In the heart of the Bronx, a gang called the Shooting Boys was on the rise. Led by a young shot caller named Cabalo, they were beefing with everybody, even their old crew, the Trinitarios. But what made this story insane? The fact that an NYPD officer was helping them hide bod.i.es, dodge indictments, and stay one step ahead.
It was all happening right under the city’s nose. So, how did Cabalo build his gang? and how did a cop fall for a gang leader? Join us as we take a closer look at this wild tale of street power betrayal and one of the boldest NYPD scandals ever. Cuz this story only gets crazier from here.
In the middle of the Caribbean lies the Dominican Republic, a place full of culture, but also a country that’s been drowning in poverty for decades. Things took a turn for the worse in the 1960s when political violence shook the nation. After a power shift, people were scared. Scared of being targeted, of being punished for their beliefs.
Many felt they had no choice but to flee. That’s when the waves of Dominicans began leaving the island and a large number of them landed in New York. They came looking for peace and opportunity. But instead, many found the rough streets of the Bronx. Over time, Dominican families began stacking up in the burrow, especially between the 60s and 90s.
By the early 2000s, the Bronx had become home to over 200,000 Dominicans. That made up a major part of the population. But living in numbers didn’t mean safety. See, back then, the Bronx was one of the most dangerous places in America. It wasn’t like LA, where massive gangs controlled entire zones. In the BX, it was block versus block.
One project building would be beefing with the next. Street politics ran deep. Everybody had to pick a side or risk getting caught in the middle. Even though Dominicans were deep in the neighborhoods, they weren’t organized under one flag. On the outside, that was fine. But once they ended up behind bars, it became a serious problem.
Inside Riker’s Island, the jail where many New York gangsters did time, it was all about who had numbers and structure. The Latin Kings had it. The Crips had it. The BGF had it. But the Dominicans, they were just scattered individuals trying to survive. That made them easy targets.
That’s when two Dominican inmates, Leonidas Sierra, called Hunito and Julio Marine, known as Cababayo, decided to change the game. In 1992, inside the walls of Rikers, they created the Trinitarios. It wasn’t about respect or money at first. It was survival. They needed protection, and they needed unity. The Trinitario started as a prison gang built on structure, loyalty, and strength in numbers.
But like fire, once it sparked, it spread. By the late 90s and early 2000s, the Trinitarios weren’t just something you heard about in jail, they started flooding into the streets, and with them came a reputation that made people take notice. These weren’t just kids on the block. They had rules, ranks, and a purpose.
The top boss was called the primera, the one who called the shots. His right hand was the sagundo, who made sure orders were carried out and everyone stayed in line. That prison style structure gave them control most street gangs didn’t have, and that’s what made them dangerous. As the years passed, different trinitario sets popped up all over New York.
Each one had its own primra, its own sold.i.ers, and its own territory. But among all these crews, one group started standing out for going against the grain. They were called the Sunset Trinitarios, based out of Sunset Park in Brooklyn. And their leader, a man named Edberto Santana, known in the streets as Flaco Veno.
But Flaco wasn’t content being just another Pimera. He came up with a new title for himself, La Suprema, claiming to be above every other leader in the game. That wasn’t how the Trinitarios worked, but Flaco didn’t care. He had a vision of turning his Sunset crew into the dominant force across all of New York. Every other set would answer to him.
Now, this kind of power move needed more than just talk. Around 2010, Flaco decided it was time to expand, and the target was the Bronx, a place already packed with deeprooted Trinitario crews who had their own way of running things. Flaco didn’t ask for permission. He just made his move. Problem was, the Bronx Trinitarios weren’t having it.
They told Flaco straight up. They didn’t need Sunset. They had their own structure, their own leaders, and their own streets. But again, Flaco wasn’t the type to back down. If words didn’t work, he’d use something stronger. Fear. In 2011, Flaco sent his Brooklyn boys into the Bronx to start recruiting. At first, it was low-key. Try to convince. Try to talk.
Advertisements
But when that failed, they turned up the heat. Flaco gave them the green light to start sending messages. And on the streets, that means one thing, violence. Within two years, things got bloody. Sunset Trinitarios were suspected of taking out at least three members from Bronx base sets.
These weren’t random killings. These were warnings. A message that Flaco wasn’t asking for a seat at the table. He was flipping the whole thing over. People started paying attention. Even Trinitarios, who once laughed off Flaco’s ambition, began falling in line or keeping their heads low. His sunset set had now pushed deep into the Bronx, and nobody wanted smoke with a crew that had already shown they’d go as far as taking out their own.
Flaco had done what many thought was impossible. He crossed burrow lines, went against his own gang’s playbook, and built a reputation that had people shook. His version of leadership was simple. Total control. No back and forth, no discussion. You’re either with him or you’re in the way. And the craziest part, all of this went down while Flaco remained free.
It wasn’t until years later that he was finally arrested. But by then, his influence had already done its damage. The Sunset Trinitarios weren’t just a crew anymore. They were a force. And Flaco, he wasn’t just a name. He was a warning. So, while most people remember the Bronx for its music, its culture, and its hustle, there’s another side, a darker one.
By the time Flaco’s Sunset crew touched down in the West Bronx, things had already started turning sour. They weren’t just trying to blend in. They came to take over. La Suprema didn’t ask permission. He just picked two neighborhoods and stamped his authority on them. One zone stretched from Forom Road down to 184th.
The other covered the strip from Forom to 182nd. These became the two official Sunset Trinitario hoods in the Bronx. But there was a problem. They weren’t welcome. Nobody liked how the Sunset Boys moved. They had a different energy. Cold, nononsense, and always on go. These weren’t your usual crews trying to find their place.
They came in like they already owned the block. And that attitude, it didn’t sit right with anyone around. The orders were always coming from above. No room for choices. Members weren’t allowed to think for themselves. It was all about doing what La Supopa said. No questions, no opinions. One of the sold.i.ers under that chain of command was a young Bronxorn member named Andrew Don.
But on the streets, they called him Cabalo. He had respect in the crew. People listened when he spoke. He’d already proved himself and was seen as a stepper, one of those guys who didn’t hesitate when things got serious. But by 2017, things started to shift. Cabalo wasn’t feeling how Flockco ran things. The constant pressure, the lack of freedom.
It was like being part of a military, not a brotherhood. Cabalo began pulling a few of the homies to the side, just talking at first, letting them know he wasn’t happy with the way things were going. He mentioned the idea of walking away, starting fresh, building something of their own.
Some members agreed with him, but most were too scared to speak up. Nobody wanted to cross Flaco. That could get you clipped or worse. Still, Cabalo didn’t stop pushing. He kept planting seeds. Over time, more members started nodding in agreement. Quiet support turned into loyalty, and by 2018, Cabo made a move nobody saw coming.
He broke off, took his small circle, and walked away from Sunset Trinitarios completely. This wasn’t just some quiet exit. This was war. He named the new set the Shooting Boys, or SB for short. A direct challenge to everything Flaco had built. They grabbed turf fast. The Shooting Boys claimed 155 Caesar Place as their main block.
They also staked out the whole area around Dvau Park, which hadn’t been claimed by anyone yet. That move was smart but risky. Why? Because that turf was just a few blocks away from the sunset sets. Cabalo wasn’t hiding from his past. He was staring it in the face. He wasn’t just trying to exist. He was trying to compete. The moment the SBS broke off, they made enemies out of everyone.
Not just the Sunset Trinitarios, but all the other gangs in the area who already had beef with Sunset. Now they had beef with SB2. Nobody liked them. Nobody clicked up with them. SB was the real EBK. Everybody kills in the West Bronx. Their survival depended on being aggressive, fearless, and always ready to apply pressure. And that’s what they did.
Cabalo didn’t move alone. His circle included some serious names. Alongside him were Reality RD and SB, two rappers tied closely to the gang. But behind them stood the real hitters. Victor Alante, better known as Flaco Capone, wasn’t just a name, he was active. Then you had Moises Fontanzka Goya, a known face on the block.
Add in Joel Ortiz, Brooklyn, Wander Rivera, Siru, and Ramon Rodriguez, known in the streets as Puyo. And what you had was a crew that didn’t fear much of anything, and they made sure nobody forgot that. With enemies on every corner, the shooting boys became hyper territorial. Their block wasn’t just turf. It was a fortress.
Nobody unfamiliar was allowed to linger, not even for a second. And if you did, you were getting pressed hard. That brings us to June 9th, 2019. It was just another hot summer night in the Bronx. Cabalo and a couple of SB members were chilling on the block. Like always, they were on point, watching cars roll by, keeping an eye on who was walking past, checking corners like clockwork.
Around 900 p.m., Cabalo and Flaco Capone noticed a man hanging around at the end of the block. They didn’t recognize him. Wrong move. They walked up, confronted him, and asked what he was doing there. The man kept it simple. I’m just hustling. To him, this might have still felt like neutral territory. But Cabalo saw something else. Disrespect.
Someone trying to operate on his turf without permission. So he pressed the guy harder, applying pressure until the man turned around and tried to run. That’s when Cabalo made a decision that would define the gang’s reputation. He didn’t just let him go, he acted. And while the man survived after being rushed to the hospital, that moment became a turning point.
It was bold, reckless, but it was effective. The message was loud and clear. This is our block. Now, that kind of violence might sound common in places like Chicago, but New York, incidents like that don’t just happen every week. It made people take notice. It made the SB name spread. And crazier than all of that, Cabayo and Flaco Capone got away with it.
After that, they started moving different, more aggressive, more strategic. They weren’t trying to stay low. They wanted the Bronx to know exactly who they were. And once they realized they could push the line and get away with it, they leaned all the way in. What happened two weeks later would only take things even further. You see, summer in the Bronx always comes with heat.
But in 2019, it wasn’t just the weather. The streets were boiling with tension. On Sunday, June 23rd, the Sunset Trinitarios had gathered deep in their zone right on 182nd Street and Grand Concourse. They weren’t expecting smoke that day, but the shooting boys, led by Cabalo, had other plans. Word quickly got to the SBS that their former brothers were chilling in their usual spot.
Instead of ignoring it, they took it as a perfect opportunity to send a message. Cabalo gave the green light to a young member, a name people didn’t know yet, but were about to. Marvin Ruddio, young, bold, and cold. By 7:15 p.m., Marvin stepped out from Caesar Place and started walking straight toward enemy turf with nothing but bad intentions.
When he made it to the block, he saw them all. Sunset members grouped up, not even looking over their shoulders. Marvin didn’t waste a second. He upped it. Shots rang out, but just like a bad play, he missed. People joked later saying he pulled a Ben Simmons. No bod.i.es dropped, no one was hit, but that didn’t matter.
The rivalry had officially been lit up. Now the shooting boys weren’t just loud. They were dangerous. But being feared didn’t mean they were living good. They had clout. Sure. But money? That was a whole different issue. Nobody in the Bronx was trying to do business with them. They had no allies, no plugs, and no one trusted them enough to work with them.
Cabalio and Goya knew something had to change. Their answer, step out of state. If the Bronx was a locked door, they’d find a new one to open. So, in early summer of 2020, they set up a connection in the quiet suburbs of New Jersey. They didn’t hit the cities. They found a target in a small town called Southbrook Mound.
There, they linked with a man online, building trust through fake promises and smooth talk. The plan wasn’t to partner, it was to rob him. On July 6th, 2020, Cabalo and Goya rolled out of the Bronx around 6:00 p.m., hopping on Interstate 95. They had one goal, run a play and get out clean. By 7:15, they hit South Brook Mound. That’s when they texted the man to meet them behind a Senoko gas station just off the main strip.
He agreed and pulled up at 7:35 p.m., parking next to their ride like it was just another deal. They told him to hop in the back seat. And at first it was calm, just small talk. But within minutes, things flipped. Cabalo and Goya pulled out the straps and told him to hand over everything. Scared for his life, the man didn’t argue.
They took what they wanted, gave him a cold warning, and kicked him out the car. Just like that, they were gone. Headed back to the Bronx before anybody in Jersey even knew what had hit their town. Now with some fast cash in their pocket, the SBS were feeling good again. But for Goya, the hunger wasn’t just for money anymore.
He wanted revenge, a new hit, a fresh opportunity to press the old set. So later that same month, July 31st, 2020, on a blazing hot Friday afternoon, Goya got the drop. The Trinitarios were out again, chilling on 182nd, same spot they always claimed. He didn’t hesitate. He got in his car, pulled up to the block, and jumped out. Just like before, he let it rip.
But just like Marvin weeks earlier, Goya missed, too. Pulled a Westbrook, some would say. Another bold move. No bod.i.es. But the message crystal clear. By now, the summer of 2020 was turning into one of the most violent periods the Bronx had seen in nearly a decade. The city was on edge.
Bod.i.es were dropping across neighborhoods. Gunshots weren’t once in a while anymore. They were daily echoes. That’s when the NYPD decided to step in, trying to cool the chaos. They launched what they called peace and safety units. Teams of officers assigned to walk the streets, talk to residents, and calm things down.
Each precinct had their own squad. But the crew covering the 52nd precinct, where SB activity was heating up, had someone special leading the charge. Her name, Officer Gina Mestra. Known around the department not just for her looks, but for her record, and not in a good way. In just 7 years on the force, Gina had already racked up 34 complaints, including abuse of power and straight up lawbreaking.
10 lawsuits had her name on them, and the city had paid out over a million dollars to clean up her messes, putting her on SB territory. Some called it bold, others called it a disaster waiting to happen. Turns out it was the latter. Instead of keeping an eye on Cabalo, Gina started something else.
Over the summer of 2020, she got close to the man she was assigned to watch. Real close. Cabalo, known in the hood as the RZ god, wasn’t just good at street politics. He had a way of pulling people in. And this time, it was a cop who fell under his spell. By August, the two were full-on dating. At first, SB members weren’t sure what to think.
Some thought Gina was faking it, using the relationship to get intel for the department. But Cabalo didn’t buy that. He believed she was loyal to him. And maybe he was right. Because soon after, Gina started sending him police intel. She warned him about upcoming raids, told him when to lay low, gave him heads ups that no gang leader should ever have.
In Cababalo’s eyes, that sealed it. She was really on his side. With a cop feeding him real-time info, he felt untouchable. So, for a brief moment, Cabalo eased off the gas. He stopped making noise, stayed off the radar, and let things cool down. But like every wild story in the Bronx, peace never lasts for long.
Because right when things started to settle, the bad news came knocking. It was a regular fall night in the Bronx on November 4th, 2020. The weather was cool, the streets were alive, and the shooting boys were out in front of Dvau Park acting like they didn’t have enemies on every corner.
Highranking members, including some of the most well-known SB names, were just posted up like they weren’t the most hated crew in the city. Laughter, loud voices, and good vibes, made it feel like any other hangout. But something was coming and they didn’t see it. Around 8:15 p.m., two cars rolled through the area. They didn’t belong. Inside them were rival gang members ready to make a move.
No warnings, no signs, just action. As soon as they hit the corner, they hopped out and stormed the park. Guns up. Chaos followed. Two unnamed SB members were shot, but luckily they survived. Still, the message had been delivered. Nobody’s untouchable. Not even the SBS in their own zone. Cabala wasn’t about to let that slide. He wanted revenge and fast.
Right after the shooting, he reached out to Gina Mestre, the NYPD officer he’d been messing with. He told her straight up he was ready to strike back, but Gina played it smart. She told him to stay low, let the heat d.i.e down, and avoid putting a target on his back. Cabalo listened, but only for a moment.
By the next morning, November 5th, 2020, Cabalo’s anger had taken over. He wasn’t staying low. He had something planned, and he wasn’t waiting for anyone’s approval. At 9:00 a.m., he threw on a blue hood.i.e, a black puffer jacket, and a black cap. No mask, no gloves, no attempt to hide. He left his place, jumped into his white Toyota, and drove toward his target, his destination, Mount Eden, a Bronx neighborhood not too far off.
He took Highway 87, calm behind the wheel, focused on the mission. Around 9:41 a.m., he pulled onto Cromwell Avenue, a block lined with auto repair shops and quiet traffic. There, he looked for one thing, a black Acura MDX with tinted windows. He knew who was inside, and when he spotted it parked near a van, he didn’t hesitate. He reached into his pocket and rushed the vehicle.
Inside the car was a man named Angel, better known in the streets as Jayla Sombber, a Trinitario rapper and someone Cabalo had once called a friend. But not anymore. When that trigger got pulled, everything changed. Jayla’s d.e.a.t.h hit the Sunset Trinitarios hard. Not just because he was wellknown, but because it showed just how personal this war had become.
Later that day, officer Gina Mestre sent Kabalo surveillance footage from the scene. It showed everything, his face, his clothes, his car. But lucky for him, the incident happened in the 44th precinct where officers didn’t recognize him. Gina could have reported him, but she didn’t. She stayed silent for now.
Still, Gina warned him. It’s only a matter of time, she texted. If the footage landed in her hands through official channels, she’d be forced to confirm his identity. She was walking a tight line, and it was only getting thinner. That moment came quicker than they expected. When the footage finally made it back to Gina’s precinct, she had no choice.
She identified the man in the video as Andrew Dunn, also known as Cabalo. But before anything could happen, she did one last thing. She tipped him off. She sent him a final message. Get out now. That same night, Cabalo booked a flight to the Dominican Republic and disappeared. The next morning, the NYPD came knocking with warrants, raiding spots across the Bronx.
But Cabalo was already gone. And even though Gina played dumb, pretending not to know where he’d gone, authorities soon pulled his flight records. It was confirmed Cabalo had fled the country. Still, even with their leader overseas, the SBS weren’t finished. Months passed. The tension didn’t fade. And on June 20th, 2021, the SBS popped out again.
This time, not for war, but for fun. It was a Sunday night, and the crew was ready to step out. But partying in the Bronx wasn’t safe for them anymore. Not with everything they’d done. So, they took their energy to a different part of the city, West 207th Street, where things were calmer.
Just past midnight, three SB members pulled up to a popular nightclub. Wander Rivera, Siru, Edward Perez, Perico, and Ramon Rodriguez Pouyo stepped in like they owned the place. Loud, flashy, full of confidence. It wasn’t about hiding. They were out to enjoy themselves. But that changed real quick. As they walked through the club, something caught their eye.
A man wearing a watch. But not just any watch. It was an iced out Ottomar’s pig. Better known in the streets as an AP. And in the world they lived in, that kind of watch scream money. It didn’t matter who the man was. The AP made him a target. The SBS locked eyes. No more dancing. No more drinks.
Now it was about the get down. They left the club, got into their car, and began the plan. Masks on, heads down, focused on one thing, the watch. And whatever came next wouldn’t be about fun anymore. The plan was simple, but the patience it required showed how far the shooting boys had come. Around 2:15 a.m.
, the crew had locked in their decision. They weren’t leaving without that watch. The iced out AP they spotted earlier in the club was worth a fortune. And in the streets, flashing that kind of peace could get you lit up quick. So, they parked their car across the street from the nightclub. They waited and waited.
For over 2 hours, they sat in silence, eyes peeled, watching the exit. Then at 4:40 a.m., their moment finally came. The man they were watching, Milton Grant, stepped out with a friend, laughing, walking casually toward his vehicle. He looked relaxed. He had no idea the crew had been clocking him since the club. Milton walked over to his satin wrapped BMW 7 series, a car that already made him stand out even more.
He got in, started the engine, and pulled off down Vermilia Avenue, heading for the Dayman Strip, a popular stretch known for its late night food joints. But Milton wasn’t alone. The SB car slid in behind him, tailing him as he drove. He probably thought he was in the clear. He wasn’t. At 4:45 a.m.
, Milton double parked along Dykeman. The moment his car stopped, the SB members pulled up beside him. In an instant, two masked men jumped out. They rushed the car and told Milton to get out. He hesitated for only a second, then slammed his foot on the gas, trying to escape. But the SBS weren’t leaving empty-handed.
And what they did next was irreversible. Milton Grant, a successful businessman, a husband, a father of two, was gunned down in cold blood. After the shot, Puyo snatched the AP watch from his wrist and the crew raced back to the Bronx. Another hit, another escape, and no one saw it coming. At that time, the NYPD had nothing to go on.
No names, no suspects. Cabalo was still hiding out in the Dominican Republic, far from the block, and the younger members were running wild. With no direct pressure from law enforcement, they felt untouchable. That feeling lasted 9 months. Then came March 31st, 2022, the day everything changed. The NYPD had finally connected the dots.
After months of surveillance, interviews, and data tracking, they hit the gang hard. On that day, 10 members of the shooting boys were indicted on 15 felony charges. Cops kicked down doors across the Bronx. It was a major sweep. Nine members were arrested right away. But there was one name still missing from the list.
The only one they really wanted, Cabalo. He was still out there, still moving, and still staying one step ahead of every raid. Even though authorities knew he’d fled to the DR, every time they tried to track him down, he vanished. The whole thing turned into a cat-and- mouse game. Every lead hit a dead end.
Some officers started asking questions. How was Cabalo always disappearing right before they got there? Was he just lucky or did someone inside the system tip him off? That question lingered. But then in late April 2022, the chase ended. US marshals located Cabalo. He was finally taken into custody and brought back to face the weight of everything he’d been running from.
The charges weren’t small, and neither was the sentence. On November 17th, 2022, Cabalo pleaded guilty to the November 5th, 2020 killing. The one where he walked up to a black Acura on Cromwell Avenue and ended the life of Jayla Sombra, his one-time friend. The court didn’t hesitate. He was sentenced to 35 years to life. But even after this major takedown, police weren’t satisfied.
Something didn’t sit right. There was too much precision in how Cabalo had dodged raids. Too many times he had escaped just in time. Officers couldn’t ignore the possibility. Either he’s a genius or he had someone on the inside. At the same time, four SB members were still on the streets. the remaining names, Siru, Perico, Pouyo, and Vlad SB.
With their numbers cut and their leader locked up, these final few knew they had to keep their heads down. But on New Year’s Eve, December 31st, 2022, the Ford decided to celebrate, just not in the Bronx. They made a move across state lines to Elizabeth, New Jersey, around 45 minutes away. The logic was simple.
Stay out of enemy territory. In their minds, nobody in Jersey was watching for them. But they were wrong. After a night of partying, around 3:00 a.m., the SB crew walked out to First Street. It was quiet. No crowds, just cold air and city silence. Vlatty SB broke off from the group and strolled toward his car. Out of nowhere, a man in a mask appeared.
Gun drawn. No warning. Just like that, Vlatty SB was gone. It was the first major loss for the SBs, and it hit them hard. Nobody expected it, and the timing raised more questions. How did their enemies know where they were? With the indictment fresh and now Vlad’s d.e.a.t.h on the board, it became clear the SBS were on their last legs.
The crew was down to three. Siru, Perico, and Puyo. And while they had dodged the earlier raids, their freedom wouldn’t last. They thought they were in the clear for what happened to Milton Grant on Dykeman. But the NYPD never sleeps. Over time, they stud.i.ed surveillance, connected phone data, and ran through every lead.
Piece by piece, the truth came together. And after nearly 2 years, the case that began with a watch, a plan, and a brutal hit, was finally solved. By April 19th, 2023, the last few pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. Siru, Pouyo, and Perico, the final three shooting boys still moving around, were taken off the streets.
After dodging cops and indictments for years, they were finally arrested. All three were now facing 35 years to life for their roles in the crew’s violent run across the Bronx and beyond. It was a win for the NYPD, a big one. But even after all that, they weren’t ready to close the case. the part they couldn’t shake. How Cabalo, the founder and leader of the gang, managed to dodge every raid for so long.
That question led to something nobody expected. After launching an internal review, police finally confirmed what many had suspected. Officer Gina Mestri, the NYPD cop once assigned to patrol SB territory, had been in a relationship with Cabalo. At first, that alone didn’t mean she’d broken any laws. Relationships like that are against NYPD policy, sure, but not necessarily criminal.
So instead of charging her, they just made her resign quietly in May 2022. But that wasn’t enough. Gina already had a bad reputation. Over the years, she had racked up 34 complaints, cost the city over $1 million in lawsuits, and had been involved in multiple misconduct cases. Officers started asking, “Was she really just dating him or was she helping him run the gang from the inside?” So, they got a warrant to search her phone.
And what they found shocked everyone. It wasn’t just friendly texts or shady messages. It was full-on betrayal. Gina was feeding Cabalo classified police information, not once, not twice, but repeatedly. She told him about ongoing investigations, gave him early warnings about raids, and even told him when to leave town. That alone was serious.
But what came next was even worse. The department discovered that Gina had gone further than anyone thought possible. She had been naming witnesses, people who were helping investigators build cases against SB. She gave Cabalo names of cooperating rivals, letting him know who was snitching. Even worse, she passed along grand jury details, a type of information that’s supposed to be sealed and only available to prosecutors.
This wasn’t just misconduct. This was criminal. Gina didn’t just break NYPD rules. She broke the law. And she put innocent lives in danger doing it. As one officer put it, she put witnesses in harm’s way while taking home $130,000 a year from taxpayer money. And the final nail, police found proof in her text that she had helped Cabalo escape the US after he killed Angel Barero in November 2020.
She had told him the exact time to flee the country just before investigators were closing in. That was all the department needed. Dun’s sentence should highlight that anyone who exacerbates violent crime in our community will face a lengthy prison sentence. Cabalo, real name Andrew Dunn, had been sentenced to 35 years to life.
And he wasn’t just facing time for Angel’s murder. Under federal documents and court statements, Cabalo had led the SBS in running drugs across the Bronx, crack, heroin, coke, weed, while engaging in an all-out war with the rival crews, especially the Trinitarios. His gang had sparked multiple shootings both against enemies and innocent bystanders.
The violence all came to a head when Cabalo approached Angel Barero on Cromwell Avenue, opened fire through the car’s passenger side window, then circled to the driver’s side and shot him again. After that, Cabalo went ghost, fleeing to the Dominican Republic with help from Gina. He was arrested by US Marshalss in April 2022, months after the NYPD’s Big Bronx takedown.
Cabalo had originally been charged with nine other SB members back in March 2022. By the end, all of them had plead guilty. Some had already been sentenced. Others were still waiting to hear their fate. And even after all that, the department still had work to do. Investigators knew that Cabalo’s ability to stay one step ahead for so long didn’t come from street smarts alone.
They knew someone had helped him and that someone was wearing a badge. So, by the time the feds got their hands on Gina Masonry’s phone, everything finally made sense. For years, officers wondered how Andrew Dunn, better known as Cabalo, stayed one step ahead. Every raid missed him by inches.
Every move the NYPD made, he seemed to know before it even happened. Now, it was clear. Gina, the officer from the 52nd precinct, wasn’t just involved. She was the inside plug. She didn’t just cross the line, she erased it. Damian Williams, the US attorney in Manhattan, didn’t hold back. Gina Mestra shamelessly exploited her position of public trust to assist gang members in her own precinct, committing robberies, murders, drug trafficking, and other acts of violence.
She wasn’t helping from the sidelines. She was in the middle of it. After she started dating Cabalo, Gina didn’t just keep things quiet. She gave him and his gang classified information. And not just once. Over and over, she warned them about ongoing investigations, federal grand jury proceedings, and even told them who was snitching.
One of the worst discoveries. Gina had given up the name of a witness who was helping law enforcement. Once the SBS had that info, they tracked him down and beat him, trying to shut him up for good. Prosecutors said Gina also sent Kabalo the actual surveillance video showing him killing Angel Barero on Cromwell Avenue, the same footage detectives used to charge him with murder. She texted it to him.
Not only that, she kept him updated during the manhunt. On the day of the killing and in the weeks after, she let him know what the NYPD was doing behind the scenes. Cabalo used that info to escape to the Dominican Republic. For a while, he was completely off the radar, untouchable. And while Gina helped him hide, she was still wearing the uniform, still cashing NYPD checks, still getting praised publicly.
In fact, in May 2021, while she was fully caught up in the gang’s rackets, the 52nd precinct posted a tweet calling her one of the women of today and praising her for her work mentoring others. The post said she and another female officer had over 30 gun arrests combined, calling them brave and dedicated to community safety.
But behind the scenes, Gina was doing the opposite. During her nine years on the force, she had 10 official complaints filed against her. Four were confirmed, three for abusing her authority and one for just being flatout disrespectful on the job. And still, she kept climbing. In March 2022, the feds finally moved in on the shooting boys.
10 members, including Cabalo, were hit with federal charges: racketeering, murder, conspiracy. The big one was the killing of Angel Barero, which was all caught on camera. Cabayo was finally picked up months later in the Dominican Republic. He pleaded guilty in November, and by February, he was sentenced to 35 years in prison.
But even after locking him up, the feds still weren’t done digging. What they found in Gina’s phone was enough to hit her with four major felonies. One count of racketeering, which could land her 20 years. One count of conspiracy to obstruct justice with five years max. One count of conspiracy to obstruct an official proceeding carrying 20 more years and one count of accessory after the fact with up to 15 years.
Gina was officially charged with helping Cabalo flee, leaking federal intel, and putting witnesses in danger. She stood in federal district court in front of Judge Denise El Coat, pleaded not guilty, and was let out on a $250,000 bond. Her lawyer refused to make any comment, but the damage was done. Edward Cabin, NYPD’s commissioner, credited his internal affairs bureau, saying there is no place for corruption of any kind in the NYPD.
All of it was linked to her role in helping Cabalo and the SBS continue their crimes. Damen Williams, the US attorney for the Southern District of New York, made the message loud and clear. Andrew Dunn, dissatisfied with his membership in the Trinitarios gang, decided to perpetuate gang violence in New York City by breaking off.
His decision created a rivalry which led to increased acts of violence, multiple shootings, and the tragic murder of Angel Barero. And that brings the story full circle. From the formation of the shooting boys to the violent turf wars to the shocking twist of a cop falling in love with the gang’s leader, every detail was wild.
But it’s clear now Gina’s career is over. As for the NYPD, they cleaned house. They brought down 10 gang members, including the top dog himself. Even the officer protecting him didn’t walk free. And when it comes to New York crime stories, this one proves something. You can run. You can lie. You can even hide behind a badge.
But sooner or later, it all comes crashing down. The rise and fall of the shooting boys wasn’t just another gang story. It was a lesson in how deep the streets can reach and how even those sworn to protect can end up playing both sides. From Cababalo’s violent leadership to Gina Mestra’s betrayal in uniform, every move led to chaos, fear, and eventually justice.
The NYPD’s takedown was massive, but it leaves behind one question. How many more like them are still out there? In a city as big as New York, this case might be over, but the war on the streets is far from done. Do you think there are still more dirty cops helping gangs like this in secret? Should Gina Mestra face more time than the gang members she helped protect? Let us know what you think in the comments box below.
And if you liked how we presented you this video, hit that like button and make sure to subscribe for more.
