John Gotti Was the Boss of Bosses

For lunch he prefers Teresa Mimmo's in Manhattan's Little Italy. A plate of pasta. A small salad. A glass of wine. And then he walks it off on Mulberry Street. He moves in the eye of a small hurricane of flesh. In front there is Angelo Ruggiero, his boyhood friend, his gumbah and deputy, along with Bartolmeo Borriello, a trusted crony. Walking behind are Anthony Mascuzzio and Mike Napolitano, the bodyguards, who watch for the inevitable assassins. From the doorways of the shops come the greetings. “How are you, John?” “Nice day, John.” “You look good, John.” Like a Florentine prince passing in procession, John Gotti, 48, waves and nods and smiles, accepting graciously the salutes of respect demanded by his position. John Gotti is the capo di tutti capi—the Godfather.