Former mob boss finds God in prison, walks away from 'evil lifestyle': 'My faith is rock solid'
As a child, Michael Franzese suspected his father was in the mafia.
"My dad took me and my mom one day to my grandmother’s house on Long Island," the Brooklyn native recalled to Fox News Digital. "I was probably four or five years old at that point. We hadn’t seen him for a couple of days. . . . He was unshaven. My dad had a very heavy beard. His right-hand guy, who I called Uncle Joey, was out on the porch. He was sitting on the steps, watching like a guard."
"My dad came in and hugged my mom," the 73-year-old shared. "He talked to her for a minute, then came over and hugged me… and then he left. It was strange to me. Nobody explained anything to me. But it turned out the family was at war. My dad couldn’t stay home. He was so high-profile that he couldn’t escape it. He was always getting arrested, always getting indicted. We had law enforcement around us all the time. I experienced it in school, I experienced it everywhere. It was my whole life."
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Franzese, who would go on to follow in his father’s treacherous footsteps as a mob boss, is now speaking out in a new docuseries premiering on The History Channel, "American Godfathers: The Five Families." The special, executive produced and narrated by "Sopranos" star Michael Imperioli, explores the rise and fall of New York City’s five mafia families.
Franzese is the author of several books, including "Blood Covenant."
"It’s not a romantic life," said Franzese. "It’s a bad life. I even say it’s an evil lifestyle, because families are destroyed. . . . My own family was destroyed."
Franzese’s father, John "Sonny" Franzese, was the former underboss of the Colombo Crime Family. The renowned tough guy was a big spender who hobnobbed with Frank Sinatra and befriended Marilyn Monroe before a bank robbery conviction later made him the nation’s oldest federal inmate.
Franzese had big dreams of being a doctor, but the seductive life of crime came calling. He was a pre-med student at Hofstra University when he made an offer the patriarch couldn’t refuse.
"My dad got a 50-year prison sentence for allegedly masterminding a nationwide string of bank robberies," Franzese explained. ". . . It was a turning point for me. My dad’s 50 years old. If he doesn’t get out, he’s going to die in prison. I felt an obligation to help him out."
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"I finally said, ‘Dad, I’m not going to school. I’m going to help you. You’re going to die in prison,’" Franzese reflected. "That’s when he said to me, ‘If you’re going to be on the street, I want you on the street the right way.'"
Franzese was 21 when he joined "the life." On Halloween night 1975, Franzese became a "made man."
During his initiation ceremony, the 24-year-old's finger was cut with a knife. He cupped his hands, and a photo of a saint rested on his palms. The picture was lit on fire. As it burned, Franzese was told, "Tonight, you are born again into a new life. Betray your brothers, and you’ll die and burn in hell like the saint is burning in your hands."
Franzese immediately went to work. He became in charge of 300 soldiers, Esquire reported. According to the outlet, he primarily focused on tax scams. As the "Yuppie Don," Franzese claimed he generated $5 million to $8 million a week at the height of his mafia career.
"I had my first million within two years of being a made man," Franzese explained. "I made a significant amount of money throughout the latter part of my 20s and into my early 30s. I was quick. I was fortunate. I knew how to use that life to benefit me. I had a lot of success. I wanted to prove myself and be a good provider for my family."
"I had my own jet plane," he said. "I had a helicopter. I had a house in Florida, New York and California. I had my own racquetball court. And I had 300 guys under me, ready to do anything I’d tell them to do."
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According to reports, Franzese made millions masterminding a gasoline tax swindle. As the "Mafia Prince," he was "one of the highest earners the mob had seen since Al Capone." He was also featured in Fortune Magazine’s list of the "Fifty Most Wealthy and Powerful Mafia Bosses."
"I was so indoctrinated into the life," Franzese admitted. "It’s not something you ever think of walking away from. I never even gave that a thought. But I became a major target. I was arrested 18 times. I had seven indictments. I had five trials that I went to. I was a constant target of law enforcement."
In 1984, he fell in love with Camille Garcia, a dancer from California. He began to question his future with the mob.
"I knew the life was bad," he said. "My mother spent 33 years without a husband. When she passed away in 2012, I can only say her relationship with my dad was ugly, because she blamed him for everything that went wrong in her life. My sister died of an overdose at 27. My older brother was a drug addict for 25 years. My other sister wasn’t mentally stable. She passed away at 40."
"So here I am, falling in love with this girl," he said. "I said to myself, ‘What am I going to do, marry her and put her through the same thing? I’m a target. I’m going to end up dead or in jail. My family was a warring family. Why am I going to do this to her?’"
In 1985, Franzese and Garcia married. That same year, he was charged in both Florida and New York in connection with his gasoline tax swindle. He pleaded guilty to one count of racketeering conspiracy and one count of tax conspiracy. Franzese was sentenced to 10 years in prison, but released on parole after nearly four years. He was sent back to federal prison for four more years for violating his probation.
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During his time behind bars, a prison guard handed a frustrated Franzese a Bible. It made a difference.
Between 1991 and 1994, Franzese turned to a different kind of life.
"My wife is a strong Christian," he explained. "My mother-in-law was a very strong Christian . . . I read that Bible inside and out . . . I came to the conclusion that Christianity was true and real. The church that married my wife and me, the pastor, and all the people there rallied behind her and my babies at the time. They sent me books to prison. They were just very good to my family. It gave me something new to believe in. It gave me hope."
Franzese walked away from the mob for good in 1995. Today, he’s a born-again Christian.
"The bottom line is I believe in Christianity – 100%," he said. "I’m not the best Christian, but my faith is rock-solid. Nobody can change that for me."
"It was difficult," he shared. "I took an oath. I didn’t want to disappoint my dad. But I chose her, my wife. I put this whole plan together to walk away without hurting anybody. I didn’t want to join the government. I didn’t want to enter a witness-protection program. So I had a very difficult path to walk on without hurting my former friends. I also had to convince the government I was out of the life. People got mad at me and put a contract on my life. My father practically disowned me. Feds were all over me. They wanted to make a major witness out of me. . . .But we got through it."
Franzese stressed that he "didn’t put anybody in prison." He also made few enemies during his reign. But for 10 years, he and his father were estranged.
"I kept sending him messages, saying, ‘Dad, I’m not going to hurt anybody. Don’t even listen to what the feds are saying,’" said Franzese. "But everybody says that . . . and they end up on trial testifying. It took about 10 years until he realized, ‘He’s not hurting anybody.’"
Franzese and his family moved to California to evade death threats, Esquire reported. He never went to the same restaurant twice, didn’t put his home or utilities under his name and avoided nightclubs. In time, he "outlasted everyone."
"Everybody I know is dead or in prison," said Franzese. "Mostly dead now."
Today, Franzese has many regrets. But carving a new path for himself isn’t one of them.
"There are things I did or witnessed, saw – I wish they never happened," he said. "I lost friends, close friends. I regret that my dad and I had a little bit of a falling out . . . it was never the same.
"There are a lot of regrets, but it was part of what we believed in. It doesn’t mean that every guy in this life was horrible. There were a lot of good guys. . . . We felt we were doing good things at that point. We took an oath and felt it was honorable. We thought it was respectable, but our minds were not."