In the early 1960's a bloody civil war broke out between the two powerful Irish Mob families in the Somerville Massachusetts neighborhood known as Winter Hill. Over sixty men were murdered, including the leader of the Winter Hill Gang, James "Buddy" McLean. The leadership of one of the most influential non-Italian crime organizations in the United States was inherited by his childhood friend, Howard T. "Howie" Winter. In CITIZEN SOMERVILLE the events during his tenure offer a true picture of an era in Boston's pre-Whitey Bulger history when the streets were protected by a close-knit group of Irish-Italian "businessmen." The son of one of Winter's closest friends, BOBBY MARTINI has laid his own history bare to depict a life of survival in the rough streets of Somerville, stopping just short of entering the Mob life. The death of Martini's two brothers as well as the murders and suicides of scores of others reveal the darker personal side of a small New England town. CITIZEN SOMERVILLE slices a layer deeper than a crime memoir by allowing a usually ostracized faction to speak - the women. After decades of silence, three strong and very different females lift the Mob veil and voice their own struggle to survive in Somerville's criminal circle. Often painfully poignant and yet frequently hilarious, CITIZEN SOMERVILLE is a microscopic view of a generation struggling to walk the moral tightrope between societal decency and the loyalty of criminality. THE BOSTON HERALD'S Laura Raposa writes..."Stories of Howie Winter and his lieutenants are legendary in Boston, but 'Citizen Somerville' brings them back to life with a bonus: the stories behind the stories. The underworld dramas in the Boston burg have made headlines for decades, but we've never heard from the supporting cast, namely the women and children. Their tales make for an eye-opening, fascinating read." Underworld dramas in Boston have made headlines for decades but we've never heard from the supporting cast, the women and children. In Citizen Somerville their tales make for an eye-opening, fascinating read. Laura Raposa --The Boston Herald An instant classic by a true insider, it will have you turning pages late into the night. Dripping with authenticity, and the rough-and-tumble characters within are alternately harrowing and hilarious. A great read! -- Writer/Director Bobby Farrelly A truly magnificent work. A gripping account of the Winter Hill Gang and other remarkable events that occurred in and around Boston over decades. One of the best books I've read in a long time. Get it! --Ed Begley, Jr. 1962. My father, Bob Martini Sr., was playing cards with a few Somerville cronies in a second floor apartment located at the Mystic Ave projects. The air was rich with cigarette smoke and cigar fumes although the game stakes were very low. Most of the players were older and ex-military, the projects at that time almost strictly affordable housing for veterans and their families. Bob liked the old guys, they were full of stories about days past and it was a brief respite from his small cramped apartment filled with a wife and seven kids. One old marine tossed out some coins, opened his mouth to proclaim his bet and was reduced to a fit of phlegm-filled coughing. “Oh for Chrissakes!” Bob threw his cards down in disgust. “I keep sayin’ if somebody don’t open a window, we’re never gonna get through this game.” He shoved his chair away from the table. “Fine by me,” grumbled the grunt, “I’m losing so bad I might as well stay here until I die.” The man to his left mumbled, “What you should do is try and win so you can get on an iron lung!” Another old timer leaned his cards protectively into his chest as Bob rounded his corner of the table. He was a retired sailor with a drawer full of medals and a brutal sense of humor. “Ya, you’re losin’, Bob. Don’t think I don’t see ya, comin’ around and readin’ our cards!” “Uh oh…” murmured someone else. Even in jest, intimating that a Somerville guy was a cheat was one small step above calling him a rat – and everyone knew what kind of response you’d get back for that comment. But Bob just laughed good-naturedly as he maneuvered his way around the wooden chairs, pretending to grab at the cards. “Ya, that’s right we worked it all out before we got here. I told him to wait until I’m finally winnin’ for a change and then to pretend he’s coughin’ up a lung just so I can get up and try to take a look at your….” The deafening sound of a massive blast reverberated up the side of the building. Bob felt the sturdy floor shudder under his feet, he watched, uncomprehendingly, as a huge sheet of metal and flame shot upward past the window. He reached out to the table to grab hold. Cards and coins jumped up, beers spilled dark across the tablecloth. “Get down!” Bob yelled. The men hit the floor instinctively. One elderly (and remarkably spry) fellow dove under the table. In any another town in America, a bunch of army guys would have b