In the shadowy underworld of Melbourne, there was one name that struck terror into the hearts of even the most hardened criminals.
Andrew Benji Venamin, a babyfaced alter boy turned cold-blooded killer who would become Australia’s most feared gangland assassin.
On March 23rd, 2004, at exactly 2:30 p.m. Inside the La Porcella Italian restaurant in Carlton, a chilling conversation would end in gunfire.
Two shots, one to the neck, one to the eye. And with that, the reign of Australia’s busiest hitman came to a violent end.
But how does a devout Greek Orthodox alter boy transform into a merciless executioner responsible for at least seven brutal murders?
How does someone who once served at the sacred altar become the puppet master of death in Melbourne’s blood soaked gangland war?
This is the untold story of Andrew Benji Venamin, the most dangerous man Australia’s underworld had ever seen.
The making of a monster. Born on November 16th, 1975 to Greek criate immigrant parents Apollo and Mariana Ven, young Andrew grew up in the workingclass suburb of Sunshine, west of Melbourne.
This wasn’t the breeding ground you’d expect for Australia’s most notorious hitman. Every Sunday morning, little Andrew would put on his finest clothes and walk to Saint Andrew’s Greek Orthodox Church in Sunshine West.
There, surrounded by golden icons and burning incense, he served as an alter boy, a symbol of innocence and devotion.
His parents believed they were raising a good Christian boy who would follow the righteous path.
But even then, there were dark seeds growing beneath the surface. As a teenager, Venomine discovered boxing.
He was small, weighing only 110 lb. But he was driven by an obsession that bordered on madness.
5 days a week, he trained relentlessly under the guidance of legendary Olympic boxing coach Bo Garing, who would later describe him as a whippers snapper.
Garing had high hopes for young Benji. He was talented enough to make the state team and was even slated to represent Australia at the 1994 Commonwealth Games in Canada.
For a brief moment, it seemed like boxing might be his salvation, a legitimate path to channel his aggression and drive.
But fate had different plans. In the early 1990s, those boxing dreams were shattered in the most mundane way possible.
Venyamin and his associates decided to rob a cigarette truck. It was supposed to be easy money.
Just grab the cigarettes and run. But Benji’s volcanic temper emerged. He held the salesman hostage at gunpoint, turning a simple robbery into something far more sinister.
When police searched his bedroom, they found all the stolen cigarettes stashed under his bed like some twisted treasure horde.
The evidence was overwhelming. At just 19 years old, Andrew Venom was sentenced to 3 years in the notorious Torana Youth Detention Center.
Prison changed him. When he walked out, the alter boy was gone forever. In his place stood someone far more dangerous.
Someone who had learned that violence was not just effective, it was profitable. Enter the underworld.
Upon his release, Veniman didn’t waste time finding his tribe. He immediately gravitated toward Dino Dabra and Paul Calipolitis, two rising figures in Melbourne’s criminal scene.
Together, they formed the Sunshine Boys, a street gang that would serve as Benji’s apprenticeship in the art of organized crime.
But these weren’t just casual friendships. These were bonds forged in blood and sealed with shared secrets.
Debra and Calipolitis became like brothers to Venamin, or so it seemed at the time.
During the day, Venamman worked at the West Melbourne wholesale fruit and vegetable market, maintaining the facade of a legitimate life.
But by night, he was building a reputation as someone you didn’t want to cross.
He graduated from stealing cars to pushing drugs, each crime more serious than the last.
His boxing background gave him a unique advantage. He understood violence in a way that others didn’t.
When he hit someone, it wasn’t random brutality. It was calculated destruction. In 1997, Venyamian had his most notable professional fight against Ben Sarrano, an event organized by the Carlton Crew, one of Melbourne’s most powerful criminal organizations.
It was here that the underworld first took real notice of the young fighter. He lost the fight and never boxed professionally again.
But he had made the connections that would define the rest of his short, violent life.
The Carlton crew was exactly what Vinnie had been searching for without even knowing it.
This wasn’t just another street gang. This was organized crime at its most sophisticated level.
Led by figures like Alons Gangitano, Dominic Mick Gatau, and Graham the Monster Kinnberg, the Carlton crew controlled significant portions of Melbourne’s illegal gambling, drug trafficking, and protection rackets.
For someone with Venamin’s particular skill set, it was like finding a home. The killing begins.
By 2000, Andrew Venamin had transformed from a small-time car thief into something far more terrifying, a professional killer.
His first suspected murder would hit closer to home than anyone could have imagined. On October 14th, 2000, his childhood friend and fellow Sunshine boy, Dino Debra, was gunned down outside his home in West Sunshine.
Multiple shots to the head and chest, clinical, professional, absolutely ruthless. Police immediately suspected that this wasn’t a random killing.
Detective Inspector Andrew Allen told the press, “We are confident that this gunman is a hired hitman and that he along with another person ambushed Mr.
Debra that night and shot him a number of times.” This is not the only murder he has committed.
That police profile fit Venom in perfectly, but they couldn’t prove it. They offered a $100,000 reward for information.
No one came forward. In the underworld, silence isn’t just golden, it’s survival. What made this murder particularly chilling wasn’t just the brutality, but the betrayal.
Dybra had been one of Venyammen’s closest friends since childhood. They had founded the Sunshine Boys together.
But in Melbourne’s underworld, friendship meant nothing when money and power were involved. 2 years later, on March 22nd, 2001, the pattern repeated itself.
George Gmanos, a part-time security guard and nightclub bouncer, was found with three bullets in his head and one in his chest at an Armadale park.
Germanos had been living in fear, desperately trying to borrow $5,000 to buy a handgun for protection just 2 weeks before his murder.
But the gun never came. The killer found him first. Then came April 15th, 2003, a date that would cement Vime’s reputation as Australia’s most dangerous hitman.
Nick, the Russian Radev, sat in his MercedesBenz Coupé on Queen Street in Cobberg when death found him.
Seven shots to the head and chest. The known drug dealer and standover man never saw it coming.
What made this murder particularly significant was that Venom had met with Rodev earlier that same day.
He looked the man in the eye, probably shook his hand, maybe even shared a laugh, and then methodically planned his execution.
Police records show that Veniman unambiguously fit their description of the prime suspect. A red sedan was seen fleeing the scene.
The shooting was professional, calculated, and utterly without mercy. By now, Victoria Police knew they were dealing with someone unprecedented in Australian criminal history.
This wasn’t just another gangland enforcer. This was a predator who killed with the emotional detachment of someone swatting a fly.
The Williams connection. In 2002, everything changed for Andrew Venamin when he was introduced to Carl Williams through their mutual friend Tony Mockbull.
Williams was an ambitious drug trafficker who had been shot in the stomach by Jason Moran in 1999 over an $80,000 debt, an incident that sparked what would become known as the Melbourne Gangland War.
Williams needed muscle. Venamine needed work. It was a match made in hell. What began as a professional relationship quickly evolved into something much more complex and disturbing.
Venom didn’t just become William’s bodyguard and enforcer. He became part of the family. Every Tuesday, Venamin would arrive at the Williams household to pick up Carl’s stepdaughters and take them to their religion classes.
After the classes, he would bring them home, help them with their baths, and spend time playing with them.
Roberto Williams, Carl’s wife, would later admit that Tuesday was Venom’s favorite day of the week.
This routine painted a deeply unsettling picture. Here was a man who could shoot someone seven times in the head on a Monday, then gently bathe children and help them with their homework on a Tuesday.
The psychological compartmentalization required for such behavior suggests something far beyond normal criminal psychology. Robera Williams would later reveal an even more chilling detail about their relationship.
She admitted that Venin was her soulmate and that her youngest daughter, Dakota, absolutely idolized him.
The child didn’t know she was adoring one of Australia’s most prolific killers. But perhaps the most disturbing story of all came to light years later.
Robera Williams revealed that Venaman had originally been hired by the Moran family to kill her and Carl.
He had actually broken into their home one night, making it all the way into the roof cavity positioned to complete the assassination.
But then he heard something that stopped him cold. Robera was in the bedroom below singing a lullabi to baby Dakota as she rocked her to sleep.
That gentle maternal sound, so pure and innocent, somehow penetrated whatever darkness lived inside Venjimman’s mind, he couldn’t go through with it.
Instead of killing the Williams family, he joined them. The hitman became the babysitter. The assassin became the godfather figure to their children.
By 2003, Andrew Venamine had earned a reputation that struck fear into the hearts of even the most hardened criminals.
Dominic McGatau, himself a formidable underworld figure, gave Venom man a nickname that would haunt Melbourne’s criminal community.
Australia’s busiest hitman. The murders were piling up and Venaman’s name was whispered in connection with each one.
After Dino Debra came Paul Calipolitis, another of his childhood friends from the Sunshine Boys.
Calipolitis’s body was found in October 2003. Another calculated execution that severed yet another tie to Venamman’s past.
Then came Victor Pierce, a member of the notorious Pettingill criminal family. Pierce was no ordinary target.
He was an experienced criminal who knew how to watch his back. But even that couldn’t save him from Venamin’s methodical approach to murder.
The most shocking killing was yet to come. On December 13th, 2003, Graham the Monster Kinnberg was gunned down outside his home.
Kinnberg wasn’t just any criminal. He was a respected elder statesman of the Carlton crew, a man with decades of experience navigating the treacherous waters of organized crime.
The murder of the monster sent shock waves through Melbourne’s underworld. If someone as connected and careful as Kterberg could be killed, then no one was safe.
The old rules no longer applied. Traditional respect for criminal hierarchy meant nothing to this new breed of killer.
Police intelligence suggested that Carl Williams had given his crew a chilling directive toward the end of 2003.
I want every one of them dead and every one of their crew dead. And Andrew Vinaman was the instrument chosen to carry out this genocidal campaign against their enemies.
What made Vinnie Min particularly terrifying wasn’t just his body count, but his methods. These weren’t crimes of passion or desperate acts by a cornered criminal.
Each murder was carefully planned, professionally executed, and carried out with an emotional coldness that suggested a complete absence of normal human empathy.
He preferred A38 Smith and Wesson revolver, a reliable weapon that wouldn’t jam at a crucial moment.
His approach was always the same. Get close to the target, often by arranging a meeting or using an existing relationship, then strike with overwhelming violence before disappearing into the night.
Former underworld figures who knew Venomine during this period described him as having entered what his getaway driver, Farukq Orman, called his crazy time.
The careful, calculating killer was becoming increasingly unpredictable and dangerous, even to his own associates.
By day, he was Uncle Benji, the beloved family friend who helped children with their homework.
By night, he was the angel of death, systematically eliminating anyone who stood in Carl Williams way.
The final confrontation. By early 2004, the walls were closing in around Andrew Vineamin. The Melbourne underworld was a wash with rumors and speculation about who was responsible for the mounting body count.
His name was being whispered in connection with nearly every major killing in the gangland war.
Dominic McGat, a powerful figure in the Carlton crew, was particularly concerned about the murder of his close friend Graham the monster Kinnberg.
Street talk suggested that Venamin had pulled the trigger, although phone records placed him on the other side of the Melbourne at the time of the killing.
Gatau began conducting his own investigation, holding a series of meetings with members of the Williams crew.
One of these confrontations was even captured on CCTV cameras at Crown Casino, showing the tension that was building between the waring factions.
On March 23rd, 2004, Venia man called Gatau and arranged to meet at La Porella, an Italian restaurant in Carlton.
It was supposed to be a private conversation to clear the air about the Kinnberg murder.
Instead, it would become the scene of Venyammen’s final act of violence. Gatau arrived at the restaurant around 200 p.m.
And was sitting with associate Steve the Turk Kaya when Venomine walked in. Contemporary witnesses described his appearance, a baseball cap, t-shirt, cargo pants, and thongs.
But beneath that ordinary exterior, Andrew Venam was carrying his signature point 38 Smith and Wesson revolver.
Gatau invited Venaman to join him for what appeared to be a friendly conversation. After a few minutes, Gatau suggested they move to a more private area behind the kitchen where they could talk without being overheard.
It was there, in that quiet corridor away from witnesses, that Andrew Venamin made his final mistake, death in La Porchella.
What happened in those final moments in the back corridor of La Porchella restaurant has been reconstructed through court testimony.
But the full truth died with Andrew Vanamine at 2:30 p.m. On March 23rd, 2004.
According to Mick Gatau’s testimony, the conversation started calmly. Gatau told Vineyamin that he’d rather he not come around near because of the suspicion surrounding the Kinterberg murder.
It was then that Venaman’s legendary temper finally exploded. “I was looking at him in the eyes and his face went all funny and he sort of stepped back,” Gatau testified.
Then came the words that sealed Veniman’s fate. “We had to kill [ __ ] Graham.
[ __ ] him and [ __ ] you.” In that moment of rage, Venamin had just confessed to murdering Graham Kinterberg.
But he wasn’t finished. According to Gatau, Venomin also implicated himself in the murders of Dino Debra and Paul Calipolitis.
His childhood friends from the Sunshine Boys. The confession seemed to release something in Venamine.
The careful, calculating killer was gone, replaced by a man consumed with rage and blood lust.
He pulled a gun out and that’s when I lunged at him. Gatau testified. I grabbed his arm and the gun went off past my head.
I actually thought the round hit me. The two former boxers struggled for control of the weapon.
Both men understood violence, but Gatau had size and desperation on his side. During the struggle, he managed to turn the gun around.
Two shots rang out in the confined space. The first bullet struck Veniman in the neck.
The second found its mark in his eye. Gatau later described the scene. Venium men was lying on his back, spluttering and coughing blood.
The man who had terrorized Melbourne’s underworld for years was dying on the floor of an Italian restaurant, his blood mixing with the sawdust.
Gatau retreated to the main dining area with a ringing ear and handed the point 38 Smith and Wesson to the restaurant owner who wrapped it in a paper towel for police to collect.
When authorities arrived, they found Andrew Benji Venamin dead at age 28. Outside, his silver Mercedes remained double parked.
Engine still running as if he had expected to walk out alive. The most feared hitman in Australian history had been killed by one of his intended victims.
Legacy of terror. The death of Andrew Vineamin sent shock waves through both the underworld and law enforcement communities.
At just 28 years old, he had become one of the most prolific killers in Australian criminal history.
Suspected of at least seven murders and connected to many more. Victoria police had never managed to bring a single murder charge against him.
Despite years of investigation and intelligence linking him to multiple killings, he had operated with such careful planning and ruthless efficiency that evidence remained consistently out of reach.
Detective Superintendent Andrew Allen, who headed the Piranha Task Force investigating the Gangland killings, acknowledged the impact of Venamman’s death.
We actually broke the code of silence in the underworld, something that has never been achieved before.
The Melbourne Gangland War continued for several more years, ultimately claiming 36 lives between 1998 and 2010.
But many investigators believe that Venyammon’s death marked a turning point. The moment when the violence began to spiral out of control as territorial disputes erupted without his methodical, professional approach to elimination.
His funeral was held at the same saint, Andrew’s Greek Orthodox Church in Sunshine West, where he had served as an alter boy.
The bitter irony wasn’t lost on anyone present. The sacred space where young Andrew had once represented innocence and devotion now hosted the final farewell for one of Australia’s most notorious killers.
Carl Williams himself served as a pawbearer, helping to carry the casket of the man who had served as both his protector and his weapon of war.
The image of Williams supporting the weight of his dead assassin became one of the most haunting photographs of the entire gangland era.
Robera Williams later revealed that she held vigil over Vinnie Ammon’s body after his death.
A final act of loyalty to the man she had called her soulmate. The complexity of their relationship, part family friend, part professional killer, exemplified the twisted bonds that held Melbourne’s criminal underworld together.
When Dominic Gatau stood trial for Vinnie’s murder, he was acquitted on grounds of self-defense.
The jury accepted that he had acted to save his own life when confronted by Australia’s most dangerous hitman.
Justice had been served, but it was the rough justice of the streets rather than the courtroom.
Andrew Benji Venyammen’s story became the subject of intense media fascination, inspiring books, documentaries, and the hit television series Underbelly, where he was portrayed by actor Damian Walshy Howling.
But no dramatic recreation could capture the full horror of his transformation from alter boy to angel of death.
In the end, Andrew Vineamin represented something uniquely terrifying in Australian criminal history. A killer who combined professional competence with complete moral vacancy.
He wasn’t driven by desperation, addiction, or mental illness. He killed because he was good at it, because it paid well, and because somewhere along the way, he had lost every trace of human conscience.
His death marked the end of an era. But the fear he inspired lingered long after his body was laid to rest.
In Melbourne’s underworld, the name Benji became synonymous with sudden, inescapable death. And in the shadows of the city he had terrorized, whispered conversations still carried the same chilling question.
If someone as careful and connected as Benji Venyammen could be brought down, what did that mean for everyone else?
The alter boy had become Australia’s most wanted gangland assassin. And when his story finally ended, it was written in blood on the floor of an Italian restaurant, leaving behind only questions, fear, and the haunting memory of a Tuesday routine where Australia’s busiest hitman gently helped children with their baths.
