Mob Wife

Mob Wife 1

Mob Wife 1: All Rise

The day was September 24, 2014. Rain pouring down from the sky, and it was the court date to one of the biggest murder mysteries in New York City. Reporters lingered outside, wanting access inside of the court building while longing for some answers from a witness or one of the officers surrounding the young woman. Her big red hair blew in the wind, pale skin covered in goosebumps, and eyes dark from her sleepless nights. She wore shades to cover the stress revealed on her face. Every second she turned around, she expected someone to be behind her, ready to kill her for what she has seen.

"All rise," the bailiff spoke, arms crossed. Everyone in the courtroom stood to their feet, waves of nervousness, anxiousness and cockiness overpowered the natural aura in the courtroom, "the Court of the Second Judicial Circuit, Criminal Division, is now in session, the Honorable Judge James Wilbert presiding," he said.

The Judge entered the courtroom, everyone's gaze averting to the white man. Once he stood in front of his brown leather chair, he stated, "everyone but the Jury may be seated. Mrs. Valmore, please swear the Jury."

She nodded her head, getting further into character, "please raise your right hand," she instructed, all of them quickly obeying. Mrs. Valmore proceeds, "do you solemnly swear to affirm that you will truly listen to this case and render a true verdict and a fair sentence as to this defendant?"

Jury voices together, "I do."

"You may be seated," the bailiff said.

"Members of the Jury," Judge Wilbert began to speak again. Brooklyn, Brooklyn Hale that is, took a large deep breath, staring at the Judge as he went on. It was her job to study every feature in this room, sketching it onto her notepad for later release. Brooklyn worked for the nearest precinct as a Sketch artist, or as the professionals would say, a forensic artist. She was fine with her job, it was simple, and simple pleased her. Judge Wilbert asks, "Mrs. Valmore, what is today's case?"

"Your Honor, today's case is the State of New York versus Giovanni Marcelo," the Bailiff took a small glance at the suspect himself.

After the Prosecutors stood up because the Judge asked if the prosecution was ready, they said, "yes, Your Honor," then all sat back down.

Judge Wilbert moved to his next question, asking if the defense were ready. They also stood up, answering in the same tone, "yes, Your Honor," taking their seats again.

Brooklyn flipped the page in her sketch book, ready to sketch the Witness. Sketch artist were great to have in courtrooms; there was little to no distractions and privacy was maintained. People from the news would rely on sketch artists like Brooklyn for illustrations.

The Witness was known around the city as a prostitute that wouldn't shut her mouth for shit. All of this was happening because of her, because of what she saw. It was weighing on her shoulders, she had to come forward to NYPD.

Francesco Vitale sat in the back of the courtroom, staring the Judge in his eyes as the Witness was asked to the stand. Sweat dripped from her face as she recalled the presence of the man sitting behind the brown desk who was the defendant. Her attorney didn't allow her to get a good look at him during this time, to prevent any threatening glances to switch her statement from the one she gave to the police.

Her Attorney, David Jones, was very aware of defendants like this one, especially since this one was apart of one of the biggest crime organizations in the world. He worked for the Vitale Crime Family, one of the most dangerous families out there in the Mafia.

Francesco's great-grandfather started this business with just selling drugs. That turned into drug trafficking. Over time, his great-grandfather made a name for himself. He made it very clear for no one to fuck with him, his money or his women. He was protective of everything he had. The Head of the Italian Mafia position was then passed to Francesco's grandfather. When it was time for him to step down, he gave the power to Francesco's father who eventually passed it down to Francesco himself.