The Heart of an Assassin

by Tony Bertot

  “Dad, they aren’t. They’re just trying to provoke us. They haven’t tried to cross over to any of our locations. I am only saying that we need to be vigilant. That we need to send them a message by hitting some of the locations closer to them. In their own backyard,” Tony finished.

  “No, no,” interjected Clemente Marino, one of Bolnaldo’s advisors. “I say we call in some guns from Chicago before they do.”

  “Hey, Junior, what do you think?” asked the senior Bolnaldo to his son.

  Junior, the youngest of Bolnaldo’s sons, who stood about five foot seven and weighed about 175 pounds, was known for being fair-minded and logical. “I think we should go after their top lieutenants and stop wasting time hitting their joints. Hit Leo Russo, Erin Romano, or Fabio Giordano. That is what we should do. Hey, Tony what about Fazio’s daughter, Felicia? Everybody knows old man Fazio ain’t got nothing upstairs, and he don’t shit without checking with her. She’s the one we should go after,” Junior added.

  “You’re right. Felicia is the real issue,” Tony responded.

  “Let’s go after her,” Malco Lombardi interjected.

  “You guys gone nuts? You go after her and you might as well sign your own death certificates. Unless we take out her old man and Fabio first, we don’t have a chance in hell of getting away with it. In fact, the entire top tier of their organization would have to be eliminated before we can breathe easier,” remarked Bolnaldo.

  Like the Giordano family, the Costellino family was into prostitution, drugs, and the numbers rackets. They operated solely in Manhattan and the Bronx and were looking to expand into Giordano territory. They numbered over two hundred, but were not as efficiently managed as the Giordano family.

  They sat there quietly for a good five minutes, contemplating what they were planning.

  “What about their ties to the San Francisco family?” asked Clemente.

  “Don’t think they would be a problem as long as we do a thorough job,” responded Tony.

  After a few minutes, Bolnaldo slammed his open hand on the desk, getting everyone’s attention. “This needs to be done. I want Tony and Clemente to come up with a plan on how to wipe out the whole fuckin’ family. Just like in one of those old-time movies when you take out the bad guys while they’re pissing in the john. Malco, you and Junior find out exactly where in Long Island they live, get the plans to their home. Lastly, this cannot go out of this room. No one needs to know what we are planning. Understood?” Bolnaldo asked, staring at each one of them. They all nodded. They all understood. Then he added, “Tony, call Chicago and tell them we need some muscle; about five good men.”

  The Arrival

  July 6, 1964 (Pennsylvania)

  Four days later Nick, now going by the name of Tim Goldman, arrived at Lehigh International Airport, and rented a car for a one-way trip to Newark, New Jersey, where he would drop it off. Tim always travelled light, carrying only a duffel bag with enough clothes for a few days and a camera strapped around his neck. He wore a light, black jacket over a dark blue shirt, dungarees, and sneakers.

  Before dropping the car off, he phoned ahead to an old military acquaintance about purchasing some merchandise for his business. Parking the car out of sight of the store on Pacific Street and Vesey, he entered.

  “Hello, Jay,” he greeted the man behind the counter of the gun store.

  “It’s been a long time, Theo,” Jay Messina replied. They both embraced each other. Jay knew Nick by his real name and by no other.

  “I got the product you requested in the back. Hold on while I put the ‘Closed’ sign on the door,” Jay said. Nick purposely arrived at 5:00 p.m. so that it wouldn’t be suspicious if the store was closed. Nick was very meticulous about his planning.

  Jay took him in the back where, behind a makeshift wall, he had his inventory of weapons. There were all types of rifles and guns. A .38 Super Automatic with a silencer attached caught Nick’s eye.

  “Don’t see that too often,” Jay said. “It holds nine rounds, and it’s known to be quite accurate.”

  “Depends on who’s firing,” responded Nick.

  Jay laughed and said, “Guess it does.”

  “I’ll take this one with me,” he told Jay. “With nine in the chamber and fifteen rounds in a box, it’s something I can easily put in my jacket pocket.”

  Continuing to browse the merchandise, Nick grabbed a Browning 22 Semi-Automatic rifle to examine. “I like this one, but I need a scope and a silencer for it,” he told Jay.

  “A silencer?” asked Jay. “Okay, but I cannot guarantee its accuracy once I attach a silencer to it, you understand?” he told Nick.

  “No problem, Jay. How soon do you think you can have it done?” Nick asked.

  “Should have it in a few days,” he replied. With that, they shook hands and once more embraced each other.

  Placing the gun inside a shoulder holster, which Jay provided, Nick left the store, only after looking out through the side of the shade covering the front door window. After getting into the car, Nick drove to the rental site located near the Newark Airport and turned it in. From there, he took a taxi to the Newark train station, boarded a train to New York, then got off at Times Square. Finally, he walked over to the Long Island Railroad Station and boarded a train to the Hamptons.

  Help From A Stranger

  July 6-7, 1964 (Long Island, New York, 11:30 p.m.)

  Four hours later, Nick Costello was checking into the Old Hampton Inn in East Hampton as Tim Goldman. That night he exited the inn, stole a car a mile down the road, and drove to the home of Fazio Giordano. Nick had decided earlier that he didn’t want to chance picking up the information Felicia was providing at any train or bus station where there were too many watchful eyes. No, the best choice would be to go to the Hampton home and pick it up there. He should be in and out without anyone being the wiser, or so he thought.

  Parking about a quarter of a mile from their estate, he crept along the six-foot wall that surrounded the estate, until he reached a tree that overhung into their property. This is how he got in the last few times he visited the estate. Nick was familiar with the grounds and where all of the sentries would be located.

  As he moved toward the house, he noticed that there were no guards posted around the garden as was the custom. Something was wrong. Nick felt it in his gut. Moving more cautiously, he scanned the area. Finally, he spotted one of the guards lying face down on the ground, a knife sticking out of his back. Nick moved swiftly toward the back of the house while drawing his 38. As he came around to the back of the house, he spotted a couple of men prying open the back door and slipping in. Moving quietly, he picked up a rock and threw it through the back upstairs window shattering it. The noise woke up its occupant. One of the men who had entered through the back door exited and was moving in Nick’s direction. The intruder spotted Nick. At the same time Nick stood up and fired. The intruder fired back, nicking Nick in the shoulder. Nick’s shot had more success as the intruder hit the ground with a bullet through his chest. Nick moved quickly and fired another shot into his head as he moved past him, continuing into the house.

  On the balcony above, Fabio was screaming for the guards.“Joey, Sammy, where are you?” he shouted.

  Felicia had grabbed the gun by her bedside and was heading downstairs when she heard a sound coming from the living room area, to the right side of the stairs. Raising the pistol, she leaned against the wall and waited. The second intruder crept slowly in the darkness. He moved toward the light at the bottom of the steps and then stopped. She heard a gunshot; it came from outside, from where they had come in.

  Felicia heard another gunshot outside and moved down the stairs more quickly. As she approached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped, facing the wall. Pressing up against it, she reached for the light switch on the other side of the wall with her left hand.

  Suddenly, and before she could turn on the lights, she heard a muzzled sound and felt a sting to her left shoulder. The
n she heard another muzzled sound and a thump. Falling back onto the steps, she sat there with her gun aiming at the entryway.

  Nick had spotted the second intruder and fired. Nick moved swiftly into the library on his left and extracted what he came for and was out the door within fifteen seconds. As he exited the house, he spotted another man dressed in black clothes running from the house. Nick took aim and fired, hitting him in the upper-right thigh, causing the man to scream in pain. Within thirty seconds, Nick was on his way back to the Hampton Inn.

  Before returning the car to the exact spot from where he had stolen it, Nick wiped it clean and restored the wiring under the steering wheel to its original state. He returned to the inn and slipped back in unnoticed, then treated the injury on his shoulder. A couple of Band-Aids and rubbing alcohol, and he was good to go.

  Nick realized that he had made a real error when he was at the mansion. He should have stayed hidden until he was one hundred percent sure that he would not be seen. It was a stupid move. Should have kept my eye on them. I was stupid.

  The next day, dressed in a black trench coat, white shirt, and dungarees, Nick took the LIRR back to New York City.

  The Cleanup

  July 7, 1964 (Long Island, New York 12:40 a.m.)

  Fabio reached the bottom of the stairs where Felicia lay holding her left shoulder; she had been shot. He peered into the living room where he spotted someone lying on the floor. Aiming his gun at the body, Fabio approached with caution, turning on the light as he entered the room. The guy had been shot in the head, and what remained of his life lay in a pool of blood like a halo around what was left of his skull. Yeah, but this guy was no angel. Who the fuck is that, Fabio thought.

  Returning to his sister, he helped her up and moved her away toward the kitchen, still trying to figure out what the hell happened. Fabio wasn’t sure if they were safe and was being very cautious. A minute ago, he heard a muffled scream coming from outside the house but had not heard anything more since. The house was dead quiet, like the bodies invading his home and landscape. Fabio knew who ordered the hit. “But what the fuck, we should all be dead now.”

  Reaching for the phone, Fabio called Leo Russo’s home half a mile away. “Leo, get over here fast. Some guys tried to take us out, and I think they are still here,” he whispered into the phone.

  Leo immediately woke his sons, Jimmy and Encino, and a couple of associates, and raced toward Fazio’s home. As they approached the front of the estate, they spotted a man limping away from the house. They pulled up behind him and jumped out of the car. The individual turned and raised a gun. Leo fired, hitting him in the shoulder. They all ran toward the assailant, reaching him at the same time, and grabbed him before he could use the gun.

  “Bring him,” Leo ordered. Grabbing the gunman, they jumped back into the car and drove up the driveway, peering into the darkness for any other unwelcomed guests. The group got out and ran for the house, dragging their bloody friend with them. The perimeter of the house was secured while, with extreme caution, Leo entered with his guns, moving from room to room.

  “Fabio, Felicia, where are you?” Leo shouted.

  “In the kitchen,” they heard Fabio shout.

  “Where is Fazio?” asked Leo.

  “He stayed in Brooklyn last night,” responded Fabio.

  “Jimmy, get a few guys out to Brooklyn. Call ahead and tell them what happened,” Leo ordered.

  Encino, Leo’s oldest son, remained outside to check the grounds and reported that both guards, Sammy and Joey, were dead. Additionally, there was another corpse out there whom he didn’t know.

  “What... who... show me the fuckin’ bastard. He’s probably lucky he is dead,” Fabio said.

  They all went outside to examine the guy. “Looks like he was shot twice,” Leo stated. “Encino, hurry and get all of these bodies out of here, just in case anyone heard the gunshots and called the police. Find the car they came in and dump them in it, then drive it to the Costellino’s. Let the family find it and think about whether they should be kissing their asses good-bye,” Leo ordered.

  “I’ll take care of it, boss,” Encino replied.

  They all went back into the house to check on how Felicia was doing. They found her sitting in the library, sipping a glass of wine as one of the men tended to her shoulder. Fabio described the scene outside to her.

  “So who shot all these bastards?” asked Felicia.

  “I thought you did, little sister!” said Fabio.

  “No, not me. I never got off a shot, before getting hit,” she replied.

  “Who then?” asked Leo.

  “Maybe Sammy, or Joey got off a few shots before they got hit,” interjected Fabio.

  “Don’t think it was possible. They were found pretty far from the house,” responded Leo.

  “Why don’t we ask our friend here,” Leo suggested, pointing to the thug they brought in from outside. It turned out his name was Joseph Ricci, and he was in from Chicago.

  Felicia stood up and looked down at Joseph Ricci, who was lying on the floor. Felicia could tell he was nervous, probably an amateur at this. “Now, you listen up. I can tell you are Italian, and I don’t believe in shooting our own people. So here is what we are going to do. We are going to tell everyone that you ran from the scene like a coward. Let’s see how they greet you in Chicago,” Felicia told him. “Of course, if you give us all the information we want we’ll let you go and you fend for yourself. Anyone asks, we simply say we killed all three of you. So how about it” Felicia asked him.

  “How do I know you aren’t lying to me?” he asked her.

  “You don’t,” Felicia responded. “But we haven’t got anything to lose. Think about it.” She responded.

  Joe knew a no-brainer when he heard one. He would be dead within a week if they found out he ran. “Okay, okay. . . I’ll tell you everything. But, but you got to get me out of the state,” he said. If the Costellinos caught him, death would be the least of his problems.

  Felicia, looking him straight in the eye, said, “No, you get the fuck out of the state on your own. We’ll provide you with a car, and where you go, I really don’t care. But you do as we ask and then you disappear. You understand?”

  “Sure, sure, I understand,” responded Joe.

  “Leo, go and see if you can catch up with Encino. Tell him to bring that car to the front of the house,” Felicia said.

  “Yes, Ms. Giordano,” he responded. Joe could see that she had a lot of power and that she must really be the head of the family.

  Felicia had him call Bolnaldo Costellino, pretending to be one of the other hit men, and told him that the job had been done, and that not only was both Felicia and Fabio dead, but they also got John De Luca.

  “Pick him up,” she ordered.

  They picked up Ricci and carried him toward the car now sitting in front of the house. He turned to Felicia and said, “Thank you.”

  Felicia raised a gun, which Leo had handed her, put a bullet in Joseph Ricci’s head and responded, “You’re welcome.”

  “Encino, on second thought, forget about dumping the car where they can find it. We want it dumped in some secluded spot, like Jersey. We don’t want anyone finding the car for a long time, and nobody in Jersey gives a fuck if there’s nothing in it for them,” Leo told him.

  Encino drove away with all three bodies stuffed in the trunk of the car, followed by one of Leo’s sons in another car.

  Going back into the house, they discussed what had happened and what their next move should be.

  They sat there quietly thinking about what had occurred when the phone rang. Leo picked it up. “Hello, who is this?” he said into the phone. “What ? When? We’ll be right there!” Leo shouted. Hanging up the phone, he looked to Felicia and then to Fabio. “Your father has been shot. He’s. . . he’s dead,” he said as tears welled up in his eyes, as they slowly filled with hatred and revenge.

  Fabio was already moving with thoughts of Costellino bl
ood paving the streets of Manhattan. Felicia stood transfixed, eyes hardening into a deadly stare. Death would be a prayer that would be answered slowly and sweetly.

  A New Neighbor

  July 7, 1964 (New York)

  From a distance, “Chapel of Love” played from an open window of one of the six-story tenement buildings that lined both sides of the street. It was a hot summer afternoon in upper Manhattan, and it was the bottom of the ninth inning. Eleven-year-old Charlie McNally was up. Charlie was their best hitter, so Tyler moved back, going deep.

  Charlie let the first pitch go by. “What’sa matter, Charlie, you afraid of the ball?” shouted Jimmy Johnson from the third base fire hydrant.

  The Mustang parked on the right-hand side of the street was first base and the hubcap in the center was second. The Yankee Streeter’s were losing 4-3 to the Sidewalk Mets with two outs and Rick Thompson on second.

  This was the pitch, as ten-year-old Davie Costanzo let the ball go. Charlie took a full swing but only nicked the bottom of the ball, causing it to pop up high. Tyler looked up and saw it heading his way. Everyone began to shout to Tyler to move back.

  This was it. He was going to be the hero. Easy catch, easy out, thought Tyler as he moved back slightly and extended his glove to meet the ball.

  The ball started to descend toward Tyler’s glove. Tyler extended as far as he could to meet the oncoming ball when suddenly a hand stuck out in front of him and caught the ball just above Tyler’s glove. “Hey! What the hell!” shouted Tyler.

  He turned to see a tall stranger wearing a black trench coat and dark glasses smiling down at him. “Sorry, son, but it was going to hit me,” replied the stranger.

  “Interference!” shouted Jimmy.