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[mobscene-launceston]

BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Erik Callaghan. AGE: 52. PLACE OF BIRTH: Launceston, Massachusetts, United States. AFFILIATION: Neutral. (Mancini Family, loosely) OCCUPATION: Former mayor. FACE CLAIM: Gabriel Macht. AVAILABILITY: TAKEN.

(Warning: Brief mention of a pregnant character's death.)

“I promise we’ll talk later.”

It was the last thing she’d ever said to him.

And where he desperately tried to cling to the memory of the gentle smile he adored, more often than not, it was the pain in her eyes that night that crept into his thoughts.

Pain that he had caused.

Erik had made so many mistakes in his life it was hard to figure out where to start. But never her. Norah had never been a mistake, even if the rest of the city seemed to decide her one on his behalf.

It’d been such a mighty fall from grace one wouldn’t have been hasty to assume his redemption impossible. Erik had come from a wealthy, much-loved Anderson Island family whose reputation somehow traversed the usual line between the upper classes and everybody else. He’d always been well-spoken, well-read, and an absolute credit to his lineage. As was expected of him, he’d attended Ivy League schools—first Yale, then Belmonte—and had been on track to become everything the city expected of somebody like him. Upon his return to Launceston, he had a new wife in tow, and a healthy ambition to change the city he adored for the better.

Things were never that easy though, were they?

Particularly not when the criminal empires that plagued Launceston were growing more powerful by the day. And changing the city for the better was not something they appreciated.

It’d always been his goal to make his way into the world of politics. All the connections he needed were already there, his last name gave him a boost that most others could only dream of, his wife was a supporting rock for his campaigns, and he was just young and hopeful enough to believe he could do some good in the world. When he eventually ended up becoming mayor a little less than two decades later, it was all he could’ve dreamed of. The public adored him. His family was so proud of him. The changes he was making really were with the best interests of the city at heart.

And that was precisely where it all came crashing down.

First, the threats were only directed toward him, and not to be deterred, he upped his security and carried on life as normal. But when the safety of his wife came into question—his two daughters, not long after—things started to become more complicated. The Russians, the Italians, the French…they all wanted him out of office, and directly into a hole in the ground. Erik had lived in Launceston long enough to know that their threats were not to be assumed empty.

Livia was so scared for the safety of her family, seeing her in pain tore at him. She pleaded with him to stop, to step down, to think about what this was doing to them. The woman barely ate, barely slept, barely left home... Ellie and Laura needed a security detail just to go to school, and even if they were too young to understand what was going on, they were astute enough to know something was wrong. Especially with their mother. Erik and Livia fought constantly because he was too stubborn to back down out of fear—he couldn’t when he was finally hitting the gangsters where it hurt—and it was utterly destroying their marriage. Some nights he didn’t even go home at all, because he couldn’t find the mental capacity to deal with everything that was going on, the stresses of work, only to be greeted by a woman who couldn’t even stand the sight of him anymore.

And that was when the affair began.

Erik wasn’t the first man to excuse his straying on marital troubles, and he wouldn’t be the last, but Norah Pierce would end up being much more than a convenient escape from his wife.

It’d started out as late nights in the office, her offering him legal counsel, as was her job, over dinner. Livia had no reason to be suspicious at first, because he’d already been sleeping there when things got really bad between them. Quickly, their relationship grew into something much more serious, though. Erik had never intended it to be anything more than a casual way to blow off some steam, but God, he loved her more than he ever thought possible. Was completely and utterly in love with her. It was stupid, and it was unprofessional, but he couldn’t help himself. She was everything he didn’t deserve, but everything he needed. For the sake of both of their careers, they were as careful as possible. One night they’d gotten brazen and headed back to her place, though, and little did he know, that one heat of the moment decision would ruin everything.

The St. Clairs were having him watched. Barely a day later, Erik had the photos on his desk.

In spite of his massive popularity during his first term, for the sake of his sanity, he didn’t intend to run for office again. But now Nicolas had leverage. Erik would run again, and he would appoint Faye St. Clair as his deputy, or the photos would hit the press and he would lose everything. His family, his career, his dignity…and Norah a reputation she’d worked so hard to build from the ground up.

Of course, he was re-elected in a landslide. Launceston loved him, and he had been so productive the first time around, they wouldn’t have wanted anybody else at the helm during one of the city’s most turbulent periods. But things would be different this time around, and his popularity would quickly plummet once he started to walk back on his anti-organised crime stances due to St. Clair’s pressure. Livia hated him more than ever—berated him for putting his family through hell only to undo it all—and filed for divorce within the year. Norah, who he had at least confided in about the truth, was scared for not only her own safety, but the safety of the man she loved. His life was in fucking shambles.

Erik started drinking. Started to push away the few people who stuck by his side, Norah included, out of guilt and shame and absolute fucking disgust at what he’d become. Until finally, he snapped.

“Leak the pictures. I don’t give a fuck, Nicolas. I’ll tell them about your daughter, the blackmail…”

And that’s a conversation he regrets to this day.

“I promise we’ll talk later.”

Norah had told him she was pregnant that morning, and they still hadn’t had time to discuss what that meant for them. The hurt in her eyes was because he still refused to acknowledge their relationship publicly. Was pushing her away, even though she was fighting so hard for him. What she didn’t realise was that he was doing it because he cared. Not about much else anymore, but he cared about her. Erik knew what was to come. Erik knew that his reputation would not survive this, no matter how it played out, and he didn’t want to drag her down with him. All he wanted to do was marry her, take her away from the mess of a city, and never look back, but it would never be that easy, even if he wanted it to be.

Erik had given a speech that night, much to the distaste of the audience. It’d been The Palace Hotel’s annual breast cancer benefit. And right as the last word left his mouth, a gunshot rang out.

A chaos the likes of which the city had never seen before ensued, but all he could see was her lifeless body on the floor. The bullet had been meant for her, but it’d been meant for him, too.

The St. Clairs weren’t to be fucked with.

Erik resigned the next morning.

Everything good in his life was gone.

Like an absolute coward, he’d departed the city shortly after, and fallen off the face of the earth for almost five years. Livia and the kids were better off without him. The few friends who had stuck by him, too. The pits of absolute depression and numbness were a welcome reprieve from the grief, in a way. Erik had no intention of ever going back to that place. Never wanted to be faced with the memories of everything he’d destroyed.

But when the news of Nicolas St. Clair’s passing reached him, something changed.

The man was fucking dead, just like he deserved.

And suddenly, he was angry instead of numb for the first time in years.

Upon returning to Launceston, the former mayor was greeted with the reception he deserved: utter disdain. But one man had thought of him differently. One man had made a point of seeking him out, and requesting an audience with the once beloved politician. Salvatore Mancini. Erik still doesn’t know, to this day, how the Italian found out about the circumstances of his relationship with Nicolas St. Clair, but he made it abundantly clear that he hated him just as much. At first, he’d scoffed at the idea. Erik didn’t care about petty fucking disputes between gangs. But when the old man told him that Nicolas St. Clair had been responsible for the murder of his wife, the mother of his children, he understood that his interest in his predicament was genuine. Because it was personal.

Erik would’ve been content to continue life as the villain if it hadn’t been for him. Mancini convinced him to tell the truth about why he had walked back on his policies. About the blackmail, and about what they’d done to Norah to punish him for even considering speaking up.

And whilst many St. Clair loyalists would be quick to condemn him for trying to tarnish the reputation of a man who could no longer defend himself, a great many more of Launceston’s citizens believed him. Supported him. Belatedly grieved for him.

Salvatore supported him every step of the way. Unlike St. Clair, however, it was unconditional. He expected nothing in return, and Erik was grateful for that. For him.

A few years have passed since he came clean, and finding his footing again has been a struggle. What has proven much harder to swallow, however, is watching Faye St. Clair in the mayoral seat, carrying on as though nothing has changed.

Eleanor O’Reilly is challenging her for her position at the next election, and although the prospect absolutely terrifies him, she has asked him to run as her deputy. With crime a more pressing issue than ever before, having someone who has not only suffered through it personally, but made great amends for the mistakes he made as a victim of it, would put an entirely different light on her campaign. One of honesty, one of strength, and one of more determination than ever to make the people responsible for causing so much pain in the city pay for their sins.

Erik doesn’t know whether he has it in him to accept the offer, whether it would even be allowed after all that’s transpired, but it would be a lie to say that he isn’t considering it. Especially after Salvatore Mancini leaked the idea to the press, and the Launcestonian public unanimously called for his return to the mayoral office once more…

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Norah Pierce (partner, deceased), Livia Callaghan (ex-wife, unplayable) FAMILY: Ellie and Laura Callaghan (daughters, unplayable) CONNECTIONS:

Eleanor O'Reilly: Good friend. Though she'd been the opposition candidate during his second campaign, even when he won the seat that she deserved, she was never bitter. It's difficult to find good people in a city like Launceston, but Eleanor is one of them, and the fact she doesn't utterly despise him after all that's happened is a certified miracle. Getting his life back on track has been an uphill struggle, but she's been at his side for all of it. Even if he doesn't deserve it, or her.

Salvatore Mancini: Friend. When Salvatore's crimes finally caught up to him and he was arrested by the FBI, Erik was more upset than he'd expected to be. Never could he have imagined mourning a mobster being put behind bars, but after everything Mancini has done for him, everything he's done to show that he's a genuinely good man, Erik can't help but be disappointed their friendship was cut short. There are few 'mobsters' he could ever imagine sympathising with, but Sal is decidedly not like the others. It seems a shame to Erik that it's him behind bars instead of a Frenchman or a Russian.

Angelo Morello: Friend. Though he was slightly less accommodating than Salvatore had been in the beginning, Angelo too hates the French with an almost unrivalled passion that Erik can relate to. It was enough for the jaded old men to bond. Whilst he has to keep any relationship with anybody who isn't strictly above board a secret after all that's happened, there is some comfort to be found in knowing a man like Angelo is in his corner.

Faye St. Clair: Dislikes. Nicolas pushed her into this life and he knows it. Erik witnessed the turmoil she went through being involved in a campaign she wanted no part of. But her father is gone now, and if she wanted to, she could come clean about all the terrible things he orchestrated. Instead, she remains in office, continuing to perpetuate the same bullshit to keep the St. Clairs on top that her father had expected of him. So if he'd ever felt sorry for her predicament before, that's sure flown out of the window now. Even if he doesn't run with Eleanor, he'll damn sure do everything he can to make sure she takes the seat next election.

[mobscene-launceston]

THE FRENCH BROS - LAUNCESTON EDITION. mylène chan - quentin deschamps - marie mortaud laurent st. pierre - ingrid penaud - richard baroin didier kante - alexandra toussaint - farah hashemi

[mobscene-launceston]

BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Jay Sung. AGE: 43. PLACE OF BIRTH: Launceston, Massachusetts, United States. AFFILIATION: The Emerson Saints. OCCUPATION: Leader FACE CLAIM: Gong Yoo. AVAILABILITY: OPEN.

(Warning: Brief references to racism/police brutality.)

Talk of the French had always provoked disagreement amongst the Emerson Saints.

The deeply divisive and oftentimes violent kind...

From the inception of their now defunct representative system, Jay Sung had been Emerson’s spokesperson. Each of the three voted on issues of importance, and whichever decision received a majority was the direction they proceeded in. Without fail, and whenever the topic of a French Organization contract was brought to the table, however, Jay vehemently voted against any and all compliance; this, regardless of whether it reflected the views of those he was representing.

It got to the point where the others expected nothing less.

“They slaughtered us like we were animals, and now they want us to do the grunt work so they can keep their hands clean? No. Fuck that. I won’t be a part of it, and neither would any real Saint.”

People sympathised with his position, because none of them really wanted to be puppets for the French. No amount of discontent on their part could magic up another option, though. It was either do as they were told and be absorbed by the superior force, or head back to a war that they had barely survived the first time around. And nobody wanted that.

Launceston’s population of Koreans—the new immigrants, in particular—always seemed to be on the receiving end of the city’s mistreatment. Jay’s father told him it’d been that way even when he’d been growing up in Brenton. They’d eventually chosen to congregate around north Anderson Island, instead, and the borough’s elite viewed them as little more than a cancerous fucking growth they hadn’t figured out how to remove. The judgements of those who sat on golden thrones was a world away from the very real oppression they had to deal with on their own doorsteps, though.

Police brutality—oftentimes directed toward immigrants who weren’t doing anything wrong, purely because of the way they looked—wasn’t nearly as bad as the racially-motivated hate crimes waged against them by Krick’s African-American gangs. Both had ultimately resulted in the formation of the Emerson Saints. For decades, their communities had been terrorised by outsiders, until eventually, a group of twenty-six (of which Jay had been a part) decided that it was time to stand up and fight.

In March of 2000, their gang was formed.

In June of 2000, the French took notice.

Jay had barely been twenty years old when the Organization decided to violently remind them that those who contemplated an uprising in St. Clair territory would be dealt with. Mercilessly. And it was precisely that—the things he’d seen, the way they’d attacked, and the friends that’d been taken from him in the process—which the younger Saints would never understand. They would remember talk from around the neighbourhood, or brutal stories shared in hushed whispers…but they’d never seen all the blood. Bathed their hands in it.

And they talked over him with their ignorant majorities? It made him sick.

By the time the French Organization presented the option for a truce in 2005—tired of wasting men on a battle that seemingly couldn’t be won—all but four of the original Saints had been killed in the fighting. None were imprisoned for their unspeakable actions against their enemies, nor had they deserted out of fear. They were simply massacred and left to rot in the streets like animals, all for the crime of defending themselves. Whilst, as was the case with any war, their conflict increased the rate of recruitment exponentially, the losses were astounding. Both in terms of statistics, and personal pain.

Jay had witnessed the death of two of his best friends. Had lost his non-violent girlfriend during a revenge attack against him. A Commandant had been burned alive in very public fashion for the latter, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat…

But it still didn’t bring them back.

A channel of communication eventually opened up between the two sides, but Jay refused to have any part of the discussion, in spite of the fact many of the Saints still looked to him as an unofficial leader. The anger was too fresh. The pride and the pain too great. War had been brutal, of course, but he still would’ve preferred to die fighting them than to live on his knees.

Unfortunately for him, not all of the Saints agreed.

The French had promised to end their attacks, and as an added bonus, offered to push the African-American gangs fighting their other front out of Krick. Understandably, Jay had been hesitant in accepting that they’d be willing to offer them anything but slaughter. It might’ve been an attempt at a ‘good faith’ gesture, but it also came with stipulations, because everything with them always fucking did. The drugs they sold? French, with a portion of the profits handed back to them. The guns they used? French, imported in an attempt to dent the income of the Russians and their weapons smuggling ring. Perhaps worst of all, though, were the contracts. The remaining Saints—especially the younger ones—had been more than happy to kill and maim on behalf of their enemies given the paycheque offered for the work.

Jay wasn’t one of them.

They didn’t fucking owe them any favours.

It went on for years, his frustration growing each day, but eventually he reached his breaking point.

The French were arrogant, egotistical fucks. They always had been. Given that they were supposed to be engaged in a truce, however, Jay thought they might’ve exercised a little restraint. Very clearly, one of the Commandants had taken a liking to the Representative of Saint’s Way, Euna, and very clearly, said feelings were not reciprocated. Jay had been there when she’d turned him down, but the coward had waited until she was alone to beat the shit out of her for the disrespect. She’d called Youngbae, barely intelligible as she choked on her own blood.  

It was a miracle she’d survived.

The Commandant was not so lucky.

As he watched Seung-hyun carve their gang’s name into the Frenchman’s chest, Youngbae holding down his writhing fucking body, Jay knew that this would be the end of the Emerson Saints as they knew it. The French would not take the murder of a Commandant lightly; especially not one found in the sorry state they left him.

The outrage was damn near immediate. Those who had become accustomed to doing the French Organization’s bidding—and had profited from it quite nicely—were livid that the ‘disproportionate’ actions of a few had taken away their choice to work for them at all. Even those who had never liked the affiliation seemed concerned about what this would mean for them in the long-run. Wondered whether they would have to run from Launceston entirely. Jay had expected that this would result in another war with the French, but he hadn’t expected it to tear the gang in two.

To his horror, many of the younger members turned on the remaining Saints for the promise of French protection, and guaranteed work with the Organization.

The war wasn’t spilling French blood in the street, it was spilling their own.

Eventually, the remaining Saints, now headed up solely by Jay—the epitome of a ruthless wartime leader—scarpered to Ainsburg in an attempt to recover from the assault. They didn’t know who they could trust. Didn’t know who would turn on them at any moment for a bigger paycheque from the French. Jay had never been the type to trust easily, but aside from the few he now designated his inner circle, despite many giving up their home—and oftentimes, friends and family—to follow the Saints, the paranoia was almost crippling. He barely confided in anybody about his plans. Barely left his home for anywhere but Yongseo...

Until the Russians came knocking.

The last thing he wanted was for them to get involved with another powerful mob. Jay half expected the woman to tell them they were settling in too close to Russian territory, and to get the fuck out before they made them. To his surprise, though, they seemingly came in peace. Ainsburg had never been their territory. In fact, it belonged to the Irish, and that was precisely the problem. The Russians despised the Irish almost as much as they did the French, but hadn’t the manpower to fight the O’Reillys as well as everybody else. All the Saints had to do was keep the Irish busy and distracted from any attempts on Brenton, and the Vorshevskys were willing to arm them with all the resources they needed.

Not only to take Ainsburg as their home, but continue the fight against the French, too.

They weren’t required to answer to the Russians, nor were they required to have any dealings in their business. They weren’t forced to do anything. If they wanted to say no, then the Russians would leave them alone to fend for themselves…but both sides knew that wasn’t an option.

Not really.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” she’d said.

Whilst he isn’t sure he’d go so far as to call the Russians friends, Jay knows that if they have any hope of surviving all that’s happened, they don’t really have a choice.

An eerily familiar scenario that he can only pray ends differently this time around…

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Alexandra Lee (ex-girlfriend, deceased) FAMILY: None. CONNECTIONS:

Jun Jae-sun: Best friend. For a while, he'd doubted him. Of the few remaining founders, JJ was the only one who hadn't opposed their former arrangement with the French. Jay knew he had his reasons, but it still caused massive issues between them for many years. When it came down to it, though, the French or the Saints, JJ hadn't hesitated to follow his family into Ainsburg. Reliving the war is hard for him due to his own massive losses, but Jay has never respected him more, and is determined for his pain not to have been in vain.

Sin Seung-hyun: Old friend. About the craziest mother fucker they have. Jay loves him for it. The French always regarded him as a loose cannon, and wanted little to do with him when they were working under them. After what happened to Euna, however, Jay knows he'd be hard pressed to find someone who hates the French more than him. As such, Seung-hyun remains one of the few he's fully confident would never betray them.

Lee Euna: Good friend. They're all a little bit protective of Euna, and were long before the French Commandant almost beat her to death. Jay is no different. The woman is a kinder soul than most in the Saints, and only ever strived for peace when she sought diplomacy with the French. Of all the Saints they brutalised over the years, she deserved it least. There's no way in hell he'll ever let one of them lay a hand on her again.

Kim Youngbae: Good friend. Along with JJ, Seung-hyun, Euna and Seo-jun, he is the last Jay considers to be a part of his inner circle. Whether or not he trusts the man's girlfriend, on the other hand, is another question entirely. Youngbae has been nothing but loyal to the Saints over the years, and is massively respected amongst the other members for the contributions he's made. Jay sees him no differently; particularly because many of his loved ones were those who defected to the French. Leaving them behind was difficult, but Jay makes sure he knows that his sacrifices are appreciated.

Kim Saera: Former friend. Traitor. Regardless of their former friendship, and regardless of being Youngbae's sister, if he sees her, he'll kill her on sight.

Inna Volkova: Acquaintance. They meet rarely these days, but she was the one who first approached him three years ago with the offer from the Russians. The enemy of his enemy. Jay isn't sure he trusts her, but right now, he doesn't really need to. As long as she keeps up her end of the bargain, things will remain civil.

[mobscene-launceston]

BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Paul Romano.   AGE: 63. PLACE OF BIRTH: Launceston, Massachusetts, United States. AFFILIATION: The Sovrani. OCCUPATION: Underboss. FACE CLAIM: Giancarlo Esposito. AVAILABILITY: OPEN.

(Warning: Mentions/themes of racism.)

“They’re never going to treat you the same, son.”

The words of his father were undoubtedly meant as a deterrent from trying.

As was so often the case with Paul Romano, however, being told that he couldn’t do something only made him more adamant to prove to himself that he could.

It was hypocritical of his father to discourage him from seeking Sovrani membership when his own position within the organisation was the reason he’d come to Launceston in the first place. Giovanni had served them back home in Rome, and had only made the transition to the States when he’d been summoned by the Auditores personally.

Paul always knew that even if he did make the cut, he had a hell of a man to live up to.

Growing up in Valence had proven to him that his father’s concerns weren’t entirely unwarranted, though. In spite of Giovanni’s reputation, he had been berated by many outside of the organisation for marrying an African-American woman. The way they’d treated his mother, Dorothy, was even worse. Even if he’d been too young to understand why back then, he understood that it just was, and Paul sure remembered wiping her tears when she returned from grocery shopping; once again victim to a racist tirade from strangers. The Sovrani weren’t perfect by any means, and there were still plenty of pieces of shit who had something to say about the person his father had fallen in love with, but for the most part, they were better than Valencian average. Not that it was saying much.

Maybe the idea that he’d have to work harder to prove himself just because of the colour of his skin should’ve been enough for him to seek out another life entirely. As a teen, coming to terms with the world he lived in, a part of him had almost been swayed away by the thought. But he remembered so clearly that night when everything changed. It was Bartolomeo himself who’d defended Paul’s mother from a Capo who had a few choice words to describe her, never to be repeated again. It could’ve been a slap on the wrist if the man had cared less. Instead, the future leader had broken legs that day. Used the power of his last name to strip the scum of his membership entirely. Paul never forgot how he’d walked the then teenager and his mother home, making sure they were all right before he left again.

And Paul never forgot that even though it was the kind of thing any decent human should’ve done, to stand up to a Capo in their world for a woman he hardly knew was not the easy choice.

It was hard not to respect the fact he’d made it anyway.

When Bartolomeo became the leader of the Sovrani, Paul had just entered his early twenties. Up until that point, his connections with the gang had been casual at best; mostly a result of his father’s involvement. The two older men had grown close over the years—the leader respected Giovanni more than almost all others—and as such, their family had attained a status where they’d always be looked after. Paul also knew that if he ever wanted to pursue joining the Sovrani seriously, all he would have to do was ask…and so he did.

Bartolomeo was the kind of man deserving of his respect.

Paul would spend the entirety of his service to him learning new reasons why.

The respect was always returned, and that was important to him. But as much as the leader respected him, he also made it abundantly clear that he trusted him, and that was solidified when Lucrezia Auditore returned from Rome, and entered his life in an absolute whirlwind.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she’d scoffed, and her father had chuckled.

“Noted,” Paul had replied, with absolutely no intention of becoming one.

The newly minted Capo, aged forty-three, was one of the last to be appointed by Bartolomeo during his tenure. But the honour almost paled in comparison to being trusted to watch over his youngest daughter. Back then, they had clashed—albeit mostly one-sidedly, from the impossibly headstrong woman—and she sure hadn’t made teaching her how things ran in Launceston easy. Other things, though? Lucrezia made those come naturally.

Paul had fought against his feelings with all he had. Their very first argument (and back then, they had been many) he was sure he’d fallen in love with her right on the fucking spot. For a man who had often been on the receiving end of ‘why haven’t you settled down yet?’ comments from his colleagues, it was a bitter pill to swallow to know that the moment he could finally imagine himself with somebody, they were entirely out of his reach. Even if she hadn’t been married, if she hadn’t been the boss’s daughter, his father’s words still echoed. The Sovrani had accepted him, but he still wasn’t sure if they would’ve ever accepted that.  

In spite of it all, he was a professional; a master at compartmentalisation, and his feelings, to keep hold of a friendship that meant so much to him, were no different. Long had he been revered by his peers for his strength, his self-assuredness without arrogance, his level-head and his diplomacy. Paul was a credit to the Sovrani, and lifted by Bartolomeo as an example of all they could, and what they should, be. This might’ve stirred discontent amongst some of the aging conservative members, but they would die out eventually. Paul was honoured to be a herald of the change; a gateway experience for many other prospective members from a similar background.

He did so serving dutifully at her side.

Lucrezia was his best friend. He, her most trusted advisor. Together, they were formidable.

The Auditore introduced him to the woman who would eventually become his wife. Her husband, Antonio, would become one of his closest friends as the years passed them by. Soon, Alessia ascended to the throne, but as leader, much like her father, she too had entrusted a great deal to him. With only a few exceptions, aside from the Auditores and Vespuccis themselves, Paul was one of the most powerful members in the entire organisation, and he supposed, in a sense, his father had been right. They didn’t treat him the same. They treated him better.

For the majority of Alessia’s leadership, Lucrezia spent her time in Rome. It was a big shift for him, and he realised in missing her, that he hadn’t buried his feelings as well as he’d thought. Launceston had always been home for him, even if not for her, but he couldn’t help but feel it was a little emptier without her in it. That made it all the more unfortunate to be grateful for her return. He felt guilty for the happiness, the relief. Of course he wanted her back—he did every time she was gone—but not at the expense of Alessia’s life.

The sisters had always been close, in spite of the distance. Paul might’ve been Lucrezia’s confidant, one of the very few she would allow herself to be vulnerable around, but even he was at a loss at how to guide her through the pain. Not only was the Auditore family reeling, the Sovrani was also grieving the loss of arguably its most important and beloved leader to date. Paul found himself divide between trying to help the woman he loved, and desperately holding together the Launceston arm of the gang as the Russians began to wage an all-out assault on their existence.

But Lucrezia was strong. Perhaps more so than anybody ever gave her credit for.

Bartolomeo returned to leadership in the wake of Alessia’s death, but he knew that his daughter would be ready to step up to the plate eventually.

“I want you to be there at her side, Paul.”

“That’ll be her decision, not ours.”

But throughout the hushed conversations, Bartolomeo knew she wouldn’t choose anybody else.

When Lucrezia approached him, shortly ahead of her initiation as the Sovrani’s new leader, she had done so with a look in her eyes that wasn’t familiar to him. Not from her. Paul had witnessed leaders in the city tear themselves apart trying to avenge their losses, and with the status she was about to obtain, she would have the means to become one of them. Much like Bartolomeo had anticipated, she wanted Paul to become her underboss. And much like Bartolomeo had anticipated, he hadn’t hesitated to accept. Not only would she need somebody she trusted at her side, she would need the only person that had the ability to talk her down from doing something stupid.

The only person who had the ability to tell her no, and be heard.

Whilst his mother might’ve been opposed to this life for him in the beginning, Paul knows that both of his parents are looking down on him, immensely proud of all he has achieved.

And he’s not going to start disappointing them by fucking up now.  

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Angela Romano (wife) FAMILY: Giovanni and Dorothy Romano (parents, deceased), Giovanni Romano (son, unplayable), Anna, Lucia Romano (daughters, unplayable) CONNECTIONS:

Allegra Vespucci: Old friend. With the exception of Lucrezia, Allegra is without a doubt his dearest friend. Many find her attitude to be abrasive, and perhaps he's just learnt how to deal with it better, but they always got along like a house on fire. Her move to London was unfortunate, but it's not as though their friendship hasn't survived worse. Paul made sure to let her know she better plan on coming home to visit, because he has no intention of setting foot in London.

Antonio D'Agostino: Good friend. Conventional wisdom might have one assuming the two would never see eye-to-eye, but it simply isn't the case. Paul isn't jealous of his marriage, not as long as he makes Lucrezia happy, and he would never try to paint the man a villain to justify anything else. Their two families are close, their children are friends, and the man has become as much a staple in his life as Lucrezia. There are few he trusts more. Genuinely.

Joey Sambuco: Friend. Much as he was for the others, during the aftermath of Alessia's death, in spite of his own grief, Paul was a shoulder for Joey. The man's feelings for her were practically common knowledge, and he supposed he could relate to that. Whilst they weren't particularly close beforehand, they certainly bonded during this time, and Paul is glad to call him a friend; particularly as they now work side-by-side in their respective positions within the Sovrani.

Simona Infascelli: Good friend. Though she is the polar opposite of him in almost every way (most notably, about as hot-headed as they come) the two have always balanced each other out nicely. Paul was responsible for pushing for her to be made Capo by Alessia, and it was because she deserved it. So far as the Russians are concerned, Paul can't help but worry when his people have to face them. But not Simona. Never her. There, it's the Russians who should worry.