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  • Gender & Pronouns: Cis Female, she/her
  • Date of Birth: February 26th, 1989 (31)
  • Place of Birth: Chandler, Arizona
  • Neighborhood: Ventura
  • Length of Residency: Native
  • Occupation: Paramedic
  • Face Claim: Teresa Palmer


  • TRIGGERS: Car Crash, Child Death, Death, Medical Details.

We cast a shadow on something wherever we stand, and it is no good moving from place to place to save things; because the shadow always follows. Choose a place where you won’t do harm – yes, choose a place where you won’t do very much harm, and stand in it for all you are worth, facing the sunshine. It was all Brianna could live by in her line of work. Trauma followed her wherever she chose to tread and it was something she’d come to deal with in her own way. Again and again she was told – “I don’t know how you do it.” The truth was, she’d never considered anything else. Her entire life craved a purpose and as soon as she’d learnt what she could achieve through paramedicine she knew it was her calling. If anyone believed in that sort of thing anyway, that there was a destined path waiting for each person in the world. Perhaps she believed too much in fate.

Catalina had been her home for so long - she didn’t remember much of her time in Chandler - so the move to Boston was something of a shock to her system, but in the best kind of way. She’d always wanted to travel endlessly, and it was only to maintain a connection with her siblings that she decided to study on the other side of the country rather than the other side of the world. They’d been through enough trauma as children – their mother’s passing, the crumbling of their home life. Brianna found her distraction from home life through studying the sciences. She’d always been good with numbers, fascinated with the workings of biology, and more hands on in her hobbies. Her best friends dad was her greatest influence, when he taught his son key skills she learnt them too, teaching her how to tinker with an engine, and introducing her to the greatest works in literature. Her own father wasn’t overly paternal, so she wasn’t going to learn any of those skills from him. Even though she took an interest in academics, that wasn’t to say she avoided the enjoyments of high school life; she played on the soccer team and knew how to be the life of the party when she wanted to be. People liked her, but not because she was the most popular person, simply because she embraced every situation regardless of what it was.

Brianna’s mindset was a blessing once she began her career as a paramedic. It was a day she was desperate for, after years of studying and undergoing the appropriate exams to succeed, she was finally in the career she’d been keen on for so long. Of course, it wasn’t easy. She was placed in high-stress, traumatic situations endlessly where a person’s life was dependent on her decisions. Compared to Catalina, Boston was filled to the brim with more violence and gore than she could ever have imagined. The pressure was daunting, but the longer she experienced it the more she improved. Although, it was important to remind herself that not everyone could be saved. One particular accident reminded her of that fact. When they’d turned up on scene she knew they had to act quickly and they did. They went through the motions calmly but promptly, and they managed to stabilise the patient to a point where they were comfortable moving him and hopeful that something could be done. However, children crashed quickly. Before they knew it he’d taken a turn for the worst, and their attempts were in vain. He passed away before they’d even reached the hospital. Brianna could still remember the despair from the little boy’s mother; the knowledge that his father was a medical professional, which she knew would only make the entire thing worse. As a doctor, a nurse, a paramedic – someone who dealt with people’s lives on a daily basis, they always assumed they could have done something if they’d been there. If they’d only been there. The boy’s father had surely thought that, but it wasn’t the truth. There was nothing that could be done.

Following the accident, Brianna saw a therapist for a few weeks. She needed to talk about it and it was the only way she knew how. She didn’t want to burden her friends, of course her colleagues understood but she wanted an outside perspective. Someone separate from the entire world she lived in. In the end, like usual, she found her own ways to cope and continued on but she’d always remember that night. It was part of living as a paramedic, you never forgot what you’d seen, you just found ways to live with it, found ways to manage. For a few years more she stayed on in Boston, continuing to work, rarely taking a break because she saw no need to. She adored her job, she adored Boston, in fact, for a while she thought she’d never return to Catalina. However, there was part of her that had a desire to return. She couldn’t say what it was exactly, perhaps an attempt to feel closer to her mother, to her family. If there was one thing her job had taught her it was that life was short and unpredictable. As a result, she decided to move back to Catalina indefinitely. It wasn’t where she dreamed she’d end up, but it was where she was needed.


  • Positive: Ambitious | Courageous | Intuitive
  • Negative: Detached | Impatient | Overcritical

Brianna Fisher is portrayed by Sarah.

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  • Gender & Pronouns: Cis male, he/him
  • Date of Birth: November 13th, 1986 (33)
  • Place of Birth: Unalaska, Alaska
  • Neighborhood: Avalon
  • Length of Residency: Since December 2019
  • Occupation: Private Investigator
  • Face Claim: Aldis Hodge


  • TRIGGERS: Domestic Abuse, Drug Use, Death.

Osiris Reyes, for much of his life, had felt like he didn’t belong where he was. His early years were filled with his parents fighting over nearly everything: food, money, drug use, having more children, him, etc. His earliest memory consisted of watching his own small hands peel at the paint on his closed room door while his father struck his mother on the other side, her sobs filling up the tiny hallway of their home in Unalaska, AK. It was the best attempt she could make at protecting him for being different; he wasn’t displaying the traits his father thought he had bestowed upon him quickly enough, such as cruelty, arrogance, and a deep-seated hatred for women. Despite that, his father never turned his attention on Osiris, preferring to pace often enough to wear tracks into the carpet and direct his rage at his wife.

When he turned 12, that changed—Osiris had never gotten exemplary grades, his attention too focused on his more creative hobbies and the atmosphere he had to return to every day at home, and when he failed a Geography quiz outright, he already knew what was coming. He obediently dropped his backpack by his father’s armchair, whose hands, clumsy with drink, rifled through the folders until he found what he was looking for. Very quietly, deceptively calm, he stood up, put his hand on Osiris’s shoulder, and stared at him. Osiris stared back, heart beating an uneven, staccato rhythm in his thin chest, until suddenly, a sharp pain exploded across the back of his head.

The next thing Osiris remembered was waking up in a hospital bed, neither of his parents by his side—instead, the only company he had was a detective, an older man with skin as dark as his and kind eyes. The man asked him some questions, and then told him the absolute truth: both his parents were dead. When his father hit him, his mother had been in the kitchen, getting dinner ready; with the open floor plan, she had seen his hand connect, had seen Osiris hit the floor, and had promptly crossed that distance and stabbed his father at least 13 times. After he had bled out, she calmly picked up the phone, called the police, and asked for an ambulance to take her son to the hospital. She had even tried to get in the back with the paramedics, who had told her that she needed to go with the police, and she could see her baby later.

Osiris sat in silence when the news was delivered to him, and asked only one question: what happened to him now? The detective was quiet for a moment, but informed him that he would be placed with a foster family, the Reyes, elsewhere in Unalaska. He described them as a married couple that owned their own small pharmacy in town, with a daughter older than him and a younger son. With the wound on the back of his head stitched up (never would he second-guess how much damage a ring could do), the detective turned him over to the social worker, who dropped him off at his new home. He didn’t have very many belongings, but his new foster family provided everything he had never had: warm, clean clothes, plenty of food, and love from every party.

Once in that environment, Osiris began to flourish just slightly; he was old enough to suffer from the effects of trauma, but had regular appointments with a child psychologist for that, and found that his brother and sister helped him navigate the new school perfectly fine. His grades began to improve, and though some kids felt the need to ask him inappropriately personal questions about if his mother was in jail or not for murdering his father, he was generally accepted among them—especially when he entered high school, promptly shot up 6 inches taller, and found out he had a knack for wrestling and playing baseball. Excelling in sports, as it turns out, was an easy way to blend in, and gain the acceptance, and attraction, of his peers. From then, Osiris found himself folded into the ranks of the high school hierarchy, and began to explore what that meant: partying, leaving late at night and returning early in the morning, and experimenting with marijuana. His foster parents, for their part, mostly let him do as he wish, only advising him to be careful and make sure he was spending with the right people. Osiris had quite the adventurous streak, now, and mostly ignored his parents’ words, intent on seeing how much he could do and get away with.

Then senior year came. On a Saturday morning like any other, his father was outside, trying to trim back the tree branches that were encroaching on their property from the west. One moment, he was reaching up, the next, he was on the ground, dead before his head hit the grass beneath him. Doctors said it was an aneurysm, a sudden clot that couldn’t have been prevented, no matter what kind of changes he made his lifestyle or what time the paramedics got there. Osiris grieved for this man unlike the strange relief he had felt after being informed of his biological father’s death, and realized that the partying he had done, his insistence on being out of the house all the time, had amounted to nothing. It didn’t matter. What mattered now was caring for the wife he had left behind.

Close to graduating, Osiris began searching out jobs. He was only 17, but it was easy to find odd jobs and get paid under the table. He was over 6 feet tall and broad-shouldered, and any hiring manager for a physically taxing job was happy to have him. First, it was construction, and then he moved to be a bouncer, finding that the job was easy as long as he paid attention. With the pharmacy still running, their family wasn’t exactly suffering, but he still gave every penny he got to his mother, helping buy groceries and fix up the house so his younger brother could be given the nice life he had been provided. Once he graduated, Osiris knew he couldn’t abandon his mother or his brother like that, so he applied to and began attending University of Alaska Southeast, in Juneau, AK. The choice in major was easy to make: Criminal Justice. All he had to do was remember the warm eyes of the detective that had stayed with him while he slept in the hospital and knew he wanted to provide the same.

His time in college was mostly uneventful, and once he obtained his degree, he moved back home, immediately applying to the local police department and going through the training in order to be considered a certified officer. Though only 20 at the time of applying, he turned 21 by the time the exams started, and passed all the requirements easily. Once placed in the department, and trained, he thought he would be set for a long while—but it wasn’t to be. Three years on, and Osiris was starting to get an uneasy feeling. It seemed a lot of his fellow officers were keen to look the other way when dealing with individuals willing to line their pockets. On one such occasion, Osiris and a fellow officer responded to a domestic abuse case—the boyfriend had tried to hit the girlfriend’s dog with his car, narrowly missing both and ending up plowing through someone’s fence and onto their property. Osiris had been ready to cuff the guy and lock him up, but the older officer didn’t agree; instead, after a short conversation with the man, he clapped him on the shoulder and advised him to stay away from his girl, and that was that.

Once back at the station, Osiris asked him what had happened—why hadn’t the man been brought back for booking? The officer simply looked at him, and then reached into his back pocket, flashed a wad of bills, and asked Osiris if he wanted in. Shocked, Osiris immediately reported it to his superior; as it turned out, that was the wrong choice. The superior told him not to worry about it, and the next day, it was like the department had frozen over. Nobody looked at him, nobody talked to him, and seemingly random things started to go wrong. First, the drawers on his desk were glued shut. Then, one time, when he returned from a call, his computer was in the trash can next to his desk. It came to a head when his service pistol jammed at the firing range, shrapnel nearly taking off his right ear.

Osiris knew he had to leave. He spoke with his mother, who told him he should do what he felt was best; she would miss him, of course, but there was a whole world out there, and he shouldn’t restrict himself to a tiny town intent on making his life a living hell. Decision made, he began applying to different departments all over the country—and got a call back from sunny San Diego, CA, the department eagerly looking for officers that had worked in starkly different atmospheres than their own. With a heartfelt goodbye to his mother and the promise that he would visit, he moved south, stepping into the continental United States for the first time in his life. His previous experience as a patrol officer, plus the 2 years he put in at the San Diego office with a stellar record made him an excellent candidate to be a detective; Osiris quickly applied, and on the second time taking the exam, he passed, and was officially licensed to be a detective in the state of California.

Life unexpectedly slowed down after that. No longer having to walk the beat freed up his time for more investigating and spending more time outside of the office. But one of the times he was in, his life dramatically changed again. A woman draped in a glittering coat sat down across from him and asked him if he could help her. After saying he would do his best, she offered him $15,000 to catch her husband cheating on him. Rendered speechless, Osiris said nothing for a few minutes before he told her that adultery wasn’t a crime and he couldn’t take money for trailing the man she was married to. She would need a private investigator or something similar for that. Even though he hadn’t helped, she still thanked him, and went on her way—and that set the gears turning in Osiris’s head. That much money just to follow some guy around and find out if he was sleeping with a younger woman? How could he say no?

Once he hit 30, and he had done 9 years combined in law enforcement, Osiris changed track again; he went through all the necessary steps to become a private investigator in California, and then started getting his name out there. Putting it somewhere as innocuous as the newspaper got his client list started, and soon, Osiris was living a life of intrigue. Unfortunately, in a job like that, it’s hard to stay honest, and Osiris began to feel the effects of that. Private investigation was fun, but not many cases turned out the way he wanted, so it became a habit of his to push the envelope just a bit—that meant skirting the line between legal and illegal, and sometimes doing whatever it took to close a case. Pretending to have a drug habit to get some poor woman’s husband to snort a line of cocaine in front of him? Sure. Draping himself over a politician’s wife until she could barely keep her hands off him? Easy pickings. Not so suddenly, Osiris realized how easy it was to get the result he wanted, as by the time most people suspected, they already knew in their hearts that their greatest fears were true.

But San Diego and the nearby areas were starting to lose their appeal—he had lived on an island his whole life, and though it was in the much colder northern region, he still missed the peculiar drifting feeling brought on by being surrounded on all sides by water. So without a second thought, he used the considerable money he had saved up to move to Catalina Island, CA, buying a decently sized place in Ventura and moving in as fast as possible. He notified his mother of the move, and then began getting his name out there; despite the population being small, Osiris was sure there was quite the bustling underground he could find himself comfortably employed in.


  • Positive: Driven | Personable | Helpful
  • Negative: Intense | Untrustworthy | Bitter

Osiris Reyes is portrayed by Ana.

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  • ALIAS: Stefan Valenti
  • FACE CLAIM: Michele Morrone
  • AGE + DOB: Twenty-Nine + October 3, 1990
  • GENDER + PRONOUNS: Cis male | He/him
  • AFFILIATION: The Vittori
  • OCCUPATION: Capo + Security for Calypso Casino


tw: kidnapping, firearms, violence, murder, death, descriptions of gore, and mentions of blood.

The setting was Sicily, Italy. The season was the Autumn of 1990. Lorenzo and Carina Valenti brought a baby boy into the heart of the Sicilian Mafia. Although this little boy’s upbringing was mostly positive, for a sizable portion of his life, little Stefan Valenti remained unsuspecting of the dangers his family had embroiled themselves in. From a young age, Stefan was taught discipline and told that to truly succeed in life one must keep their enemies on side, even at the expense of their closest friends. This was a rule that had been ingrained in Stefan’s brain from the instant he was old enough to formulate a coherent sentence. Of course, as a carefree child, he had no intention of creating enemies for himself nor could he fully grasp the magnitude of his families involvement in the underbelly of the criminal world. One thing was for sure though, Stefan Valenti had to grow up a lot sooner than any child should.

Though Stefan grew up unbeknownst to his father’s connections to the Cosa Nostra, it wasn’t long until he was exposed to the tamer elements of his families corruption. Although Carina tried her best to shield Stefan from the majority of it all, fragments always seemed to seep through. Similar to any young child, Stefan was curious, intelligent and observant; always asking questions that his Carina would brush off. His father, on the other hand, recognised his son’s potential from the instant he was born. Stefan was both adept and astute enough to become a fine asset for the organised syndicate. While Stefan’s uncle Giovanni had initially objected to the idea of bringing such a young child into the middle of the gang, Lorenzo held the upper hand and exerted his dominance over his brother. In the end, slowly but surely, Stefan was introduced to certain components of the Cosa Nostra. Due to this particular upbringing and exposure to immoral dealings, a fraction of Stefan’s heart was never as soft as expected from a child. And the older he grew, the tougher his heart became and the thicker his skin became until he learned to expertly control his emotions, refusing to let them control him. Yet another lesson he learned from his father.

Far from being a sheltered child, an eleven-year-old Stefan had his first brush with sincere peril. Whilst waiting for Giovanni to pick him up from school, the boy found himself in the clutches of the enemy. The Stidda. More specifically, the rival criminal organisation to the Sicilian Mafia. While they never laid a finger on Stefan, they did hold him for five days, placing a hefty ransom on his head. A ransom that was swiftly paid and Stefan him back in the arms of Carina. It was this scrape with potential death that resulted in Lorenzo fully submerging his son into the depth of the Cosa Nostra. A twelve-year-old Stefan was taught how to defend himself should he ever wind up in a similar situation again. From that day henceforth, the boy was enrolled in a strict regime, one that taught him to be ruthless, callous and to lack the empathy he was born with. Both his father and his uncle educated Stefan in firearms and other various weaponry. They tutored him on the endless aspects of their organisation. They coached him on how to embed himself in the criminal underworld and, ultimately, instructed him on how to become a killing machine. It was no surprise to Lorenzo or Giovanni how proficient and talented Stefan was, leaving them with no doubt that over time, the boy would grow into an accomplished man; an expert master in his craft.

Stefan was seventeen when he took his first life. At the time, it had been self-defense and the result of a fight or flight instinct. Although he had been training years for this kind of scenario, nothing compared to the feeling he got when claiming a soul. Nothing could drown out the overwhelming sense of regret. It had been a soirée hosted by the Valenti’s in their elaborate mansion and the ballroom had been crowded with an array of people from all over the province. Some Stefan knew, others he didn’t. Though the older male who had ambushed him in the bathroom was indeed someone Stefan knew. Following a violent encounter that swiftly turned gravely critical, moments later Stefan emerged from the bathroom, red splatters decorating his face and crisp white shirt. With crimson stains caked into the webs between his fingers, the teenager felt as though his psyche had been disconnected from his body. The immense guilt of his actions already devouring him whole from the inside out, wracking his brain and tormenting his soul. If Stefan had been even a particle less resilient, he might not have stood a chance at recovering from the incident. Yet, he did and with the help of his father and uncle, the other boy’s body was taken care of. Regardless of what had unfolded the previous night, the following morning Stefan was back at his training, becoming more involved in the syndicate as if nothing had happened.

Later, it had transpired that what had occurred at the event weeks prior was, in fact, a set-up that had been arranged by Lorenzo. A test to uncover Stefan’s true potential. An arrangement that had been made without Giovanni’s knowledge which caused a rift between the two brothers and, eventually, created a wedge between Stefan and his father. It was also around this time that the Cosa Nostra unearthed Lorenzo’s collusion with a member of The Stidda. Deemed as a treasonous act, the Cosa Nostra were hungry for Lorenzo’s head on a platter, refusing to back down until blood was spilt and Lorenzo was neutralised. Upon Giovanni’s recommendation, both Stefan and Carina fled Italy and headed for the States. It was that day when the small grey cloud began to slowly develop, hanging over Stefan’s head and growing larger with every passing second. Death was quickly becoming something that the boy was well acquainted with. Had his father not been the one to endanger him, Stefan might have mourned more for him but, alas, his cold-heartedness was the by-product of his upbringing. Maintaining a shocking lack of empathy was simply something that had been drilled into his mind, something that had been embedded into his brain from a young age.

After a single year of residing in New Orleans, Stefan had returned home one evening to find the locks on the front door of his home busted open. With caution, he’d advanced further into his home only to discover his mother’s lifeless body crumpled up behind the kitchen island, lying in a heap of blood that was pooling from her throat. The type of execution was a clear indication of the exact party responsible for Carina’s murder which was all the threat Stefan needed to decide his best option was to go on the run. Once again, he found himself fleeing his home in order to search for a safe haven. His travels took him to New York, Chicago, Las Vegas, Ottawa, and, finally, Montreal. Acutely aware of the target that had been placed on his back, Stefan spent a good few years of his life looking over his shoulder, patiently waiting for the moment that fate would catch up to him. However, it wasn’t long since his arrival in Montreal that he fell under the radar of the Vittori Family. With all ties to Italy having been broken beyond repair, when the Vittoris approached him for recruitment, Stefan was more than willing to oblige.

At the age of twenty-one, Stefan found himself working for the family at the Calypso Casino as a mere affiliate. In the beginning, his main responsibility was to deal the cards at poker, and, if asked, to shuffle the deck in such a way that the game was tipped toward a particular party. It wasn’t long until Stefan was promoted to a made man and moved up the ranks in the Casino, becoming security for the building after successfully managing to take down a high priority target. By the time he was twenty-five, he’d managed to claim the title of a Capo. His first proper target was a French man named Pierre Dubois who was indebted to the Vittoris. A man who had been warned countless times that his refusal to cooperate would result in grave consequences. Unfortunately for him, these consequences came in the form of Stefan Valenti. The man held private violin lessons that Stefan enrolled in under a guise, attending a few classes before going in for the kill. Literally. Improvising, the Capo used the instrument against Pierre, breaking the bow in half and using the shard edge to gouge into his carotid artery. Watching Pierre bleed out in front of him, slump into a mess at his feet, evoked little to no emotion within Stefan. It was simply a job. Pierre was simply a target. The irony? Stefan became a rather talented violinist afterwards.

Stefan has always been the perfect balance of confidence and intelligence, both debonair and chaotic. Displaying only a small element of his persona, he’s mastered the art of concealing fragments of himself that he wishes to keep hidden from others. He has always consistently shrouded himself in mystery, drawing a veil over his emotions, cloaking his real feelings because, if there’s one thing that Stefan despises most the idea of, it is exposing his underlying vulnerabilities as he believes it would then be easy for others to obtain power over him. Given his conduct and inclination, it would be fair to estimate that Stefan is somewhat of a satirical mouthpiece, always outspoken, strong-willed and firm in all of his beliefs with a knack for developing a sardonic tongue in most situations. Self-assured in both himself and his capabilities, it’s no wonder to those who know him that Stefan can captivate an audience with a simple smile, having people hang on his every word. Despite his charm and intriguing character, underneath it all, when utterly alone the glamour of his deception crumbles away. The events of Stefan’s upbringing and the events that have brought him to where he is today have only aided in strengthening him and forging him into the shrewd and fearless man he is today.


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  • ALIAS: Vivian Rousseau
  • FACE CLAIM: Nathalie Kelley
  • AGE + DOB: Thirty-Four + November 3, 1986.
  • GENDER + PRONOUNS: Cis female | she/her
  • AFFILIATION: The Ivory Syndicate
  • OCCUPATION: Capo + Owner of Ivory Films



And for the Rousseau family, truer words had never been spoken. Vivian grew up in an environment where interactions were treated like transactions and love had less value than money — growing a business and creating a consistent clientele were the bread and butter of her father’s work. She would watch the man while they walked down the crowded streets of downtown Montreal, wondering why people she had never seen before looked at the man next to her as though there was something to stare at. He was a particular kind of normal in her eyes — a man who had raised her on his own, a single father and a business man, an immaculate storyteller and an above average listener.

So why did his presence seem so magnificent in the shadow of others?

Little did Vivian know, her seemingly normal father was one of the top property investors in the city. She had been on more than a few business outings with the man, usually kept busy in his dark SUV with some portable game system he would buy her or a magazine with beautiful people on the cover. Though, when the driver wasn’t looking, Vivian would allow her eyes to peer through the tinted windows of the vehicle to watch her father in action. He commanded the people he spoke with, standing tall and broad shouldered, hands in pockets as though it was the easiest thing in the world to tell people what to do.

And for a man like Elijah Rousseau, it was second nature.


It wasn’t until Vivian was nearly an adult that she knew her father was more than just a man who bought and sold property for a living. A man like that wouldn’t need to have bodyguards and private drivers, maids and live-in protection — not unless he was in deeper than he had anticipated he would be. There was a time, nearly fifteen years ago, when Elijah woke Vivian from her slumber and whisked her away to their personal property that she had always thought was far too off the grid. It was placed at the back of a large area full of foliage, an ever-expanding lake only a few yards from her bedroom window. It was kept in pristine shape for a piece of land that the two of them only visited a few times a year, and typically in secretive fashion, such as this time.

It was nearing the middle of the night and Vivian had watched Elijah sneak out of the house covered in darkness, get into his usual unsuspecting black SUV and drive into the night with any word on where he was going. She knew he would not leave her unattended in the home and so, with precision, Vivian crept down the stairs under the idea that she was going to get a snack from the kitchen. Her personal bodyguard Henry, who she had grown up with, had no problems with such an act — and so, instead of moving into the open concept kitchen, Vivian moved into her father’s study and shut the sliding doors behind her.

There, on his stained wood desk, lie a briefcase full of money and beside it, a man with one single bullet placed in the middle of his forehead.


After this night, everything would change. Vivian had confronted her father and demanded to know what he was doing on the night that she found a dead man in his office. He would go on to explain that now that she was an adult, she could handle the ugly truths of what he really did for a living.

And so, he explained.

Unbeknownst to Vivian, her father had been the main pair of eyes for many of the major gangs in the city, scouting and investing in property for them without ever asking what they were going to use it for. This involved dealing with a lot of people he couldn’t trust, thus the amount of protection Vivian received throughout her lifetime. Somehow, though the conversation carried on for nearly half the day, Elijah would never explain how a man had ended up dead in his study — Vivian had her own ideas, of course, but it was safe to assume a deal had gone awry.

Nevertheless, Vivian was now privy to every shady deal her father made, every transaction he mediated, every drop he attended — no matter the time of night. It was shaping up that Vivian would continue on her father’s business in the wake of his death, which wasn’t to be for a very long time…

Or so she thought.


For a man of great status, his death was rather unremarkable. Vivian was woken in the early morning of one July night to hear the news of her father’s death. She barely had time to process before she was being whisked away, yet again, to a safe place that she could rest comfortably after hearing the news. To her surprise, Vivian’s father had made arrangements with a gang that he had put his trust and his life into — The Ivory Syndicate. It would be a natural progression for Vivian to begin working with the Syndicate, doing deliveries and passing along messages, eventually working her way up to the status of one of the Syndicate’s Made-Men. For a woman who had had it relatively easy her entire life, Vivian felt surprisingly comfortable in a position where brute force was expected and white was to never be worn, for blood stains were hard to get out.

After working and proving her dedication to the Syndicate, Vivian would move up in ranking yet again, becoming one of their Capos. This position felt right for the woman, the sense of leadership bringing a new found confidence to the woman. Though she is not what one would expect for such a position, Vivian has gained status through her ruthless acts, doing whatever she has to for the benefit and wellbeing of the Syndicate.

Simultaneously, she took over as head of Ivory Films, deciding a long time before that the girls they traded and kept were important to her and deserved the best treatment they could receive — until the Syndicate is done with them, of course.


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  • ALIAS: Leonardo “Leo” Vinicio Sandrino Russo
  • FACE CLAIM: Sebastian de Souza
  • AGE + DOB: Thirty + 05.11.1990
  • GENDER + PRONOUNS: Cismale | He/him
  • AFFILIATION: The Vittori
  • OCCUPATION: Removalist 



Raised on the passenger seat of his papa’s removalist van, Leo learned quick that his father’s business wasn’t about moving furniture, but about making connections. A handshake, a smile, a pat on the back always meant more business and like his papa often said, more business meant more trips to the Gelato Store. And Leo, liked Gelato, so he grew to like this ‘business’ thing too.

So, it wasn’t long till Leo, had a business of his own. Well kind of. His uncle said it was a side hustle, but Leo liked the word ‘business’ better, so that’s what it remained.  It was simple – find out what the kids at his school wanted but their parents refused to get for them, buy those things using the money out of his dad’s wallet, sell it to them at much steeper price, return the money he’d taken from his dad’s wallet, and keep the spare.

And it worked… so Leo kept at it. Kept at it till he was sixteen years old and came across the first person he couldn’t ‘buy’.


She was four years his senior and everything he was not. Tall, blonde, skinny.

She’d moved in next door and had taken up the room opposite Leo’s window. Her timetable quickly became his own, as he unconsciously (at least that’s what he told himself) started to mimic her schedule. She spent her hours surrounded by big, big books. Law books he’d later find out after he’d snuck in a pair of binoculars and read their spines. At first, he thought she was learning linguistics or some language like Polish, ‘Torts… what are Torts?’ A quick Google search on his father’s work computer had him caught up and feeling a little foolish. Foolish enough to try and borrow the same book from the local library in an effort to read along. Foolish enough to think even after he’d cast the ridiculously boring book to the side that he still had a chance with her.

His phone rang constantly. Buyers whose needs weren’t being met for the first time in years, because he could only seem to care about her own. And, even though he had school, hockey, and work with his father… his life was still just her tiny room with big books and Paul Walker posters stuck around the edges.

And maybe he would have grown out of that belief…. out of her, if he’d made it to the new year with that big house still between them both, but as chance would have it… he wasn’t given the chance.

She was his sister’s classmate. Some elective they’d both taken to lighten their loads and, well whatever his sister had said about it when she’d first introduced Savannah to him, Leo had forgotten, along with his ability to move and speak and right… “I go to McKinley…” God, why couldn’t he be an actual interesting fucking person for once and not some lame high-schooler, who only ever made money because he worked for his dad’s moving company (that would one day be his) and knew how to watch porn via the school computers.

Of course, she hadn’t come to his sister’s party to just see him and she also hadn’t spent a large portion of her year staring at him through her bedroom window, so Leo was forced to spend most of his time at the party watching her mingle with his sister and the various other guys there that seemed to have all the right majors and all the right interests to get her smiling and laughing back instead. Really that night should have put the whole thing to bed finally.

And maybe for a while it did. Leo, spending an entire year losing the last of his baby fat, learning the books for his papa’s business, and spending the summer with his family in Italy… all without a single thought of Savannah poking through any of it. But then he hadn’t spent an entire year in awe of Savannah Delore to simply forget that she pricked against his skin in a way the girls in Tuscany had not.

So, when he showed up at a customer’s apartment, and said customer turned at to be Savannah Fucking Delore, the prickles quickly made their way back across Leo’s newly sun kissed skin. She didn’t recognise him of course, but she was polite enough to notice the difficulty of trying to get up a three-seater lounge up into her fourth story apartment alone and offered to help. It took nearly an hour to wrestle the couch up into her apartment and after grabbing a pair of pops out of her fridge the two had sunk right down into the back of it. She took a sip and laughed, “don’t I know you.” “No, you know my sister.” Realisation hits and she’s apologising with another laugh and asking how she is and before Leo, knew it he’d finished his drink and had no real excuse to stick around anymore. However, just as he was about to leave, Savannah mentions she was having a party that night and if he’d like to come… it’s a yes of course and something shifts. Leo forgets he spent an entire year infatuated with her and they become friends instead. Really, really good friends.


His papa wants him to go to College. Not the expensive kind, but one that’ll get him a framed certificate and enough knowledge about business in order to not fuck up the family’s one. He makes it through… barely, but it isn’t the material Leo finds challenging it’s the sitting around in class all day thing. That was high-school and he hated that. He’d much rather be with his Uncle at the track, or one of his underground poker games, or anywhere really where money and women seem to be. And frankly, he’s over the whole ‘moving’ business thing anyway. It’s boring and tiring and he makes more money on the dogs in one night than he makes an entire week with his dad and, and, and maybe he doesn’t want to be a Removalist. Did anyone actually ask him that?

It digs away at him. Little bits at first, but before he knows it… he resents his job, he resents his papa and he resents his life and the games he used to do for a bit of money here and there, become an obsession, an escape and an answer to it all.

And it isn’t long till Leo ends up running out of luck and owing a whole lot of people a whole lot of money he doesn’t have. Whispers lead him to the Vittori. And despite the fact he’s never had a single interest in the gangs that run Montreal, he cracks a deal and ends up using his dad’s business to run a few jobs for them.

Five years later, Leo’s still paying off old and new debts, and moving things around for the Vittori. His father is none the wiser, his mother is still pinching his cheeks, and his sisters are nagging him about when he’s going to marry Savannah. As for Leo? Leo… Leo is screaming fine.


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