The plot to hire some mob-connected tough guys to break the legs of a debtor allegedly began in May 2013 with vague talk over a wiretapped phone call about a popular restaurateur in Chicago’s western suburbs, federal court records show.
“Well uh, our other friend over there in Burr Ridge wants to talk to us about a job,” reputed soldier Paul Carparelli told his accomplice, George Brown, a beefy labor union bodyguard, according to the records. “I’ll go meet him and see what it is and I’ll brief ya on it. …he says it’s a money maker.”
The “guy” in Burr Ridge was Filippo “Gigi” Rovito, the owner of Capri Ristorante, an old-school staple known for its “Wise Guy” meatballs and frequented by politicians and mobsters alike, the court records show. And the job? Help Rovito’s friend, Outfit associate Michael “Mickey” Davis, send a discreet but violent message to a Melrose Park car dealer who owed him $300,000.
Carparelli assembled a crew to get the beating done, and picked up a $5,000 down payment from Davis at Capri. But the assault never took place. It turned out that Brown was cooperating with the FBI, leading to a slew of indictments that sent Carparelli, Davis, and several others to federal prison — but not Rovito, who was never charged.
Now, more than a decade later, Rovito has been named in another federal case with plenty of mob flavor: “Operation Porterhouse Parlay,” a sprawling investigation into an illicit sports gambling ring allegedly based out of two Greek-owned northwest Indiana steakhouses.
The indictment unveiled last month in U.S. District Court in Hammond alleged the nationwide organization, run by James Gerdemos, the owner of Gino’s Steakhouse in Merrillville, took bets online from customers as far away as Florida and Texas and used a team of enforcers to intimidate and threaten them into paying up on losses.
The enterprise also raked in millions through the “widespread sale” of Super Bowl line pool betting cards, charging $500 to $25,000 per line on every 10-line card, the indictment alleged.
Rovito, 52, is charged with three gambling- and extortion-related counts, though he is only mentioned in one specific episode in the 87-page indictment: helping Gerodemos locate a deadbeat bettor at a Ft. Lauderdale casino in 2024.
According the charges, Geredemos, who had sent Rovito a photo of the follically challenged target, later told a “Goodfellas”-style yarn to a group assembled at Capri Ristorante that Rovito had FaceTimed him from the Hard Rock Hotel’s high-end baccarat tables, “walking up to every bald guy he saw and asking if they were” Victim 2.
Gerodemos also told his associates Rovito had promised to “knock Victim 2’s lights out and shove his head into a machine,” according to the indictment. “The guy is nuts,” Gerodemos allegedly told the group.
The case has made waves on social media and blog pages focused on mafia-related gossip, where those claiming to know guys who know guys speculate endlessly on the current state of the Chicago mob.
Federal prosecutors this week revealed the charges were brought after a more than two-year investigation that included extensive wiretaps and secret recordings. Assistant U.S. Attorney Philip Benson told the judge at a hearing Thursday that the government will be turning over more than 15 terabytes of information in discovery.
But despite its organized-crime overtones, there’s a decidedly cartoonish element to Operation Porterhouse Parlay, starting with the defendants’ purported nicknames, which include “Jimmy the Greek,” “Donnie Brasco,” “Chuckie Hoffa,” and the seemingly farcical “Rami Straight Flush.” There’s no mention of the Outfit specifically.
While sprawling in scope, certain aspects of the gambling operation described in the indictment seem to be the antithesis of traditional mafia-type loansharking, where bettors put up their own cash and face steep, weekly interest payments and severe penalties — like broken bones or worse — for failing to keep up with payments on losses.
Instead, clients in Porterhouse Parlay were able to enter wagers through an online portal, often racking up thousands of dollars in debt without having posted a dime of their own money, the indictment shows. Collection attempts, though menacing at times, appeared to be amateurish and largely unsuccessful, including Rovito’s fruitless endeavor to find Victim 2 in Florida.
At one point as he searched for his target, Rovito texted his boss an image of a gambler from the Hard Rock, asking if that was the right guy, the indictment alleged.
“No, put ur glasses on,” Geredemos allegedly responded. “He’s got a face only a mother could love!”
In another episode described at length in the charges, Geredemos and his underlings allegedly harassed a gambler, Victim 1, for months last year, calling and texting dozens of times a day, sending pizza boxes with messages stuck on them to his home, and leaving eerie and sexually threatening voicemails for his daughter at college.
On July 30, one of the organization’s collectors, Ehab Mustafa, a former cook at Gino’s Steakhouse, rang the doorbell at Victim 1’s home in Texas wearing a T-shirt that read “F––– Around and Find Out” in big, colorful block letters, according to the indictment.
Not only did Victim 1 seem unperturbed by the shirt, he questioned what he owed. That appeared to throw Mustafa off guard.
“What’s the balance? Tell me, ’cause I’m like the middle guy,” Mustafa allegedly responded. “I’m a good guy. You’re all good, brother.”
Victim 1 replied, “I understand. Well, tell him to get the balance right and we’ll work it out.”
“What is the balance, so I can tell him?” Mustafa allegedly asked.
“I don’t know off the top of my head man,” Victim 1 said, according to the indictment.
Prosecutors had initially asked to hold Rovito — who previously served time in prison for a sexual assault-related conviction when he was a teenager — without bail pending trial. But a deal was worked out instead where he posted $1 million in cash and agreed to electronic monitoring, with permission to travel from home to his restaurant to work.
After Rovito was released from jail May 4, his attorney, Tom Breen, told reporters Rovito is “certainly not a threat to anyone” and “not involved in any kind of criminal conspiracy.”
“There has been much to-do about this case,” Breen said. “He’s not afraid of anyone, because he’s really not involved with any of these guys. Not as alleged.”
Breen also filed paperwork with the court describing him as a church-going man who donates often to his parish in Little Italy and a philanthropist who once gave out holiday turkeys to the local police department. He did not immediately comment for this article.
Rovito appeared at the Hammond courthouse on Thursday for an arraignment for all 22 defendants. Dressed in a gray sweater and slacks, he kept his hands clasped behind his back as his attorney entered a not guilty plea on his behalf. Rovito left the courthouse holding hands with his wife and did not stop to talk to a throng of reporters waiting outside.
Rovito’s arrest has caused a stir in Burr Ridge, a small community straddling the Cook and DuPage county line that has had its share of mobbed-up denizens over the years. Rovito is good friends with the mayor of Burr Ridge, Gary Grasso, an attorney who represented Rovito on several civil matters and recently put out a lengthy statement trying to deflect heat over the connection.
Grasso said he will make sure that if Rovito is convicted he “ceases to be able to manage businesses at Capri” as well as a nearby takeout spot he also owns, and “will no longer be on the liquor licenses.”
The mayor also said it was the “civic duty” of citizens of Burr Ridge to wait for the facts to come out before passing judgment, adding he will “never act based upon the social media vultures, hearsay, or local news reporters who spin the facts.”
“For now, I will continue to go to Capri as I frequently do; often with my wife Janet,” said Grasso, who has a pasta dish named for him on the menu. “…You can find us most times at a high top near the bar.”
Meanwhile, Rovito is back at Capri, where his social media posts show off his larger-than-life personality, from the black, Harry Caray-style glasses and track suits to a Chicago-Italian accent thick as Sunday gravy.
In one Facebook post a few days after his release from jail, Rovito touts the specials of the night, including rigatoni with vodka sauce, stuffed peppers, and a seafood dish bursting with shrimp and calamari.
“Steamin’ hot!” Rovito exclaims on the video as he stabs a shrimp with a fork. “Look at this shrimp. Size of your sister’s ass!”
Whatever his pedigree, Rovito does not seem to shy away from mob associations. He’s had actors from the HBO series “The Sopranos” signing books in the bar. His older brother, Johnny, is the son-in-law of Mike Spano, a top Outfit member in Cicero. And Rovito he once told the FBI that Rudy Fratto, a longtime captain of the mob’s Elmwood Park crew, was a frequent patron.
“Fratto’s wife was a very loud person,” Rovito told agents in 2014, according to a report of the interview in court records.
A decade ago, Capri also attracted another loyal customer: Mickey Davis, the muscular landfill owner and longtime business partner of reputed mob lieutenant Salvatore “Solly D” DeLaurentis. Davis also grew up with another Outfit bigwig, Peter DiFronzo, and was known to go golfing and deep sea fishing with him, according to testimony from Davis’ 2015 trial.
Rovito’s brother, Johnny, told a federal jury he first met Davis in the bar at Capri after Davis had returned from a fishing trip. “A big guy, like a bodybuilder,” Johnny Rovito testified. “Slick, black hair.”
According to trial testimony, Davis was looking for a crew that would administer a vicious beating to Melrose Park used car dealer R.J. Serpico for failing to pay back the $300,000 loan. Serpico testified at trial that he was afraid he would “end up dead” after Davis paid a visit to his auto dealership one day in early 2013 and demanded his money back.
According to Serpico, Davis asked him in a thinly veiled threat, “How are your wife and kids doing? Are you still living in Park Ridge? Does your wife still own that salon in Schaumburg?”
Davis allegedly went to Rovito and said he wanted Serpico’s beating to be done by guys that wouldn’t connect back to him. He wanted it to look like a domestic incident. And he wanted it done in short order, court records show. The price was $10,000 — half of which would be delivered to Capri in an envelope as a down payment.
According to court testimony, Rovito had his brother reach out to another friend, Carparelli, to assemble some guys.
“We definitely can’t (expletive) around with these guys or we’re gonna have a big (expletive) headache,” Carparelli later told Brown in one recorded call from July 2013. “The guy already gave the down payment. He’s a (expletive) mean mother(expletive). I don’t wanna have no problems with him.”
The scheme unfolded over the next several weeks. In one wiretapped call, Carparelli told Brown that the plan was to follow Serpico, a nephew of the Melrose Park mayor, out of the dealership parking lot at the end of the day and bump into his car.
“Say we give him a little tap, like an accident,” Carparelli told Brown. ‘Oh, man, I’m sorry.’ Guy gets out of his car. Boom, boom, boom. That’s it.”
Carparelli knew the stakes were high. With top bosses watching, the job could make or break their fledgling mobster careers.
“Let me tell you something, we, we, we do good on this, put us right on the map. Believe me when I tell ya,” he told Brown.
After the FBI took down Davis, agents interviewed Rovito twice, including at his restaurant in 2014, court records show. He acknowledged he’d known Davis for at least four years and considered him to be a friend. But he denied knowing anything about any beating, or the envelope stuffed with $5,000, records show.
When asked by agents why phone records showed Davis had called Rovito the night the money was exchanged at Capri, Rovito responded “Davis probably called him to ask for some type of special meal.”
jmeisner@chicagotribune.com
