There are faceless men who intervene in disputes they have nothing to do with
In the shadows of Australia's construction boom, a former boxer with a fearsome name has made himself quietly essential — not through violence, but through the threat of it, and the connections that make the threat credible. Mick Gatto, a figure who has survived royal commissions and police taskforces for two decades, now operates as a paid mediator in building disputes, charging up to a million dollars to resolve what lawyers cannot. His entrenchment deepened after the Albanese government abolished the Australian Building and Construction Commission in early 2023, removing the principal institutional check on organised crime's reach into an industry that underpins the nation's housing and infrastructure future. What one Melbourne developer's recorded phone calls have made visible is a system that many knew existed but few dared name.
- A Melbourne developer secretly recorded Gatto warning he could cause 'grief' and 'stop' a stalled apartment project — language carefully calibrated to intimidate without crossing a legal threshold.
- Since Gatto's intervention, builders have privately told the developer they were warned off the job by figures connected to the CFMEU, leaving the development frozen and its completion uncertain.
- Police reviewed the recordings and found no prosecutable offence — a gap between what is felt as coercion and what the law can name as such.
- The abolition of the ABCC in February 2023 has, according to a dozen industry insiders, accelerated the entrenchment of bikie gangs and organised crime figures in construction at a scale not seen in years.
- Gatto's links to labour hire firms and an Indigenous procurement joint venture suggest underworld figures are now exploiting social procurement rules to win government infrastructure contracts.
- When told this story would be published, Gatto did not deny his role — he warned the journalists directly, in language that mirrored the very pattern the article describes.
Mick Gatto has made himself indispensable to Australia's construction industry — not as a builder, but as a fixer. The grey-haired former boxer, whose name has run through two decades of royal commissions, now operates as what he calls a mediator, resolving contractual and industrial disputes for fees between fifty thousand and a million dollars. He claims to handle around ten cases a week. For years, the arrangement was an open secret. That changed in October when Melbourne developer Joe Toscano found himself on the receiving end of it.
Toscano had hired Cobolt Constructions in 2021 to build a ten-storey apartment block in Collingwood. The relationship collapsed over cost and quality disputes, and when lawyers were called and work stopped, Toscano sought a replacement builder. Gatto then rang him twice, explaining he was calling on behalf of Cobolt. The calls, which Toscano recorded, were gruffly polite but pointed. Gatto said he wanted to resolve things before lawyers stretched them out, but also warned he could cause Toscano 'grief' and claimed he could stop the site from being completed. He mentioned the union was onside. The implication needed no elaboration.
The day after the second call, Gatto's business partner John Khoury — a figure connected to the Carlton Crew of Melbourne's gangland era — appeared at the site seeking entry and materials. He left his card and departed without incident. Since then, Toscano's efforts to restart the development have stalled. Builders privately said they were warned off by unnamed figures within the CFMEU. Police reviewed the recordings and found nothing prosecutable. Gatto had said nothing that constituted a direct threat in law.
Gatto, when asked, was unapologetic. He said companies come to him because they have exhausted every other option — legal, conversational, formal. He insisted he uses no violence, stands over no one, and resolves things 'quickly and amicably.' He is, in his own framing, a consultant with useful connections, not a standover man. The distinction is subtle. A former ABCC official was less subtle: 'Gatto works hand in glove with some in the union. He couldn't exist without their support.'
The broader picture is darker still. The Albanese government's abolition of the Australian Building and Construction Commission in February 2023 removed the main institutional check on this world. A dozen industry and union insiders told investigators that bikie gangs and organised crime figures — Italian and Middle Eastern networks — have since been entrenching themselves in the sector at unprecedented scale. Gatto himself is linked to labour hire entities operating on major Victorian projects, and to an Indigenous procurement joint venture structured to exploit government social procurement rules designed to support First Nations businesses.
Toscano, rare among developers willing to speak on the record, called the situation scandalous. 'There are faceless men who have nothing to do with the business at hand who intervene in disputes,' he said. When Gatto was told the story would be published, he offered a warning of his own — that if the truth were not printed, he would have a problem, and would deal with it personally. It was, in miniature, the same logic that governs his entire operation: the suggestion of consequence, left just short of the line.
Mick Gatto sits in the construction industry like a man who has learned to make himself indispensable. The grey-haired former boxer, whose name has circulated through two decades of royal commissions and police taskforces, operates now as what he calls a mediator—a fixer who resolves contractual and industrial disputes for building companies willing to pay. His fees range from fifty thousand dollars to a million, depending on the client and the complexity of the problem. He claims to handle roughly ten disputes a week.
For years, Gatto's role in the building trade remained largely unspoken. People knew it existed; they simply did not discuss it publicly. That changed in October when Joe Toscano, a Melbourne developer, found himself on the receiving end of Gatto's particular brand of intervention. Toscano had hired Cobolt Constructions in 2021 to build a ten-storey apartment building in Collingwood. The relationship deteriorated over cost, time, and quality disagreements, becoming irreparable by January. When lawyers were called and Cobolt suspended work, Toscano scrambled to find a replacement builder.
In early October, Gatto and his business partner John Khoury arrived at the dispute. Gatto called Toscano twice, explaining both times that he was "ringing on behalf of Cobolt." In these conversations, recorded by Toscano, Gatto spoke with what might be called gruff politeness. He said he wanted to "rectify these issues before they get stretched out along the way with lawyers." But he also told Toscano he could cause him "grief" and claimed he was capable of "stopping" the site's completion. He mentioned the name of the building company Toscano hoped would finish the project. He noted that he had the union onside and that these connections could help restart the development. The implication was clear, even if the threat remained technically deniable.
A day after the second call, Khoury appeared at the construction site seeking entry and the recovery of materials Cobolt claimed to own. He left his business card with the security guard and departed without incident. Khoury, a fixture of what is known as the Carlton Crew—the underworld figures who rose to prominence during Melbourne's gangland wars between 1996 and 2011—has managed to avoid the fearsome reputation that clings to Gatto, though both men operate in the same sphere.
What happened next was telling. Since Gatto's intervention, Toscano's efforts to restart his development have stalled. Builders have privately claimed they were warned off the job by unnamed figures within the Construction, Forestry, Mining and Energy Union until the dispute was resolved. Toscano's son, Nick, a reporter with The Age and Sydney Morning Herald, urged his father to contact police. Detectives were sympathetic but found no evidence of illegality. Gatto and Khoury had said nothing that could be prosecuted as a direct threat.
When asked about his role, Gatto explained that building companies call on him because they have exhausted other options. "They have tried every other way," he said. "They have tried legally, they have tried talking to him. They know that I've got a reputation in the industry." He insisted he does not stand over anyone, does not use violence, does not "do the wrong thing by anyone." He simply resolves things "quickly and amicably." The distinction he draws is subtle but important: he is not a standover man, he is a consultant. He has friends in the union who support him "if things are done the right way." There are, he suggested, plenty of people like him operating in the industry. They simply do not attract the same attention.
The broader context makes Gatto's entrenchment more significant. For twenty years, Coalition governments, royal commissions, police taskforces, and regulators attempted to constrain him. The 2002 Cole royal commission exposed his role as an industry fixer, leading to the establishment of the Australian Building and Construction Commission. The Albanese government abolished that commission in February 2023. Since then, according to a dozen industry and union insiders interviewed for this investigation, bikie gangs and Italian and Middle Eastern organized crime figures have been quietly entrenching themselves in the construction sector at a scale not seen in years. One former union official, speaking on condition of anonymity, said the situation is worse than it has ever been. A former ABCC official was blunt: "Gatto works hand in glove with some in the union. He couldn't exist without their support."
Gatto himself is linked to labour hire entities that have won work on several large Victorian projects. His firm, Arbitration and Mediation Services, was an original shareholder in M Group, which established an Indigenous labour hire company called Jarrah as part of a joint venture. This arrangement allows such entities to exploit government social procurement rules designed to support Indigenous businesses, making it easier to win contracts on major infrastructure projects. Gatto is paid to sort out union issues for these firms and holds a CFMEU-endorsed industrial agreement—a de facto requirement for scoring work on Melbourne CBD projects. The system, in other words, has become institutionalized.
Toscano, rare among developers willing to speak openly, believes his experience should be public. "It is scandalous that the building industry operates this way," he said. "It is not an environment for anyone to do business in. There are faceless men who have nothing to do with the business at hand who intervene in disputes." When Gatto was told this story would be published, he issued a warning of his own. "Print the truth, I have no issue with you," he said. "If you don't print the truth, I have got a problem with you. And if I ever see you, I will deal with you." The construction industry, crucial to solving Australia's housing crisis and delivering vital infrastructure, remains a place where such men operate with impunity.
Citações Notáveis
They have tried every other way. They have tried legally, they have tried talking to him. They know that I've got a reputation in the industry and they call on me hoping that I can talk some sense into these people.— Mick Gatto, explaining why construction companies hire him
It is scandalous that the building industry operates this way. There are faceless men who have nothing to do with the business at hand who intervene in disputes.— Joe Toscano, Melbourne developer
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why would a developer pay someone like Gatto when he could just go to court?
Because court takes years and costs money, and in the meantime your site sits idle. Gatto promises speed. He also promises that if you don't cooperate, the union might make things difficult—workers might not show up, materials might not arrive. The threat is never explicit.
But Gatto says he doesn't threaten anyone. He just mediates.
He doesn't need to threaten directly. His reputation does the work. When he calls and says he can cause you "grief," everyone understands what that means. The power lies in what is left unsaid.
What changed when the government abolished the ABCC?
There was at least an agency watching. Now there's no federal regulator specifically focused on construction industry corruption. The space opened up. Organized crime figures moved in.
Is Gatto actually breaking the law?
Not in any way that's easy to prosecute. He's careful. He doesn't hit anyone. He doesn't explicitly say "do this or else." He just makes clear that he has union connections and that things could become difficult. That's the genius of it—it works without crossing into illegality.
Why won't other developers speak up like Toscano did?
Fear. Professional reputation. If you're known as the person who went to the media about organized crime in construction, other developers might avoid you. Builders might refuse to work with you. The industry is small enough that word travels.
What does Gatto get out of this beyond the fees?
Power. Influence. A seat at the table in an industry that shapes cities. And legitimacy—he's not a criminal, he's a consultant, a mediator, a grandfather who raises money for autism charities. That narrative matters to him.