Tommy D. Simone is remembered by most people as the volatile gangster Joe Pesci portrayed in Goodfellas. But before his murder in 1980, he was also close friends with a future acting boss of the Colombo crime family—a man who would later launch one of the bloodiest wars in Mafia history. That man was Vittorio “Little Vic” Arena.
In the early 1990s, Arena led a violent faction of the Colombo family against imprisoned official boss Carmine Persico, a conflict that left more than a dozen men dead. Mob historian and former journalist Larry McShane, author of “Little Vic and the Great Mafia War,” recently discussed the surprising link between Arena and Tommy D. Simone. While researching his book, McShane interviewed two of Arena’s sons, who shared vivid memories of Simone visiting their home in the 1970s.
“He was very much as he was played by Pesci—no boundaries,” McShane said. “If it popped into his head, he did it. ”
One story involved a neighbor across the street who made an offhand remark to one of Arena’s children at Christmas. Without hesitation, Simone crossed the street and tore down all the man’s Christmas lights.
In another incident, young Andrew Arena was upset when an ice cream truck drove past the house without stopping. Simone asked what was wrong, then went out and confronted the driver, warning him never to pass by the house again without stopping to give the boy ice cream. “They’re funny but not right,” McShane said. “They’re somewhere in that middle ground.
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Arena and Simone were not in the same crime family—Arena belonged to the Colombos while Simone was an associate of the Lucchese family. But they were roughly the same age and had crossed paths, becoming genuine friends rather than merely business associates. Through that friendship, Arena also came to know Lucchese associates Henry Hill and Jimmy Burke, as well as Lenny Vario, son of Lucchese captain Paul Vario. A well-known photograph shows all five men together.
McShane also shed light on when Arena was formally inducted into the Colombo family. He said his research indicates Arena was made in 1973, during a period when the family quietly added new members. “He was not a guy coming in with any sort of a rap sheet, so he was not likely to be on the FBI’s radar,” McShane said. “He was obviously more earner than gangster.
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That low profile made Arena an unlikely candidate for the violent rise that followed. By the early 1990s, with Persico serving a lengthy prison sentence, Arena took control as acting boss. His leadership was challenged by Persico loyalists, and the family split into two warring factions. What is less well known is how close the Arena and Persico families had been before the war.
McShane said the two sides socialized and even did business together. One of Arena’s sons ran a business with one of Persico’s sons. “They spoke about those guys like they were an extended family,” McShane said. “They were all very close.
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That closeness collapsed once Arena took power and the conflict erupted. The war devastated the family, leading to many murders and sending dozens of Colombo members to prison. Arena received a life sentence, while Persico died in prison in 2019. Asked whether the rift was ever healed, McShane said hostility remains.
The Arena family maintains that their father did not fire the first shot—the first attack targeted Arena himself, the day after a peace meeting between the two sides. “I don’t think the Arenas are making plans to have any of the Persicos over for New Year’s this year,” McShane said. Arena’s health has deteriorated badly in prison. Court filings detail his declining condition, and his sons are still pursuing compassionate release for him, an effort McShane described as ongoing.
“It’s sad and somewhat amazing that he’s still alive,” he said. Despite the war and the death and imprisonment that followed, Arena retained a degree of respect among other imprisoned mob figures. Wiretaps show even members of the Persico faction described him as a gentleman, with some speaking more disparagingly of Persico himself. McShane contrasted Arena with flashier mob bosses like John Gotti.
Arena lived on Long Island, not in Brooklyn, and to outside observers he looked like an ordinary man waiting for the bus to take him to work. “He’s a father of five,” McShane said. “It’s just funny the way things turn—how this argument over who’s going to be the boss of a family that was about to implode because of its own actions couldn’t come to an agreement.
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