The Mobster Chronicles: A True Story

The Mobster Chronicles

A True Story

Copyright © 2021

Stephanie Williams

Disclaimer

Shared memories are like puzzle pieces. Sometimes there are missing pieces, and some don’t fit with complete precision.

To the best of my ability, I tried to put those pieces together, in the most accurate sequence as possible.

I’ve had the help of a couple of friends who were there and are mentioned in the book. Also, with old love letters.

This is a nonfiction account of my life with someone I hold dear to my heart. But was also into criminal activity.

The law caught up with this person, and he has paid, and for all I know (since I lost contact years ago) is still paying for his crimes

For this reason and reasons related to privacy, I elected to use pseudonyms for names with an asterisk(*), this includes the main subject matter Vinnie Bianchi and a few agents. Places are the same, but dates may have been changed to continue the anonymity.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without express written permission from the author.

Introduction to the Ride

A lot of you have been asking for this story. You wanted to know the whole story behind this romance. Some of you have romanticized this, some of you probably think the worse.

Well, let’s just say it’s more realistic. I’m not going to pretend that it didn’t have its ups and downs. That I was worried, that I questioned my own character.

I will say this, looking back on it, I did have fun, and a part of me misses him terribly to this day…even though I’m happily married. But Vinnie Bianchi* will always have a special place in my heart.

He was good to me, and I never felt scared or ashamed to be with him.

But I knew what he was all about. I knew about the dirt, the past killings. And although I didn’t know the specifics of his crimes, I knew the money he gave me was dirty, no matter how much he tried to clean it.

Some might say I should have left when the Feds stepped in. Instead, I dug my heels in deeper. I loved Vinnie. And for me to fall in love with someone is rare.

Was it his money?

No.

It was the whole package. The handsome man, the intelligent man, the funny man—the dangerous man.

You might have read up to this point and now saying: Ahh, you were a gangster’s moll.

Not really. I didn’t get involved with whatever he was doing, and as I mentioned earlier, I didn’t know the specifics. The Feds told me it was money laundering.

Fine. They wanted to tell me about their suspicions on how he was getting it. I didn’t want to know, and I don’t know to this day.

I have an idea, but I put it in another cabinet of my brain, close the drawer and lock it.

That’s denial in its biggest form. But I’m okay with that. It got me through the relationship.

You may be asking, would you do it over again if you weren’t married?

No. Like I said, I must be realistic here.

What I went through for nearly three years, a weaker person couldn’t handle. But I was (and still is according to The Guys) an ornery person. I had a lot of chutzpah. And I was playing with fire….a lot!

Would I recommend this kind of relationship to anyone? I can’t honestly say, it’s up to the person. But a knee jerk answer if someone asks would be …NO!

Look, by the time I met Vinnie, I lived in Italy for four years, and Sicily for one. I was always surrounded by Italian culture, the good and the bad. I was also familiar with that part of Italian culture.

In other words, I knew how to handle the situation.

I will say this; even though this story is about my relationship with this man, the ups and downs, the funny, sometimes hilarious moments, this is more about coming to terms with my character.

I made an assessment long ago.

I was willing to date a dangerous, criminal—period. A man that had killed, and a man that was smuggling illegal contraband and turning the money around making it look clean.

Regrets? For that yes. For loving him—no.

But don’t we learn about ourselves through relationships sometimes?

So here is my story. Enjoy the ride.

The First Meeting

I was working at UCLA Medical Center. This was also my alma mater, where I went to school. Also at this time, I was also doing volunteer work with two of my best friends, Giuseppe and Marcelo. Two men that were steadily trying to get with me in the biblical sense…but that’s another story.

It’s the late 90’s, life is good. I was making great money, and even though I wasn’t about the 9-5 Corporate America vibe, my volunteer work with the guys, allowed my creative side to come out. They did special effects for commercials.

I was traveling more too. Both jobs allowed me flexibility, so there were times I was out of the country for a couple of months at a time.

As I said, life was good.

But no amount of money can make you complete unless you share.

I was attending and donating to a lot of charities. I always said, that if I had it, I would give it.

My co-workers at UCLA knew that I attended these charities, mainly because some of them volunteered or donated to some themselves, or the medical center sponsored them. This particular year was no different.

A co-worker of mine invited me to one. It was a last-minute thing. It was a Friday, and the charity was that Saturday. Very last minute. I was more than happy, to attend, however, especially since currently I haven’t been doing many because I was so busy. Plus, it was a good excuse to get out.

I wasn’t dating, which was no big deal, nevertheless, I was tired of just going home, watching the tube, or reading.

Don’t get me wrong. I love reading. I got a master’s in history, and I have hundreds of books. But I wasn’t feeling it this particular weekend.

I told my best buds and immediately went home after work to find something to wear.

The next day was uneventful. I spent time with friends hanging out at the mall. I’m the original Mall Rat. The girls and I ride seven deep. I owned a huge SUV at the time, and every other Saturday, I was the driver for our shopping excursions.

Between Friday, the time I was informed of the charity, and Saturday afternoon, I was also trying to find out as much info as possible. We had the internet back then, but it was in its infancy as far as finding tons of information on things. (Gosh, seems like ages ago).

It’s not like it is now, where almost every company has a social media page. So, I had to rely on the brochure, and articles my co-workers gave me.

Did I forget to mention it was a $1000 a plate event?

I was in a good position financially at the time, so it was no major concern. It was a good cause, and when I read the program, flyer, and read articles in the neighborhood paper where this charity was being held; I knew for sure I wanted to attend.

Once I got home from the mall, I started to get ready. Being the typical woman it was going to take me hours. No shade on our gender. But I wanted my hair right, the makeup on point, and the best waist cincher that didn’t make me pass out. That would be embarrassing.

Once I was together, I called my buddies. Giuseppe volunteered to take me. I let him know that was okay. I knew the type of week he had at work, and he needed to rest.

I drove myself. Again, no big deal.

I arrived, only to be greeted by two of my co-workers and the doctor I was secretary for. We mingled at the bar.

The charity was at a fancy hotel in Beverly Hills. Full bar, music, entertainment. We chatted for about thirty minutes. It was so nice to talk to my co-workers about anything other than work. I found my boss engaging too, and funny. Actually, he had a raunchy sense of humor which I liked. It showed me he was human and not the tyrannical robot surgeon, I worked for at the medical center.

After we laughed it up a bit, we all took our seats. The event was about to begin.

If you know anything about these charities, they start off with the host introducing the sponsors, what the charity is about, maybe they have some recipients of the charity speak, etc., etc.

This one was no different—except for one thing. And this one thing was about to change the course of my life for the next few years.

At our table, which we shared with three other people, strangers in the sense that we never met, but had humanitarianism in common.

One of the strangers, in particular, took a keen interest in me though. He said something, looking straight at me. Of course, no one at the table knew what. Why? The man spoke Italian initially.

Now I’m not sure if he thought I spoke Italian, which I do fluently. But one wouldn’t assume that by looking at me. For one I am African-American. That’s a language we genuinely don’t speak, unless one, we’re raised in Italy or two, lived there, or traveled frequently, which was my case. But you wouldn’t know that by looking at me.

Or maybe he was speaking Italian because he didn’t want anyone to know what he was saying.

However, I understood him and translated what he said. He mentioned the fact that he was so lucky to be seated at a table with such beautiful women, especially the one with the emerald, green gown. That was me.

No harm it that, he could have said that in English. But I guess he was trying to impress me. Who knows.

He