By Thom L. Jones for Gangsters Inc.
This is part 2. To read part 1 click here.
Scandal was building like a low-pressure system including public finances in Sicily, the murder of a notable and well-liked and respected Palermo nobleman, the police, the state, Sicilian high society and, the Mafia. Something had to bend or break.
By 1898 there was yet another government change and the head man this time, Luigi Pelloux had also been a friend of the Marquis. Through his help and support, and that of the family’s lawyer, Giuseppe Marchesano, Leopoldo was able to access files and documents, including the somewhat startling evidence from Bertolani. There were charges that crucial information was being covered up, but no one seemed to know just what this might be. It was enough, however, along with other evidence, or perhaps suppositions, to encourage the judiciary to indict at least the two men from the railway in the new bill of charges. Best to keep it away from Sicily sitting like a cobra on the chest of Italy.
At last, in 1899, over six years after the murder, the first trial was convened at the Court of Assizes, Milan, on November 11.
This hearing was all about the men from Societa per Strada della Sicilia-the railway-not the men from the Mafia. However, according to Inspector Alfredo Cervis (right), in one of his reports, defendant Giuseppe Carollo, the train conductor the night of the murder, was a Mafioso, from the clan of Agrigento, one of the most lawless regions in Sicily, which lies about 80 miles south-east of Palermo City.
If the Mafia clans of Palermo owed their growth and development to the citrus farms of the region, their counterparts in south-east Sicily owned theirs to the sulfur and mineral mines of the area.
Carollo’s father and grandfather had also allegedly been men of honor. A family thing. Generations of Cosa Nostra, stretching back in time.
His co-defendant in court is Pancrazio Garufi, the brakeman on the train that fateful night. His Mafia lineage if any, is unknown.
Day after day, witnesses called offer confusing, vague testimony. Not just from the lower social class but people from the ruling elite-lawyers, business people, even members of the highest levels of Sicilian nobility. They are not just reticent, but disturbingly mendacious in their evidence. Was everyone afraid of the Mafia?
On Thursday, November 16, Leopoldo Notarbartolo in court, in full uniform as an officer in the Italian navy, accused Palizzolo of masterminding the murder of his father. In Italian law, victims of a criminal act can assist the state prosecutor in his case presentation. He detailed everything he had uncovered in his years of research about the corruption at the Bank of Sicily; the fraud revolving around share trading of Navigation General Italian, Italy’s most significant shipping line owned by Siciliy’s richest man, and the fact that the police and magistrates in Palermo had not even interviewed Palizzolo about the murder of his father.
Leopoldo’s (left) suspicions about Palizzolo had initially been aroused because of the man’s links into the Villabate Mafia rather than the banking corruption scandal and his family knowledge of the rift and antagonism that had developed between the two men over the years contesting the tangled and often dangerous politics of Palermo.
During the proceedings, one of the investigating officers, the same Inspector Cervis, accuses another policeman, Francesco Di Blasi of manipulating the evidence in favor of Palizzolo, concealing important facts, shifting the murder investigation away from the main suspects.
Di Blasi is arrested, in the courtroom and remanded for further inquiries. These would conclude months later in Palermo, with suggestions that not only was this particular inspector tight with Palizzolo but his boss at the time of the killing, the questore, Ballabio, was also in bed with the venal politician at the time of Notarbartolo’s murder.
In Sicily, the more crooked things are, the more logical they seem to be. There was to be even more explosive testimony.
For the first time, a citrus trader, Giuseppe Fontana, from Villabate, is named as one of the killers.
On the evening of December 10, Palizzolo (right) was arrested in his palatial mansion by Inspector Ildebrando Stroili and agents of the Public Security. Charged with commissioning the murder of Notarbartolo, he was locked away in cell Number 7 in section 9 of Ucciardone Prison. The same cell that had been occupied by the arrested head of the fasci movement, Nicolo Barbato, in 1894.
Three days later, under pressure from the law, Giuseppe Fontana, along with his lawyer, handed himself into Sangiorgi at his home on via d’ell Esposizone, near the renowned English Garden Park, in the center of Palermo.
Since the beginning of the Milan trial, he had been in hiding at the Palazzo Mirto, in the Kalsa district, the Palermo home of the Prince of Mirto, part of the Filangeris, the most significant Norman family in the history of Sicily. Fontana had friends in the highest places, and by arriving in the Prince’s carriage and surrendering himself not at Palermo’s prison but at the home of the police chief, he was making a statement to this effect.
As William Shakespeare wrote, “This is indeed something rich and strange.”
By the end of December 1899, the infamous Ucciardone Prison in Palermo was playing host to the alleged accomplices, killer, and instigator. It was a historic superfecta in Sicilian legal history.
On January 10, 1900, the trial terminates so that another, much bigger and far-reaching one can be convened. This begins on September 1901, and continues until July the following year, in Bologna, another northern Italian city, again, far from the Mafia infested killing fields of Sicily.
Fontana’s case is seemingly assisted dramatically when Carollo, the train conductor, dies of cirrhosis of the liver. One less witness to testify against him. It will not affect the outcome.
After 200 court sessions, and almost eleven months of testimony by over 500 witnesses, including three former government ministers, eleven members of parliament, five police chiefs and seven senators, Palizzolo and Fontana were found guilty and sentenced to 30 years in prison. Garufi (left), the brakeman, initially charged in Milan, was acquitted.
In the dock, Palizzolo was fat and fluffy, postulating, pleading. A drama queen to the end. Giuseppe Fontana sat quietly to the end. As a man of honor, stoicism was part of his crasis. The long years of imprisonment and the trials had aged him. He had, as novelist Joanne Greenberg once written, “...a face like a five-day rain.”
If it all seemed too good to be true, it is. Palizzolo’s lawyers file for a reversal and six months later in January 1903, the Italian appeal court system, the Court of Cassation, squashes the verdicts on a technicality. It’s the way so many Mafia trials come to an end in the years ahead.
A minor witness called and sworn-in is dismissed as the lawyers argued over his relevance. Called back the next day, the witness makes his statement, but for some reason is not re-sworn. This is all it takes.
If ever there was a Mafia move, this was it.
In September 1903, the third and final trial began, this time in Florence, the Renaissance heart of Italy.
It was over ten years since the murder. Through the months of trials and hearings, the Italian justice system tried to make sense of this crime and its perpetrators. And failed. Over the years, hundreds of witnesses from Sicily were summoned to give evidence, often through translators, as their dialect, u sicilianu, was incomprehensible to mainland Italians. Public opinion was outraged across Italy as the relationship between the Mafia, politicians at every level, legal officials and, even the police, are exposed. The country, especially in the north, was tired of the endless proceedings, the hours of numbing testimony, sick of the interminable monologues about this strange, weird criminal organization that operated on an island far far away. So far, it could have been in Africa or China or anywhere but Italy.
Leopoldo Notarbartolo, who had been the catalyst for the arrests and trial of the defendants, witnessed the erosion and crumbling of the final sessions in court. Many of the original people called to testify had moved from Sicily, some overseas, several had died natural deaths, others, not so natural. Many lost their memories of the events that happened far back in the past.
“The evidence collapsed piece by piece,” he wrote in his book on his father’s murder, privately published in a limited edition in 1949, “like stones in a disassembled mosaic.” Maybe he wondered there is nothing in this world so awful that it doesn’t have a dark side.
The prosecution called only one new witness, Matteo Filippello, at the third trial in Florence, but he was found dead in his lodgings before he could give testimony. He had hung himself from a balcony in the house. Some sources claim that he had been abandoned by Fontana and Palizzolo and as a result, lost his mind when confronted with the prospect of giving evidence. His inquest recorded suicide. A most convenient departure.
The line leading from the deed to the doer had seemed unbroken: murder-hit men-provoker. A true chain of command. But. Wrestling the murder out of the ring, we always come back to the modus operandi.
To paraphrase Shakespeare, “Out damn knives.” If the victim had been shot, a Mafia killing would have made sense. The manner of Notarbartolo’s death however, never really did. The third jury presumably came to the same conclusion, along with other reservations they may have had.
Throughout the years of trials and inquiries, Leopoldo Notarbartolo was never aware that the man accused of stabbing his father to death, was the cousin of the Villabate Mafia boss. Palizzzolo, however, did know him. Well enough to visit the Mafioso when he was imprisoned on murder charges during the early 1880s.
Overwhelmed by obfuscation-downright lies, twisted truths and what was evident even then as the 20th Century emerged into a dystopia millennium the likes of which humanity has never experienced: alternative facts-nothing seemed to work.
Like an opera singer torturing themselves to reach an impossible G7 note, the judicial system tried to fulfill its obligation and duty and failed. Because the killing was never resolved, it became not so much a Mafia murder, as a massive political scandal that would torment and agitate Italy for years. Author Francesco Renda believed the Notarbartolo affair turned into a “trial of Sicily and of Sicilians.”
According to Will Medearis, “Punishment does not fall on its own; it isn’t a natural law, an inevitable consequence. You can get away with anything if no one catches you.”
Whatever it was, wherever it came from, whenever it emerged, the Mafia won.
It’s possible of course that they had won before any trial commenced, in that the accusations against both Palizzolo and Fontana were slim to almost negligible. The only confirmation was hearsay-a rumor of a celebration by a Mafia clan, stories circulating Palermo, a prisoner in Naples talking about another prisoner in Venice, an eye-witness ignored, dodgy railway staff who contradicted each others testimony, and accusations by the son of the man murdered. Lots of smoke and mirrors, shifting sands, smoking guns.
Part of Sicilian life
According to Cyrille Fijnaut and Letizia Paoli, “The strengthening of the mafia networks and of their economic and political relationships continued during Giovanni Giolittiʼs premierships, 1892-1921. By now, the mafia had become part of the ‘normality’ of Sicilian life, it was a consolidated electoral machine at the service of liberal groups, was heavily involved in the struggle for the control of the land, and had also acquired an international dimension with its expansion into the United States. In other words, the ʻviolent modernization,’ which we identified as peculiar to Sicilian society and the root-source of the mafia associations, went on undisturbed.”
In 1893, socialist Aureilo Drago wondered, “Should the government fight the Mafia? But who will run the elections? So the government organized the Mafia, armed it and paid for it.”
Conceivably, the criminals of Villabate were merely a party of the second part, and that the driving force behind everything was the Mafia’s boss of bosses, 50-year-old Francesco Siino, capo of Malaspina, a western suburb of the city. The supreme head of the Palermo Mafia, numbering almost 700 (670 inducted members according to Siino,) and, another citrus fruit trader, he was a close associate of Palizzolo and the man behind the counterfeit scam that landed Fontana in a Venice prison. It’s somehow hard to believe he was not part of the deal, in a murder of this magnitude. He was also the first Mafia boss in history to become a government informant, providing some of the backgrounds for Sangiorgi’s famous report.
It's been said that Notarbartolo was more important dead than alive, as his murder awakened Italy, not just Sicily, to the danger of the Mafia as more than just a criminal entity, but more of a force and influence that was unique within their society. It seemed to control the dynamic flow of power not only among the peasants and working people but also landowners, political movements, the local government and, even the forces of law and order. The media encouraged this awareness, nationalizing this criminal phenomenon by turning it into a common noun rather than a proper one in the language of Italy.
The media coverage of this and the other trials that follow in the years ahead will do much to expose the Mafia. Substantially more than the Senate debates in Rome during the Parliamentary Commission of 1875 investigating the report of Dr. Gaspare Galati owner of citrus estates who had been a victim of their illegal actions in Palermo, forcing him to leave Sicily. The Mafia has already been part of the landscape for years. In 1860, while conquering Sicily and occupying Palermo, Garibaldi’s army was sometimes referred to as squadri della mafia. As far back as August 1838, Pietro Cala Ulloa, the general prosecutor of Trapani province, eighty miles west of Palermo, had been complaining to his bosses in Naples about brotherhoods devoted to criminal enterprises.
Although he never referred to them as Mafia (that term did not come in an official document in Sicily until 1865, when the Prefect of Palermo, Filippo Gualtiero, used it in a report) if it looks like a duck and walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck.
Alfredo Oriani, in an article in Giornale di Sicilia newspaper entitled “The rumors of the sewer,” which appeared on January 8, 1900, writes that “the island (Sicily) is a paradise inhabited by demons, which reveals itself as a cancer of the foot of Italy, as a province in the which neither customs nor civil laws are possible”.
On the other hand, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, the famous German writer, and politician saw it somehow different when he traveled there in 1787:
“To have seen Italy without having seen Sicily is not to have seen Italy at all, for Sicily is the clue to everything.”
If Sicily is the clue, the ambiguity of the puzzle is beyond immense.
Perhaps poet W.B. Yeats was right, and “knowledge of reality is a secret knowledge…..a kind of death.”
Then, Italy would be safely protected as it dutifully and with full consent from all parties, ignored the phenomenon of the Mafia for decades to come. A country that had been created in the 19th Century as a brave beginning would, in the new era, become a place where right and glory would never lead. This thing, the Mafia, was now so deeply embedded into the dermis of society it was cancer that would grow more and more malignant. An invisible government operating parallel to the official but ineffective sovereign state.
It will thrive within a society that chooses to avoid its threat instead of facing up to it.
According to Ignazio Coppola, the pact between the State and mafia began with the unification of Italy. If he’s right, it’s been a thread in the fabric of the country, officially, almost 160 years. Unofficially, who knows?
Leonard Sciascia, the Italian author, had long argued that the Mafia is the product of a general state of corruption festering in the country for generations.
Perhaps the real tragedy in this story is what was revealed to Italy for the first time: with banditry an epidemic, work opportunities for the unskilled governed and controlled by a minority of land managers, a corrupt Catholic Church, parliamentary representation limited to less than 10% of the population, a legal and police system that appeared to bend over backwards to not do its job, this thing, the Mafia appeared to be the only organization Sicilians could turn to as a protector of their individual rights, whatever the consequences.
The prognosis is still not good.
Sicily had indeed become the dark heart of Italy.
By the end of the Bologna trial, a “Pro Sicily Committee” had been formed in Palermo, encouraged and financed by Ignazio Florio, the richest man in Sicily, (owner of L’ora, a newspaper created in 1900, and a reference point for the committee, fighting the prejudices of Northern Italy,) a man who may have been involved in the scandals in the banking world back in the years before Notarbartolo’s murder.
Recovering from his ordeal at The Grand Hotel de Londres, Palizzolo rested while the committee hired the steamship Malta to return him from Naples back to Palermo on August 1, to a welcoming crowd estimated to have been close to 30,000. The vessel belonged to Navigation General Italian, the same company at the heart of the corruption allegations at the bank that had resulted in the termination of Notarbartolo’s directorship in 1890.
Palizzolo’s power, however, had been dissipated by the long years of the trials and his imprisonment, and he's defeated in the various political elections in which he sought appointments, later that year, in November. His connection to the Notarbartolo scandal had compromised him, and he disappeared from the glow of the major deal-maker apotheosis he had created over the years. He would die in 1918. But there would be one last hurrah.
Going to America
Following the final trial, Giuseppe Fontana left Sicily and moved with his wife and four daughters to live in Tunisia where Trapani and Palermo's questura (police headquarters,) had long suspected the presence of a powerful mafia family based in Tunis or Hammamet. He traded as a fruit importer until he was evicted by the French authorities who had governed the country since 1881 as a protectorate. Fontana and his family then moved to America, arriving in New York in 1905.
Transplanted from the bucolic vacuum of Sicily and North Africa into the industrial chaos of America’s largest city, Fontana, like a snow leopard, blended into the landscape and did what he did best-thieved, extorted and no doubt, killed his way through life.
The family lived at first with his son on East 106 Street, in Harlem, Manhattan, and the Sicilian Mafioso gradually developed various business operations. He ran a grocery store in the neighborhood, and in partnership with Ignazio Milone, a Mafioso from Corleone, operated a beer-hall, echoing the activities of his cousin, the Villabate capo, who had a notorious bar in that town. Fontana was financed into a wine trade venture by a man called Giuseppe Morello, another Corleonesi, and according to some sources the top Mafia boss in New York.
In return for favors and assistance in his early business ventures, Fontana may have helped Morello eliminate some of his enemies in an underworld territorial struggle across New York City that involved factions of four different Italian-American criminal gangs.
David Critchley, Mafia historian, suggests at least four murders between 1906 and 1907 that occurred possibly involving Fontana (right). He was also linked to a 22-year-old Sicilian, called Salvatore Marchiani, whose terribly mutilated and dismembered body was dumped onto a trash heap in Pigtown, (now East Flatbush) Brooklyn, in February 1908.
At the other extreme, socially within the Mafia, he appears in a photograph along with Giuseppe Morello, and Vito Cascio Ferro, perhaps the biggest Mafia boss in Sicily at the time, along with his wife, Lina.
By 1913, Morello was in prison, serving a long sentence on currency counterfeiting charges, and the gang he had led for many years was under the control of a new boss, Salvatore D’Aquila. It’s alleged he left New York for a holiday in Sicily sometime during this year, and while away, Fontana became vulnerable to the politics of mob warfare. It all came to an end on a cold, winter morning, November 4.
Leaving his home at 173 East 105 Street he set off, walking east towards his laundry business in Harlem. About five minutes later, as he passed an alleyway on his left, which led north to 106 Street, at number 325, a loft building, a gunman opened fire, shooting Fontana in the body. Found by two policemen, his last words were, apparently, “We swore to kill each other. He got the drop on me, but I will get him yet.” He didn’t, dying thirty minutes later.
A Secret Service informant claimed the murder of Fontana had been the work of Manfredi Mineo, who eventually became part of D’Aquila’s crime family but was maybe operating a gang of his own at this time in Brooklyn.
Critchley believed there were internecine struggles taking place in D’Aquila’s gang, which may have come to a head with the boss overseas. Maybe Fontana was making a play for the top spot, and Mineo stopped him? Perhaps he had run afoul of the Lomonte brothers, Tommaso, Fortunato, and Gaetano who were cousins of Morello and objected to Fontana’s relationship with D’Aquila after their relative was sent off to prison? Two of the brothers would be subsequently murdered, and it was suggested their killings were revenge for Fontana’s murder.
We will never know. New York’s Italian-American underworld in the early 20th century was a maze with seemingly no entrance or exit. A confusion of forces fighting each other for the right to kill each other.
Five years earlier, on June 8, 1908, Raffaele Palizzolo (left) arrived in New York aboard the SS Martha Washington. He was visiting America to thank supporters who had raised more than $20,000 towards his defense in his trial for the murder of Notarbartolo. He's accompanied by his cousin, Gaetano Ferlazzo, a lawyer, and director of Palermo newspaper, La Forbice.
Thousands of Sicilians were there to greet him, headed by no less than Italy’s New York Consul- General, Count Raybaudi-Massiglia. Palizzolo was additionally in New York to raise funds for the March 1909 electoral elections in Sicily he intended to contest, hoping to sell 20,000 copies of his autobiography Le Mie Prigioni, “My Prisons.” Which he did, at one dollar per copy.
While in the city he first lived with Dr. G.A Purpura at 157 East 116 Street and then stayed with a friend, Orlando Domenico in his apartment at 213 East 105 Street, a two-minute walk on the same street from Fontana’s address. According to newspaper reports, the two met on several occasions, no doubt talking over old times.
Watching Palizzolo like a hawk was Joe Petrosino, the lieutenant in charge of the police department’s Italian Squad formed in 1905 to fight the infamous “Black Hand,” and concentrate on criminal activities involving Italian immigrants. He or his men tracked Palizzolo as he met with many known underworld characters, as well as wining and dining with important business and political figures.
After visiting Detroit and Chicago, Palizzolo returned to New York and was hounded out of America by the diligent police officer, leaving ahead of schedule on August 2 on the SS Liguria. It’s reported as he stood on the deck of the departing ship, he shook his fist at Petrosino who watched from the quayside and shouted, “If you ever come to Palermo, God help you.”
In 1909, six months after this confrontation on the New York waterfront, Petrosino did, and God did not. Following up leads on New York and Sicilian Mafia criminals, he was shot dead one evening after enjoying dinner at the Caffe Oreto near the Palermo waterfront. In his notebook were found a list of criminals based in New York whom he had hoped to investigate in Sicily with a view of arranging their deportation back to Palermo. Near the top of the list was Giuseppe Fontana.
Some sources claim Fontana was one of the conspirators behind the murder of Petrosino, although no one has of yet pointed the finger at Palizzolo. According to the author, Giuseppina Tesauro, the murder of the detective had been planned at a meeting of high-level-Mafiosi in a vineyard near Villabate. (1)
Today it’s a municipality of metro Palermo and has a population of about 20000. A website refers to it as “a charming and ancient Greek village.”
Its Mafia boss until December 2018, is Francesco Coletti, whom it seems, has become yet another informant for the law. Following his arrest, he made an interesting claim that the rules of Cosa Nostra are written down, have existed for hundreds of years and are sequestered by the Corleone Family.
In a kind of historical footnote to the Notarbartolo murder, his killer’s namesake was sent to prison in 2016 for murdering Andrea Cottone, capo of Villabate at that time, in November 2002. Ignazio “Ezio” Fontana (right), a crew boss in the Villabate Mafia, had also been imprisoned for life in 2005 for the murder of Salvatore Geraci, a construction entrepreneur. At 46, this particular Fontana was a well-rounded Mafioso and enforcer. Whether or not he is a descendant of the killer Giuseppe, or any of his namesakes that filled the Villabate cosca in the 1890s, he looks like an apple that never fell far from that Mafia-Fontana tree.
There is also another Palizzolo replicate in the zone. Labeled “socially dangerous” by the Palermo court, 58-year-old Giuseppe Acanto, a former parliamentarian, was last year, the center of a massive inquiry by the anti-Mafia DIA, involving millions of euros obtained illegally by the Villabate Mafia which he allegedly managed into construction and other business activities on their behalf.
As 19th Century French novelist Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr claimed, “The more things change, the more they remain the same.”
In June 2014 a large-scale anti-Mafia bust of 91 suspects in Palermo netted among others, Domenico Palazzotto, boss of the Arenella district, who had been overheard on a hidden microphone boasting his father’s uncle, Paolo Palazzotto had been one of the killers of Petrosino, 105 years before. Although arrested at that time as a suspect, the alleged shooter was released for lack of evidence. The Italian police dismissed the claim as braggadocio, the ramblings of a 28-year-old naive young boss trying to make a name for himself.
Emanuele Notarbartolo is buried in the cemetery of Santa Maria dei Rotoli, in Vergine Maria, under the towering cliffs of Monte Pellegrino. As the mayor of Palermo, he supervised the extension and development of what became the largest cemetery in the city. A crowd of perhaps 60000 people followed the funeral procession as it wound into the city from the Foro Italico, the waterfront park, north past the harbor to the family crypt. He may have been the first victim of the Mafia to be buried here, but not the last. He shares the space with Bernadino Verro, ex-mayor of Corleone, murdered in the town in 1915, and, the wife of the famous magistrate, Giovanni Falcone, and two of his bodyguards killed in the Capaci Massacre of 1992.
Perhaps all these long years gone, there is family of Notarbartolo who still think of him.
As they sit dining all'aperto, and watch the crowds stream by in Florence, or perhaps Milan or Rome, even Palermo, they may catch a shadow of him at the frontier of their minds; a vague and shadowy figure nudging their awareness, always reminding that good, honest men who try and sometimes fail make us that much better. Confirming above all, the power and permanence of his life were immeasurably more meaningful than the tragedy of his death.
“Between the law and the Mafia, the law is not the most to be feared.” - Sicilian proverb
The following are some of the sources used to develop this story:
Colucello, Rino. Mafia and Politics in Sicilian Society at the end of the 19th Century: Springer, com
Corriere della Sera: November 17 & 18, 1899.
Critchley, David. The Origin of Organized Crime in America: Routledge, New York, 2009.
Dickie, John. Cosa Nostra: London: Coroney, 2004.
Dickie, John. Blood Brotherhoods: The Rise of The Italian Mafias: Sceptre, 2011.
Fentress, James. Rebels and Mafiosi: Ithaca, Cornell University Press, 2000
Il Primo dellito eccellente: L’Omicidio Notarbartolo: Sibblog.
Lupo Salvatore. Between bank and politics: the Notarbartolo crime: Meridiana, 1990.
Lupo, Salvatore. History of the Mafia: New York: Columbia University Press, 2009.
Napoli, Biagio: Il Ferroviere di Bagheriae ildelittNotarbartoloww.ww.bagherianews.com./cultural/1688.
Notabartolo, Leopoldo. Memorie della vita di mio padre Emanuel Notarbartolo di San Giovanni:
Pistoia: Tipografia pistoiese. 1949.
Schneider, Jane C, & Peter T. Reversible Destiny: University of California Press, 2003.
Tesauro, Giuseppina: Dai Giardini della Conca d’Oro all’impressa: www,piolatorre.it/
The Murder of Notarbartolo and the Origins of the Mystique of the Mafia: ResearchGate.net
Valera, Paolo. L’assassinio Notarbartolo: Florence, G. Nerbi, 1899.
(1) Tesauro, Giuseppina <1971-> Dai giardini della Conca d'Oro all'impresa - La mafia vista dal microcosmo di Villabate / Giuseppina Tesauro. - Palermo: Centro di studi ed iniziative culturali Pio La Torre, 2013. (Contributi ; 2) 1. Mafia. 364.106 CDD-22 SBN Pal0242854 CIP - Biblioteca centrale della Regione siciliana “Alberto Bombace”
As always, my thanks to Tom Hunt, Mafia expert extraordinaire, for helping me find the missing link.
Get the latest on organized crime and the Mafia at Gangsters Inc.'s news section.
Copyright © Thom L. Jones & Gangsters Inc.