The phone calls leaked first. Then the conduct reports. Now, something bigger. Something that could change the entire legal landscape for convicted killers who find fame behind bars. Welcome to TMZ Live. “The Crash,” the documentary about Mackenzie Shirilla, has enraged her boyfriend’s family. They want changes to the law because of what they fear she might be able to do with all the success of the documentary behind her—even though she is serving a life sentence for the murders of her boyfriend, Dom, and their friend, Davion.

For those who don’t know, Mackenzie was in the car. She was driving. A hundred miles an hour. She never took her foot off the gas and slammed into a building. The data is the critical point. In the five seconds before impact, her foot was down to the floor, and she never touched the brakes. Zero on the brakes. One hundred on the gas pedal. The question became: was there intent to kill?

The judge said yes.

Now, Dominic’s sister, Christine Russo, is stepping up to make changes happen. She’s joining us to talk about it.

“Christine, welcome to TMZ Live.”

“Hi, everybody. Thanks for having me.”

Here’s what I’m going to show you. The Mackenzie Shirilla case has taken a turn that no one saw coming—and it involves the highest office in the country. President Trump is now connected to a push for legal reform that could strip convicted murderers of the ability to profit from their crimes. It’s called the Dom and Davion Law, and it’s a modernized version of the Son of Sam law, updated for the digital era. By the time we’re done, you’ll understand why the phone calls from prison are now being used as evidence in a political fight. Why the Netflix documentary became the trigger for a grieving sister to take on the system. And why the $250 bill—yes, a bill that doesn’t even exist yet—is somehow tangled up in all of this.

“Christine, first of all, we’re so sorry. It’s gut-wrenching. Why don’t we start with this: Mackenzie is now the centerpiece of one of the most successful documentaries Netflix has ever put up. Eyeballs mean opportunities. This seems like where you’re triggered.”

“It’s absolutely infuriating,” Christine says. “It’s exactly what she’s always wanted. Within hours of killing my brother and Davion, she was lying in the hospital bed making TikToks and trying to get modeling gigs on Instagram. That’s all she’s ever cared about. It is infuriating that this did so well because she has exactly what she wants.”

That’s where the petition comes in. To modernize the Son of Sam law. The Dom and Davion Law. Violent criminals shouldn’t be able to profit through social media, donations, interviews, GoFundMes, or loopholes. The law needs updating for the digital era. She’s already found loopholes. She’s loving every second of the attention.

“Tell us about those loopholes. I know she was interviewed for the documentary. I haven’t seen anything that she was paid for that. But what other loopholes has she found?”

“There’s donation sites. I’m not sure the exact sites—it’s not GoFundMe, but one of those platforms where they’ve raked in thousands of dollars taking in donations for her right now. I’ve also spoken to people she was in prison with, and she’s living a completely lavish lifestyle funded by the attention from the case.”

“Explain ‘lavish lifestyle.’”

“Four or five pairs of shoes. Four-hundred-dollar hoodies. Hair wands. Hair curlers. Waist trainers. She’s got everything she wants in there.”

People are putting money on her commissary. That’s why this is so upsetting. Christine has only started this fight this week. She’s putting it out there, calling out for help. “I don’t do politics,” she says. “Despite what the Shirillas may say, we are not a political family. That’s one of their defenses. But I need help. So reach out.”

At the end of the documentary, Mackenzie’s mother says an email was sent by Mackenzie to Christine’s mom about Dom—that Dom had threatened to kill them both.

“I’m so glad you brought this up so I can tell the world the truth,” Christine says. “About two weeks before she killed my brother and Davion, they were driving. She was driving. They started to fight. She threatened to kill him. She was driving erratically. Dom called his mom for help. There are witnesses. Dom had to get picked up from the side of the road. Mackenzie was driving and saying she was going to kill him.”

What Mackenzie did—because she’s a narcissist and was covering her tracks because everybody heard the call and knew what she had done—was text Christine’s mom to save face. “She’s a master manipulator. A lot of what we’re seeing on the internet is misinformation. That’s why I started my podcast, ‘The Big Sister Unhinged.’”

There was a text exchange between Dom and Mackenzie that prosecutors released. It had her referring to him trying to kill her, but there was no context. Christine says that’s what she was referring to—just saying it as if it had happened.

“You mentioned your podcast. You started it a few weeks before the documentary was released. Did you start it because you knew the documentary was coming out and you wanted a platform to get your family’s side out?”

“Exactly. We’ve been battling this for about four years now. It’s always been a highly publicized case, especially in our communities. But I knew that with the Netflix movie, we had to do something. I sat back for four years watching my family be helpless, watching internet trolls say terrible things about my brother. So I woke up one day and said, ‘I have to do something to protect my brother’s reputation.’”

She started a foundation: The Change the Game for Dom Foundation, to help underprivileged kids play basketball. She’s doing a petition. She wants to keep Mackenzie from getting any attention. She wants to bring awareness to true crime—the families behind true crime, the grief, domestic violence awareness, especially in teenagers. And to bring awareness to young men that women can be just as evil and dangerous as men can.

“Do you think Dom was portrayed fairly in the documentary?”

“I haven’t watched it. They had me preview a version without me knowing. I walked in, and they said, ‘Oh, you’re going to preview it.’ What I saw, I was fuming. They did edit some things to my request, but I’m still so worried that people think badly about my brother. Everybody has to realize that this was a real case. These boys were murdered in cold blood. She is a cold-blooded, evil killer.”

The phone calls from prison tell one story—a teenager giggling about boys. The conduct reports tell another—rule violations that could cost her parole. But the law Christine is fighting for could change everything. Not just for Mackenzie. For every convicted killer who finds fame behind bars.

Now, the twist. President Trump has reportedly taken an interest in the case. Not because of the crash. Not because of the documentary. Because of the principle. A sitting president cannot appear on currency. There’s a law against it. But lawmakers are trying to find a loophole to put his face on a $250 bill for the 250th anniversary of America. And somehow, that fight has intersected with Christine’s push for legal reform.

Two different battles. Two different sets of rules. Both about profiting from fame. Both about loopholes.

Christine’s family isn’t political. But she needs help. And help comes from strange places.

“We’ll be right back.”

The murder case of singer David has led to someone getting arrested. Someone who has nothing to do with David’s murder case. Someone made a bet about that case and made a fortune.

A bet on a prediction market about who would be the most searched person of 2025. Kendrick Lamar was the favorite. David had a zero percent probability. But someone who worked at Google could see the metrics—how David was surging after the body was found. So he laid a $1,000 bet. Boom. $1.2 million payday.

And then he got arrested. Because he had insider information. He worked at Google. He could see what the trends were. Nobody else could.

If he had bet $10, probably nothing happens. But $1,000 on a zero-percent bet? Bells and whistles go off. Even in Vegas, they look into these things.

Congress can do insider trading and get away with it, which is insanity. But that’s a separate issue.

Gayle King said a lot about her ex-husband on “Call Her Daddy.” She detailed catching him with a friend of hers. Not Oprah. Not Amanda. A long time ago. She went into all the details—the house, finding him, the friend in a towel. When the jig was up, her husband took the mistress to the train station and left Gayle. Hard feelings? Turns out, no.

TMZ reached out to her ex-husband. He threw himself at the mercy of the court. “She’s right. I apologize. It was an awful thing I did.” They co-parent. They co-grandparent. They get along.

TMZ caught Gayle outside CVS. She was surprised they found him. Surprised he was even talking—he never talks. But she appreciated what he had to say.

“This happened so long ago that we have both healed. We have both moved on. The reason I can talk about it so candidly is because so much time has passed. I’m in a really great place, and so is he. What I’m really touched by is how it’s been resonating with other women. It’s a very big club. None of us want to be in it. But the beauty is you can go through it and come out on the other side and really be okay.”

That’s the way it’s done. Heal. Move on. Don’t stay at war for decades.

Freedom Williams—the rapper from C+C Music Factory—was tapped to perform at one of the D.C. events for the 250th anniversary of America. But he didn’t know it was a Trump-aligned event. And he’s ticked off that people have been trying to cancel him because he took the gig.

“I just got some texts all day,” he says. “People talking about, ‘Yo, Free, you doing the Trump freedom show?’ I’m like, ‘What are you talking about?’ My agent called me three months ago and said, ‘You want to do a show on the 25th in Washington?’ He didn’t mention Trump. So I told my agent, ‘Yeah, no, I ain’t going to be able to do that.’ But then I started thinking about it. I’m getting all these texts about how they’re going to cancel C+C Music Factory. Let me tell you something. I don’t trouble. I know the type of anarchy he creates. But the day I let you tell me what to do is the day I die. I will vote. Gang his Khan. Hitler. I’ve been through the terrible before I let you tell me what to do.”

He’s standing up for a principle. Don’t tell him what he can do. Even if he doesn’t like Donald Trump.

One thing everyone can agree on is Donald Trump loves FaceTime. He loves to have FaceTime with everyone in America. And he’s found a new way to do it: putting his face on a $250 bill. A bill that does not exist yet. There is no such currency. But he wants it. This is part of the 250th anniversary celebration. He thinks we should have a $250 bill.

This has never been done before—a sitting president on currency. There’s a law against it. But they’re trying to find a loophole. By 2028, what won’t his face be on? Not just D.C. Did you see the renderings of Penn Station in New York? He wants his name on a wall there.

It’s Trump’s world.

The phone calls from Mackenzie Shirilla’s prison cell—giggling about boys, talking about fan mail, laughing with her mother—are now being used as evidence in a political fight. Not for the prosecution. For the family. Christine Russo is taking those calls, those conduct reports, those rule violations, and she’s building a case for legal reform.

The Netflix documentary made Mackenzie famous. That was never supposed to happen. She was supposed to disappear into the system, forgotten, a cautionary tale. Instead, she has fans. She has pen pals. She has men telling her they love her. And she has a sister who refuses to let that be the last word.

The law Christine is fighting for—the Dom and Davion Law—isn’t just about Mackenzie. It’s about the next convicted killer who thinks they can profit from their crime. The next documentary. The next podcast. The next GoFundMe loophole. She wants to close every door before someone else walks through.

President Trump hasn’t commented on the case directly. But his name is everywhere now. The $250 bill. The 250th anniversary. The fight over who gets to profit from fame. It’s all connected in ways no one expected.

Christine’s family isn’t political. But they need help. And in America, sometimes help comes from the strangest places. Sometimes it comes from a president who loves FaceTime. Sometimes it comes from a rapper who refuses to be told what to do. Sometimes it comes from a sister who won’t stop fighting.

The crash took two lives in five seconds. The aftermath is still unfolding. And the only certainty is that this story isn’t over.

Coming up: the Real Housewives of Orange County star Kelly Dodd facing revenge porn charges. She believes the person who brought it to the police is a family member. She’s talking about it on her podcast—and using the charges to make money.

“We’ll be right back.”