The Insane Life of Anthony “Gaspipe” Casso: The Man Who Hunted Informants ht

 

It started on the Brooklyn waterfront. A long shoreman’s son raised in the shadow of the docks, learning early that power belonged to the men who could enforce it. His name was Anthony Casso. By the 1980s, he was the underboss of the Lucay’s crime family, ordering murders, arranging bombings, and corrupting police detectives sworn to stop him.

 He hunted informants without mercy until the day he became one. This is the story of how fear built his empire and how betrayal brought it down. Anthony Salvatore Casso was born on May the 21st, 1942 in South Brooklyn, New York City. The youngest of three children born to Michael and Margaret Casso, whose maiden name was Kquelloo.

His grandparents had arrived in America from the Campia region of Italy in the 1890s, part of the great wave of southern Italian immigration that reshaped neighborhoods along the east coast. By the time Anthony was born, the family was settled into the tight workingclass blocks near the docks, where long shoremen worked hard days and children learned early which men carried influence.

 Caso’s father, Michael, earned his living as a long shoreman on the Brooklyn waterfront. It was demanding work, physical and unforgiving. The docks were controlled in large part by organized crime, and influence often meant survival. Michael had a criminal record for burglaries dating back to the 1940s, though he also worked steady shifts to support his family.

 According to later accounts, he urged his son to avoid the life that hovered around the peers. Anthony grew up in that environment, close enough to the power structure of organized crime, to see how it functioned. His godfather was Salvatore Calimbrano, a maid member and kappa regime in the Genevese crime family.

 In that world, a godfather was more than a ceremonial role. It signaled proximity to authority. It meant access. It meant expectations. As a teenager, Casso developed a reputation for violence. He dropped out of school at 16 and joined his father working as a long shoreman. But the docks were only part of his education. on rooftops in South Brooklyn.

 He and his friends set up makeshift shooting ranges. Casso became known as a crackshot with a pistol. He also made small amounts of money shooting predatory hawks for pigeon keepers who paid to protect their birds. Firearms were not a hobby, they were practice. He gravitated toward the South Brooklyn Boys, a local street gang known for its aggression.

 The gang culture of the late 1950s in Brooklyn revolved around territorial disputes, street fights, and proving loyalty through violence. In 1958, Casso was arrested after participating in a rumble against a rival Irish American gang. It was his first documented arrest. According to later accounts he gave to biographer Philip Carlo, his father visited him at the police station after that arrest and tried to frighten him into changing direction. The warning did not land.

 The streets had already begun shaping him. By the end of the 1950s, Anthony Casso was no longer a kid watching from the edge of the waterfront. He was part of a generation coming up fast, already comfortable with fists, guns, and the idea that power came from fear. The docks, the gangs, the family connections, they were not separate threads. They were the foundation.

By the late 1950s, Anthony Casso was no longer drifting around the edges of trouble. He was moving towards something organized. After his 1958 arrest in a gang fight, his name began circulating in neighborhoods where reputations mattered. Violence, when controlled and directed, had value in the mafia.

 It did not take long for him to draw the attention of Christopher Christy Tick Fernari, a rising cap regime in the Lucay’s crime family who ran the powerful 19th hole crew in Brooklyn. Fernari saw something useful in Casso. He was young, disciplined, and comfortable with intimidation. Under Fenar’s supervision, Casso began running a small lone sharking operation.

 The business was simple in structure and brutal in enforcement. Money went out at steep interest rates. Payments were expected on time. If they were late, Casso handled it personally. He also served as muscle for Fernar’s gambling and narcotics rackets. By the early 1960s, the Lucay’s family had significant interests in bookmaking and drug distribution, even as some bosses publicly denied involvement in narcotics.

Casso operated at street level, collecting debts, delivering threats, and building a reputation for reliability. In that world, reliability meant you followed orders without hesitation. In 1961, he was arrested for attempted murder. The case had the potential to derail everything. But the alleged victim refused to identify him in court.

Without a cooperating witness, prosecutors had little to work with. Casso was acquitted. That pattern would repeat itself. Between the mid 1960s and the 1970s, Casso was arrested multiple times on state and federal charges, including assault with a gun and heroin trafficking. Each time, the cases collapsed. Witnesses refused to testify.

Statements were withdrawn. Evidence weakened. Whether it was fear, influence, or silence imposed by the code of the street, the result was the same. No convictions. Each arrest, instead of pushing him away from organized crime, hardened his standing within it. Surviving charges without prison time, sent a message.

 He could operate under pressure. He could keep his mouth shut. He could be trusted. By the early 1970s, Anthony Casso was no longer simply a violent kid from South Brooklyn. He was a dependable earner and enforcer under Christopher Fenari, moving steadily toward formal induction into the Leesi crime family. The foundation had been laid.

In 1974, Anthony Casso reached a milestone that changed his position in the underworld permanently. At 32 years old, he was formally inducted as a maidman in the Lucesi crime family. The ceremony bound him by oath to Losa Nostra, placing him inside an organization that rewarded loyalty and punished betrayal with finality.

 He was assigned to the crew of Vincent Faceri which operated out of 116th Street in Manhattan and from 14th Avenue in Brooklyn. The promotion was not ceremonial. It meant protection, status, and direct access to larger criminal operations. Around this time, Caso deepened his relationship with another ambitious Lucesi member, Victor Amuso.

 The two men shared similar temperaments and similar ambitions. Their partnership would last nearly two decades and reshape the power structure of the family. Together, they committed a range of crimes, including drug trafficking, burglary, and murder, building reputations as both earners and enforcers.

 Their success brought them back under the authority of Christopher Fenari, who ran the influential 19th hole crew in Brooklyn. Within that crew, Caso and Amuso led a sophisticated burglary operation known as the Bypass Gang. The Bypass Gang was not a street level smash and grabb outfit. It was organized and technical. The ring included expert locksmiths, safe crackers, and specialists in defeating security alarm systems.

 They targeted safety deposit boxes and commercial vaults across New York City and Long Island. According to law enforcement estimates, the group stole more than $100 million during the 1970s and 1980s. The scale of the operation made it one of the most lucrative burglary enterprises in the region. It also demonstrated something important about Casso. He was not operating on impulse.

He understood structure, delegation, and profit. When Fernari was later promoted to act as the Lucay’s family’s concigliera, he considered naming Caso as his successor to lead the 19th whole crew. Caso declined the promotion and instead suggested that Victor Amuso be elevated. Caso then became Amuso’s trusted right hand.

 It was a strategic decision. Power shared between two loyal partners could be more stable than power claimed alone. By the early 1980s, Anthony Casso had moved far beyond the docks of South Brooklyn. He was a made man with influence, commanding a burglary ring that generated millions and operating alongside a partner who would soon rise even higher.

The groundwork for the next phase of his career was already in place. By December 1985, the balance of power in New York’s mafia families was already fragile. Paul Castellano, the boss of the Gambino crime family, had grown increasingly isolated. On December 16th, 1985, as he arrived at Spark Steakhouse in Manhattan, gunmen stepped forward and shot him to death.

 The killing had been organized by Gambino Captain John Goty, who believed Castellano’s leadership was weak and damaging to the family. The assassination was carried out without approval from the commission, the governing body that regulated disputes and sanctioned executions among the five families.

 In the world Caso operated in, killing a boss without permission was a direct challenge to the structure that kept the underworld stable. According to Caso’s later accounts, he had been approached beforehand by Gambino Kappo regime Frank Diko, who was involved in the conspiracy. DO sought support from other families as the commission trial loomed over New York’s leadership.

 Caso later said he warned that murdering a boss without commission approval would trigger consequences. The warning did not stop the plan. Castellano was killed and Goti quickly took control of the Gambino family. Luces boss Anthony Carllo and Genevese boss Vincent Gigante viewed the act as a violation that required retaliation.

They authorized a plan to eliminate Goti Diko and others involved in the Castellano murder. Victor Amuzo and Anthony Caso were selected to oversee the operation. They were instructed to use a carb bomb and attempt to shift suspicion towards Sicilian mobsters known as zips who had a reputation for using explosives.

Car bombs were rarely used by New York families because of the risk of collateral damage. That restriction did not apply here. Through Gambino Captain Daniel Marino, who acted as an inside source, Casso and Amuso learned that Goti was scheduled to attend a meeting at the Veterans and Friends Social Club in Brooklyn on April 13th, 1986.

The target vehicle was a Buick Electra used by Gambino under boss Frank Dicko. An unaffiliated crew was used to plant the explosives. The plan depended on timing. On the day of the meeting, John Goty canled at the last minute. Diko arrived without him. When the bomb detonated, it killed Dicko and injured another man who had been mistaken for Goty.

 The intended target walked away untouched. The failed bombing did more than eliminate Dcho. It deepened mistrust among the families and intensified scrutiny from law enforcement. It also demonstrated how quickly strategic calculations could collapse into chaos. For Caso and Amuso, the message was clear. The old rules were weakening.

 Retaliation had been attempted. The target survived, and the consequences were still coming. By late 1986, the old guard of the Lucay’s crime family understood what was coming. The mafia commission trial was underway in federal court, targeting the leadership of New York’s five families. Wiretaps and surveillance had captured conversations that prosecutors intended to use to dismantle decades of organized control.

Anthony Carllo, the longtime boss of the Lucazi family, recognized that a conviction was likely and that he would spend the rest of his life in prison. Before that happened, he made arrangements. In November 1986, Coralo summoned Victor Amuso and Anthony Casso to a meeting at the Staten Island home of Christopher Fenari.

 Carllo wanted a seamless transfer of power, something the Lucesi family had managed for half a century. He initially offered the position of boss to Casso. Caso declined and suggested that Amuzo be elevated instead. It was a calculated decision that reinforced their partnership. In January 1987, after Carllo was sentenced to 100 years in prison, Amuzo formally assumed control of the Lu’s family.

 Caso was named consiglier, stepping into Fenari’s former advisory role. Two years later, in 1989, when under boss Mariano Maluso retired, Caso moved into that position. The structure was set. Amuzo at the top, Casso at his side. Under their leadership, the family’s rackets generated significant revenue. They oversaw extortion schemes involving Long Island carting and delivery companies, bringing in between $15,000 and $20,000 per month.

 They collected approximately $75,000 per month in kickbacks from eight air freight carriers operating in the New York area. Payments made in exchange for avoiding labor disputes. Unlicensed video gaming machines installed in connected businesses produced roughly $20,000 per week. A major family-owned concrete supplier delivered an additional $245,000 annually.

 The garment district protection rackets added more than $200,000 per year alongside cuts from crimes committed by the family soldiers. Joint ventures with other families also produced large payouts. In one instance, Caso and Amuso split $800,000 from the Columbbo family for assistance in stealing steel from a construction site along Manhattan’s Westside Highway.

 In another deal, they received $600,000 from the Gambino family for allowing the takeover of a Lucesy protected contractor on a Coney Island housing project. Casso also exerted control over Greek American crime figure George Calicatus, who paid him $683,000 in 1990 alone for protection covering lone sharking, gambling, and extortion operations in Atoria, Queens.

 Money flowed upward. Loyalty was expected downward. By the end of the 1980s, Victor Amuso and Anthony Casso controlled one of the most profitable criminal organizations in New York City. The commission trial had reshaped the hierarchy of organized crime. But inside the Lucesi family, authority appeared stable.

 Behind that stability, pressure was building. By 1986, Anthony Casso’s reach extended beyond the traditional Italian neighborhoods of Brooklyn and Queens. Brighton Beach had become home to a growing Russian immigrant underworld. And where there was money moving in volume, there was opportunity. One of the most powerful figures in that community was Merritt Balagula, a Russian-born gasoline bootleger running a multi-billion dollar fuel tax evasion scheme.

 His operation generated enormous profits by avoiding federal and state fuel taxes, and it quickly attracted attention from New York’s established crime families. Beligula found himself under pressure from multiple sides. Columbbo family Kappa regime Michael Franizi had begun shaking down members of Balagula’s crew. To stabilize the situation, Balagula approached Christopher Farari and requested a sit down at the headquarters of the Lucay family’s 19th whole crew in Brooklyn.

According to later accounts, Fenari proposed a structured arrangement. Balagula and his people would operate under Lucesi protection. In return, the family would receive a share of the profits. The agreement ensured that other Italian families would respect the territory. Anthony Casso became the point man.

 The alliance was profitable for both sides. Street tax from Balagula’s gasoline operation became one of the most significant earners for the five families during a period when drug trafficking was under intense law enforcement scrutiny. The Russians gained protection. The Italians gained revenue and influence inside Brighton Beach.

 Then violence disrupted the arrangement. Balagulla’s rival, Vladimir Resnikov, another Russian immigrant, decided to challenge him directly. Resnikov drove to Balagulla’s office in the Midwood section of Brooklyn and opened fire with an AK47. One of Balagula’s associates was killed and several secretaries were wounded. The attack was direct and public.

 On June 12th, 1986, Resnikov escalated further. He entered the Rasputin nightclub in Brighton Beach, approached Balagula, pressed a 9mm Beretta to his head, and demanded $600,000 in exchange for his life. He also demanded a percentage of Balagula’s business and threatened his family. Shortly after the confrontation, Balagula suffered a massive heart attack.

 He insisted on being treated at his home in Brighton Beach, believing it would be harder for Resnikov to reach him there. When Casso arrived and heard the full account, he viewed the attack as more than a dispute between Russian criminals. In his view, Resnikov had defied an arrangement sanctioned by the Lucesi family.

 Casso told Balagula to send word that the money was ready and that Resnikov should return to the nightclub the next day. After receiving Christopher Fernari’s permission, Casso and Victor Amuso authorized the killing. The following day, Resnikov arrived at the Rasputin nightclub expecting payment. When he realized Balagula was not present, he became angry and stormed into the parking lot.

 There, Deo crew veteran Joseph Tester approached him from behind and shot him dead. Anthony Center waited nearby as the getaway driver. The message traveled quickly through Brighton Beach. After Resnikov’s murder, Balagula’s positions stabilized. According to Caso’s later account, there were no further challenges from rival Russians.

 The alliance between the Lucay’s family and elements of the Russian underworld had been enforced with finality. For Casso, it was another demonstration of how organized crime expanded, not through speeches, through enforcement. By 1988, the Lucay’s family was operating under new leadership and the tone at the top had shifted.

 Paul Vario, a longtime Kappo regime whose crew operated in Brooklyn, died in federal prison that year. His passing created an opening. Victor Amuso and Anthony Casso promoted Alons Darko to take over Vario’s former crew. Darko had been a loyal member of the organization, and under the new administration, he was given increasing responsibility.

Two years later, Amuso selected Darko to organize what became known as the construction panel. The panel was composed of Lucesi members tasked with overseeing labor unions and construction companies under the family’s control. It also coordinated joint ventures with other New York families. Construction had long been one of the mafia’s most reliable revenue streams, and the panel centralized oversight under Amuzo and Casso’s direction.

 And Darko would later describe himself as the man assigned to carry out difficult assignments, the one sent when something unpleasant needed to be done. At the same time, tensions were building in New Jersey. The Lucay family’s Jersey crew, led by Kappa regime Anthony Axuro, had operated with a degree of independence for years.

 They generated substantial profits from gambling, lone sharking, and other rackets. Amuzo and Caso demanded a larger share of those earnings. Axuro resisted. What followed became known inside the family as the Wack Jersey Order. Amuzo and Casso directed Darko and members of the Vario crew to prepare for the elimination of the entire Jersey crew. The order was sweeping.

 It was not limited to one target. It was an internal purge. According to later accounts, Amuso and Casso also authorized a contract on Axatururo’s wife. That decision crossed a line. Mafia rules traditionally forbade the killing of relatives who were not involved in criminal activity. Caso later claimed that Axuro had involved his wife in the crew’s operations and that this justified the threat.

 Axuro saw it differently. To him, the contract violated one of the organization’s core boundaries. Faced with the prospect of his crew being wiped out and his wife targeted, Axatururo chose to cooperate with federal authorities, his decision marked a significant breach inside the Lucesi structure.

 It signaled that fear was beginning to outweigh loyalty. The Jersey conflict revealed something about the Amuzo and Caso administration. Their approach to enforcement was broader and less restrained than previous leadership. Internal discipline had always been part of mafia governance. What changed during this period was the scale and the willingness to test long-standing rules.

 By 1990, the family still generated large profits from construction and other rackets. On the surface, the organization appeared strong. Beneath that surface, internal fractures were widening and informants were beginning to emerge from within its own ranks. By 1990, the pressure from federal prosecutors was tightening. The commission trial had already dismantled parts of the old leadership across New York.

 Wiretaps, cooperating witnesses, and coordinated indictments were changing the landscape. In early 1991, Anthony Casso received an early warning from a secret law enforcement source that a federal indictment was imminent. The warning gave him and Victor Amuzo time to act. They disappeared. Before going underground, Casso summoned Alons Darko to a meeting at the Civil War era Rodman Gun Monument in John Paul Jones Park in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

 There, Casso handed Darko a list of phone booth numbers and secret addresses. He told him that he would serve as acting boss until further notice. From that point forward, communication would move through coded calls and carefully arranged meetings. Casso and Amuso relocated between safe houses, including meetings in Scranton, Pennsylvania, and various locations in Brooklyn.

 They continued to issue orders while avoiding arrest. One of those orders targeted Peter Kyodo. Kyodo was a Lues made man and Kappa regime who had been indicted in the Windows case, a major federal prosecution involving corruption in the window replacement industry. without seeking permission from Amuso or Casso.

Kyoto pleaded guilty. In the culture of organized crime, pleading guilty without approval was viewed as a signal that cooperation might follow. In early 1991, Amuso and Caso ordered Kyodo’s execution. Caso assigned the job to Darko despite Darko’s knowledge that Caso had once been close to Kyodo. On May 8th, 1991, two Lu’s gunmen ambushed Kyoto at a gas station on Staten Island.

He was shot 12 times in the arms, legs, and torso. By medical accounts, his obesity prevented the bullets from striking vital organs or arteries. He survived, though he sustained permanent damage to his right arm and multiple abdominal wounds. The survival changed the equation. After the failed assassination, Casso delivered a message through Kyoto’s lawyer.

 If Kyodo testified, his wife would be murdered. That threat crossed a boundary that had long been observed within the mafia. Family members not involved in criminal activity were traditionally considered off limits. The threat achieved what bullets had not. Kyoto chose to cooperate with federal authorities in order to protect his family.

 Inside the Lucasi organization, paranoia grew. Amuzo and Casso blamed Darko for the failure of the Kyoto hit. In July 1991, during a meeting on Staten Island, they replaced Darko as acting boss with a four-man panel of Capo regimes. Though Darko was technically part of that panel, he understood that trust had eroded.

 On July 29th, 1991, federal agents arrested Victor Amuso after receiving a tip about his location. Casso became the de facto leader of the Lucesi family. There was speculation that Caso himself had leaked Amuso’s whereabouts, though that claim has been disputed. What is documented is that after Amuso’s arrest, Caso sent $250,000 in cash to Amuso’s wife, fulfilling money that had been owed.

 With Amuso in custody and internal defections mounting, Anthony Casso stepped fully into the role of acting boss. He was now leading a family under siege from the shadows with informants multiplying and federal cases advancing. The violence did not slow, it intensified. By September 1991, the damage inside the Lucas family was no longer contained.

Alons Darko, who had once been entrusted with running the family during Victor Amuso and Anthony Caso’s absence, made a decision that sent shock waves through organized crime. Convinced that Amuzo and Casso no longer trusted him and that he and his family were marked for death, Darko contacted FBI agent Robert Men.

 He revealed that Caso had begun authorizing killings that extended beyond traditional mafia boundaries, including targeting relatives of suspected informants. That night, Darko and his family entered the federal witness protection program. For Casso, the betrayal confirmed his growing suspicion that informants were everywhere. Retaliation followed.

 On March 10th, 1992, Lucasian enforcer Michael Spanelli carried out an attack in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. The target was Patricia Capazalo, the sister of cooperating witness Peter Keyodo. Spinelli approached her while she was driving and opened fire. Capazello was struck in the arm, back, and neck. She survived the shooting.

 The message was unmistakable. Cooperation would carry consequences beyond the individual. The violence escalated again in early 1993. On February the 2nd, 1993, the body of Frank Senorino, Peter Kyoto’s uncle, was discovered frozen inside the trunk of a car in East New York. He had been shot multiple times in the head.

 A black plastic bag had been wrapped around him. The killing was another strike at Kyoto’s extended family. 10 days later on February the 12th, 1993, Lucesi members set fire to the garage of Annette Senorino, Kyoto’s 95-year-old grandmother in Graves End, Brooklyn. The arson targeted an elderly woman with no involvement in organized crime.

 The act reflected how far the boundaries had shifted under Casso’s leadership. During this same period, Casso ordered additional murders and plots within his own ranks. In 1993, he directed George Zapola, Frank Bones Papani, and Luces Consiliary Frank Lasterino to murder Steven Craya, a Bronx Kappa regime within the family.

 The internal distrust had reached a point where established members were viewed as potential threats. At the same time, Casso continued to authorize executions of individuals he suspected of being informants. By his own later admissions, he had either personally killed or ordered the killing of numerous people he believed had spoken to law enforcement.

Law enforcement officials would later describe this period as one marked by extreme paranoia. The pattern was clear. Each defection intensified the response. Each indictment widened the circle of suspicion. By early 1993, the Lucay’s family was operating in an atmosphere of fear, both from federal prosecutors and from within its own hierarchy.

 Anthony Casso, now the acting boss, was issuing orders while moving between safe locations, determined to eliminate anyone he believed posed a threat. The pressure from law enforcement was closing in, and the methods used to avoid it were beginning to unravel. By early 1993, Anthony Casso had been living in motion for nearly 2 years.

 He relied on coded phone calls, payoneses, and loyal intermediaries. Safe houses shifted between Brooklyn, Staten Island, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey. But the tools that had once protected him were no longer reliable. Law enforcement had begun using evolving cell phone tracking methods, and small mistakes carried larger consequences.

Investigators from the Brooklyn District Attorney’s Office identified a pattern in calls made by Luces Consiliary Frank Lasterino. His cell phone was repeatedly connecting to a location near Bird Lake, New Jersey. The information was passed to FBI agent Richard Rudolph, who secured a federal warrant to tap Lasterino’s phone.

 As agents monitored the conversations, they recognized Anthony Casso’s voice. The circle tightened. On January 19th, 1993, federal agents moved in on a house in Mount Olive, New Jersey. The property belonged to Rosemary Belotti, Casso’s longtime mistress. For years, he had secretly maintained the relationship while married to his wife, Lillian.

 That morning, agents entered the home and arrested Casso as he stepped out of the shower. The man who had ordered executions from safe houses and payoneses was taken into custody without resistance. Inside the house, agents conducted a search that revealed the scale of his operations. They recovered a rifle and approximately $340,000 in cash.

 More damaging than the weapons or money were the documents. Investigators found detailed internal records outlining the Luces family’s financial structure. There were monthly tabulations showing how much money Casso and Victor Amuso received from each criminal enterprise. There was a carefully prepared list of Christmas tribute payments collected from various crews.

 Agents also discovered a typed list of proposed maid members disguised as a wedding guest list. Among the papers were FBI reports that had been provided to Amuzo’s defense attorneys, evidence of how closely the family monitored federal investigations. The material offered prosecutors a rare look inside the mechanics of a New York crime family.

 For the Lucasi organization, the arrest marked a turning point. Victor Amuso was already in custody. Alons Darko had defected. Peter Kyodo was cooperating. Now the acting boss himself was behind bars. Authority built on secrecy, had collapsed under surveillance. Anthony Casso, who had spent years hunting informants, was now facing the full weight of federal prosecution.

Anthony Casso had built his reputation on hunting informants. Now he was facing the possibility of dying in prison, surrounded by men he once commanded. After his arrest on January 19th, 1993, Casso was held at the Metropolitan Correctional Center in New York while prosecutors prepared a case that could have ensured he would never see freedom again.

 Even from jail, he attempted to maintain control. According to federal accounts, he explored escape plans, including an attempt that nearly succeeded when a bribed guard cleared him through security before another officer intervened. There were also discussions about ambushing prison transport and even assassinating the presiding judge, Eugene Nickerson, in order to delay proceedings.

 The plans never materialized. What did materialize was a calculation with Alons Darko, Anthony Axatururo, and Peter Kyodo prepared to testify against him and facing charges that included rakateeering and multiple murders, Caso reached out to agent Richard Rudolph. He offered to cooperate. He was transferred to the federal prison at Latuna near El Paso, Texas, where he was housed in a secure area in formerly known as the Valashi Suite, named after earlier mafia turncoat Joe Valiche.

 There, federal agents began extensive debriefings. At the outset, Casso reportedly told investigators that he committed crimes nearly every time he left his house. When pressed for specifics, he began naming names. He disclosed that two decorated NYPD detectives, Steven Caracappa and Lousie Epilito, had been on his payroll for years.

 According to Casso, the detectives were paid thousands of dollars per month and had carried out eight murders on his behalf. He also stated that they provided sensitive information from police and FBI files, including the identities of informants, information that allegedly led to additional killings. The revelations exposed one of the most damaging police corruption scandals connected to organized crime in New York.

 Caso’s admissions extended beyond corruption. Initially, he confessed to involvement in 12 murders. Under questioning, that number rose. He ultimately admitted involvement in at least 36 killings along with a broad range of racketeering activities, extortion schemes, and other violent crimes. Federal prosecutors Charles Rose and Gregory O’Connell traveled to Texas to evaluate his usefulness as a witness.

While Casso provided extensive detail about the inner workings of the mafia, agents grew skeptical. He was caught lying about financial assets. He denied involvement in certain retaliatory attacks that evidence suggested were linked to him. He failed a polygraph examination. At one point during debriefings, prosecutors later recalled that Casso appeared to take pride in describing brutal acts, including burying a drug associate alive in the Florida Everglades.

 Concerns grew about whether a jury would view him as credible. On March 1st, 1994, Casso formalized a plea agreement. He pleaded guilty to 70 crimes, including racketeering, extortion, and 15 murders. The plea secured convictions without the uncertainty of trial. He was placed in the federal witness protection program while serving his sentence, an extraordinary position for a former underboss of a New York crime family.

His cooperation, however, did not proceed smoothly. By 1997, federal authorities alleged that Casso had committed multiple infractions while in custody. Accusations included bribing prison guards, assaulting other inmates, and making false statements about other cooperating witnesses, including Sammy Graano and Alons Darko.

 Prosecutors concluded that he had violated the terms of his agreement. In 1998, Casso was formally removed from the witness protection program. A federal judge declined to intervene on his behalf. The man who once ordered executions for betrayal had broken his oath and then lost the protection he sought. His usefulness to the government had expired. What remained was sentencing.

In 1998, the last chapter of Anthony Casso’s life in the mafia system was written in a federal courtroom. After being removed from the witness protection program for violating the terms of his cooperation agreement, Caso stood before US District Judge Frederick Block. The government no longer viewed him as an asset.

 His plea agreement remained in place, but whatever benefit he had hoped to gain had evaporated. Judge Block sentenced him to 455 years in federal prison without the possibility of parole. The maximum sentence permitted under federal guidelines. It was effectively a life sentence multiplied. Caso began serving that sentence at ADX Florence in Colorado, the federal government’s supermax facility designed for inmates considered exceptionally dangerous or high risk.

 The prison is built for isolation. Contact is limited. Movement is controlled. For a man who had once directed a crime family, the confinement was absolute. In March 2009, Casso was transferred to the Federal Medical Center at the Federal Correctional Complex in Butner, North Carolina after being diagnosed with prostate cancer.

 His health had begun to deteriorate. After treatment, he was returned to ADX Florence in July 2009. Over the following years, he was moved through various federal facilities. In 2013, he was assigned to the Federal Residential Re-entry Management Office in Minneapolis, an administrative designation used for inmates placed in home confinement, halfway houses, or other monitored placements.

 By May 2018, he had been transferred to the United States Medical Center for Federal Prisoners in Springfield, Missouri. Later transfers placed him at USP Terra Hot and eventually USP Tucson in Arizona where he was serving his sentence beginning March 25th, 2020. By then, Caso’s health had significantly declined.

 In addition to prostate cancer, he suffered from coronary artery disease, kidney disease, hypertension, bladder disease, and chronic lung problems attributed to years of smoking. He was wheelchair bound in his later years. On November the 5th, 2020, while incarcerated at USP Tucson, Anthony Casso tested positive for COVID 19 amid the outbreak sweeping through federal prisons.

 He was placed in medical isolation. On November 9th, he was transported to a local hospital due to respiratory distress. 8 days later, on November 17th, he was placed on a ventilator. His attorneys filed a motion for compassionate release, citing his deteriorating condition. On November 28th, 2020, the request was denied. Anthony Salvatore Casso died on December the 15th, 2020 at the age of 78 from complications related to COVID 19.

 He had confessed to involvement in between 15 and 36 murders. Admitted to raketeering and extortion, and once stood as underboss of one of New York’s five families. In the end, he died in federal custody, far from the Brooklyn waterfront where his life began. The ark of his life traced the rise and fracture of a criminal structure built on loyalty, secrecy, and violence.

 What remained at the end was a prison record, a 455ear sentence, and a long list of names tied to decisions he made.