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The recent sentencing of Vincent Rizzuto Jr. for killing Joseph Schiro Scarpa, son of Colombo capo and top echelon FBI informer Gregory Scarpa, (right) in a drug dispute, however, was anything but routine. The proceeding turned into one of the more compelling and dramatic court proceedings in recent memory, even though the 24-year prison term Rizzuto received was a  foregone conclusion.

Rizzuto, 27, killed the younger Scarpa in 1995, nine months after his father died of AIDS contracted through a tainted blood transfusion from a member of his crew during surgery in 1986. 

After three years on the lam, Rizzuto gave up and pleaded guilty, even though the feds reneged on an initial promise of 18 years.

The atmosphere in the courtroom of Brooklyn Federal Judge Edward Korman got thick and tensions became high almost immediately. Sitting directly opposite  Rizzuto's family was Scarpa's mother, sister, widow and eight-year-old daughter, who had asked to address the judge.

They wanted to condemn Rizzuto (left) and express their pain and loss. Over objections by Rizzuto's attorney, Gregory O'Connell, Korman said he would allow all four of them to speak.

Scarpa's mother, Linda Schiro was up first. "My son Joey stands beside me today as he always does," she said as tears streamed down her cheeks. "You can't see him now, Vinny, but you saw him the night he was killed and sitting alone in a car to die by himself."

Rizzuto glowered at her, his relatives muttered derogatory remarks about Schiro, and his angry mother said: "She's such an actress. She should get an Academy Award. Look at those tears."

Schiro continued undeterred. "Because of you, Vinny, his life is over. When Joey was killed, so was my body and mind. My family's lives have changed so dramatically, and we ask you why. (You) took away a father, 

James DiPietro, who represented Rizzuto's brother in the same case, shushed Rizzuto family members several times as they became increasingly vocal and agitated. "It doesn't help," he said.

Scarpa's widow Maria was next and tearfully described how her husband had spent all his free time with their daughter, "loving her, playing, teaching her to talk and walk."

She then recounted his last day with her and their daughter, nervously dabbing her eyes with a wad of tissues, while holding up a poster-size photograph of her late husband with an image of their daughter superimposed over him: "The day before he was murdered, it was St. Joseph's Day and we all spent the day (Mar. 19) together. That would be the last time our daughter would ever sleep in her father's arms."

The next morning, she said, after breakfast, Linda Marie cried, "Daddy, don't leave; daddy, don't go."

Scarpa kissed Linda Marie goodbye, told her he would bring her a doll when he came home, and drove off.

"Those were the last kisses, hugs, promises and smiles she saw. My daughter is always crying and asking why that bad man killed her daddy.  'Why did he take my daddy? Everybody at school has their daddy, but I don't.' I am here to beg for the maximum sentencing of Vincent Rizzuto for taking my husband and a father who can never be replaced to his little girl."

Scarpa's sister, also named Linda Marie, addressed the court next. Rizzuto, his mother, sister and other family members were visibly fuming.

Maria Scarpa then got up and insisted that her daughter, who all the while had been clutching a pink diary, wanted to address the court.

"Tell him. Tell him how you feel," she told her daughter. "Tell him what you wanted to tell him. You'll never have this chance again. Tell him. He's a good man. What he does is put bad people in jail. Go ahead. My daddy ..." The child, who looked terrified, froze and refused to say a word.

Korman, a father of two who questioned the young girl's presence in the courtroom several times, finally ended her ordeal and the awkward situation by asking if she wanted him to read her diary. He came

"Did you want to speak, Mr. Rizzuto?" Korman asked.

"May I address the court without a child in the courtroom? Is that possible?" asked Rizzuto, (right) shifting anxiously on his feet. Korman said he couldn't exclude the girl. Rizzuto explained he didn't want to speak badly about Scarpa in front of his daughter.

On cue, Scarpa's family exploded.

"Did you care about the child when you killed her daddy?" yelled Maria.

"Did you care about your victims' families?" shouted Rizzuto, as his attorney and the courtroom deputy tried to quiet and calm him.

"Why is she saying something to me?" he said motioning to Linda Schiro. "Her husband killed like thousands of people. Her son killed four people....The man killed people for $10 bags (of drugs) on the street. Killed someone in the front of a school with a shotgun..."

Rizzuto stopped his tirade to allow Linda Marie to be led from the courtroom, then picked up without missing a beat.

He ripped the prosecutors for reneging on a promise of an 18-year sentence. He said they coerced him into pleading guilty and taking 24 years by threatening to prosecute his father. He said the government ignored several murders by the Scarpas because the father was a top echelon informer.

"The government gave Joey, the Scarpas, a pass to commit several crimes against innocent people," he said.

Rizzuto may have exaggerated the notches on Greg Scarpa's gun, but he was a stone cold killer through four decades and two mob wars. And  there's little doubt that his informant work helped him and son Joseph get away with loads of crimes.

But Rizzuto did kill Scarpa, a former partner in crime. And both Scarpas are dead, and Rizzuto's still alive, as Korman noted as the proceeding came to a close and as Rizzuto's belligerence degenerated into self-pity.

"You think I want to take 24 years," said Rizzuto. "I'm never going to see my parents again. My kids are going to be my age when I get out. What kind of life is that. I wish I would have died. That's it. I wish it would have been me."

In Gang Land, wiseguys tell lots of lies and say lots of things they don't mean. But since he's still alive, Vincent Rizzuto gets the last word -- in this column anyway.

Persico, 46, was sentenced to 18 months in prison last week for possessing a loaded .380 automatic and a 12-gauge shotgun on his 50-foot speed boat along the Florida Keys in September, 1998. The sentence was a plea bargain worked out by Persico and federal prosecutors in Florida.

While the sentence was routine, Persico's situation is pretty complicated. Suffice to say the feds in Brooklyn and Florida are investigating allegations  of murder, racketeering and more against Persico.