organization was there, the whole mob. When we walk in everyone is hugging and kissing us—me, my uncle, Chuckie, and Lawrence. Then Phil Testa and Salvie arrived, and the ceremony begins.

  Phil Testa starts off by introducing the guys who were getting made to everyone in the room. It was me, Chuckie, Lawrence, Salvie, Frankie Narducci Jr., Wayne Grande, Pete Casella’s brother Anthony, Bobby Lumio, and the Blonde Babe, old man Pungitore who were getting made that day.

  They then put all of us into a room in the house away from the group and a few minutes later the person who is sponsoring you comes to the room and gets you and brings you back to the group.

  Now before the ceremony started, the house was like a big party: everyone was carrying on and it was very loud. But now you can hear a pin drop.

  When it was my turn, my uncle came back and got me and walked me into the room. Everyone was standing around a big table and Philip Testa was at the head of the table. On the table was a knife and a gun. On one side of Phil Testa was Pete Casella, the underboss, and on the other was my uncle, the consigliere.

  Phil Testa said, “Philip, do you know why you are here?” And I said, “No I don’t,” and the whole room erupts in laughter. Of course, I knew why I was there, but you were supposed to say that you didn’t. It was like a running joke. He said, “These men at this table, do you know who they are and why they are here?” I said, “Yes, I do.” He said, “Do you have any problems with any of the men in this room, or know of any reason why you should not be here today?” I said, “No I do not.” He said, “Would you like to join this thing of ours?” I said, “Yes, I would.” And he asked me to step forward, closer to the table.

  He pointed to the knife and the gun and he said, “Would you use these to protect your friends?” and I said, “Yes, I would.” He said, “Would you place this brotherhood before everything that you love in your life?” I said, “Yes, I would.” He said, “If you had a wife or a child and they were on their deathbed and we needed you, would you leave them and join us?” I said, “Yes I would.”

  Phil Testa then said something in Italian and the men in the room formed a circle and held hands. He instructed me to go around the room and greet everyone. So I went around the table and shook hands and kissed each man on both cheeks. When I got to the head of the table, I kissed my uncle, and then I kissed Phil Testa. My uncle used the pin from a small gold tie clip to prick my trigger finger, and then he told me to cup my hands. He had a small piece of paper with a picture of a saint on it, and he lit the paper on fire and placed it in my hands.

  Phil Testa told me to repeat after him, and he said, “May I burn like this saint if I betray my friends,” and he told me to keep saying it and saying it until the flame burned out.

  Then he told me to go back around the room and greet the men like I did earlier, only this time when I made it around the table and got back to Phil Testa, the circle broke and Phil Testa said something in Italian with the words amici and La Cosa Nostra, which meant “friend” and “this thing of ours,” and then he took my hand and the circle was formed again, but now I was a part of it. I was a made man.

  The ceremony was repeated for each of the remaining proposed members, and then Phil Testa addressed the group and the men toasted one another with glasses of homemade red wine, which was meant to symbolize blood in the same way that it is used in the Catholic Church.

  Then the house full of men feasted on a giant spread of Italian food.

  The celebration for three of those men—Nicky Scarfo, Philip Leonetti, and Lawrence Merlino—had a dark cloud over it. It was their upcoming trial for the December 16, 1979, murder of Vincent Falcone. If they were convicted, they could spend the rest of their lives in prison.


  Thank God for the

  American Jury System

  From the moment we got arrested on the Falcone murder, my uncle was working on ways to beat the case. The first thing we did was put together our defense team.

  Harold Garber, who was around us and was very close with my uncle, would represent my uncle in the trial. I used Edwin Jacobs, and Lawrence used a Philadelphia lawyer named Bobby Simone. Bobby made a name for himself representing a lot of made guys in Philadelphia, and him and my uncle had become friendly.

  Jury selection was set to begin in early September 1980. I had moved into the Claridge Hotel and Casino during the trial so that I wouldn’t be distracted. This trial meant everything to us; it was literally life or death for us.

  The State of New Jersey v. Nicodemo Scarfo, et al., got underway in the Atlantic County Courthouse on Main Street in Mays Landing, approximately 15 miles away from Atlantic City.

  The prosecutor was a man named Jeffrey Blitz, and we knew he hated us. The judge was a man named William Miller, and they had brought him in from another county to try the case. In the beginning of the case, the judge granted a motion by one of the television stations that would have allowed the trial to be broadcast live on television each day. At the time this was unheard of. That’s how big this trial was.

  I remember pulling up the first day of the trial. We were in my uncle’s Cadillac. A man named Ed Harrell who worked for Bobby Simone as a private investigator was driving the car and Bobby was in the front seat. Ed was an absolute gentleman. He was a black guy and had been involved with Martin Luther King Jr. in the ’60s. How he ended up with Bobby, or with me, my uncle and Lawrence, I’ll never know.

  As we’re pulling up, there were news cameras and reporters everywhere. My uncle said, “Jesus Christ, Bobby, are they here for us?”and Bobby said, “I’m afraid so.”

  Ed dropped us off in the front of the courthouse, and we walked through the crowd. Bobby was saying, “No comment,” as we pushed our way through. Inside, we met Harold Garber and Ed Jacobs.