The Mafia Hit Man's Daughter Read Online Free

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    So I took a ride and I sat in the car across the street from the lot where the guy was parked. Greg went into the other guy’s car. I saw him put his arm around the guy; then, all of a sudden, I heard “boom, boom.” He shot him in the head and just took the stamps and the coins. He wasn’t paying for them. Then he came back to the car like nothing happened. He was all smiles. But that was Greg. I think his adrenaline went up when he killed somebody.
    I was always with Greg. If he had to meet someone, I would be there. If people came to my house for a meeting or to talk to him, he never told me to go into the other room. In fact, if I got up to leave, he’d say, “Sit down, sweetheart.” And I’d sit down. Everyone got used to it. It was like I was one of the boys.
    Once Greg and his crew did a robbery at an airport—it was jewelry. Greg said they had to bring the stuff back to the house. I said sure, as long as he gave me something. So the guys came over with these big airport bags and laid all the jewelry out on the table. Greg gave me whatever I wanted.
    Even though I knew what he did, I never thought Greg would get arrested. I never thought he’d get shot. I never thought he would die. It just wasn’t in my head, none of that stuff, because he had a lot of backing from the FBI. I felt very secure with Greg, and I think Greg felt secure, too, because he just did what he wanted. I mean there was nothing he wouldn’t do.And the FBI knew about it before he did it. Greg lived the gangster life. He’d go out killing people or robbing banks, robbing airports or trucks. And he’d talk to the FBI.
    After we dated for a while, I knew I wanted to have kids with Greg. I wanted my own family, my own kids. But in those days, you didn’t have kids without getting married—and Greg was already married. I didn’t want to hurt my father by doing that, so I talked to Greg about it.
    â€œListen, I’m going to just meet somebody and marry him. Then we can have kids now, until we can move in together. I don’t want to have kids without being married.”
    â€œNo, what are you crazy? We just move in. We’ll get an apartment.”
    I told him I couldn’t do that to my father, so I married this nice guy named Charlie. I lived with Charlie until I had Joey. Then two or three months after Joey was born, Charlie left; and then a little while after that, Greg moved in.
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    I grew up thinking Charlie was my real father. At that time—I was born in 1969 and Joey came along a couple years later—having a baby without being married just wasn’t done. My mother’s marriage to Charlie ultimately ended—they eventually divorced—and Greg moved in with us, but I still called Charlie my father.
    Until I was about four or five years old, we lived with Charlie in Brooklyn. We lived on Fifty-Fifth Street, between Seventeenth and Eighteenth Avenues. I didn’t remember exactly when Greg came into the house because I was so young. I just remember that it was Charlie; then, all of a sudden, it was Greg because Greg was always part of our lives.
    I called him “Greggy” at the time—I didn’t call him “Dad.” I called Charlie my dad, and so did my brother. But we were really confused. We didn’t understand why Greg was in the house acting like a daddy, but then we also had Charlie, who was Daddy.
    My father had another family—his wife, Connie, and four kids: Deborah, the oldest, Greg Junior, the second oldest, Bart and Frankie, the youngest. When my father separated from Connie, she and the kids lived in New Jersey.
    I called Greg Junior, “Gregory.” He was about twenty years older than me. In the beginning I didn’t know he was my brother because I didn’t know Greg Senior was my father. But Gregory was very good to me. He acted fatherly toward me. He used to call me