giordana rossi. the sovrani. "all god knows is old testament revenge; floods and disease, the lion's maw and the whale's belly.
i've always tried to live a godly life. godly does not mean kindly."
"Cyprus. I should've known." Not that she ever had any intention of bidding on the myriad of dates available; some lessons were hard learned years ago. Still, it amused her that she could almost certifiably pluck her other half's preferences out of the proverbial hat if needed. "At least it's Isla, you could've been paired with that little Turkish ankle biter."
Where: The Barbican Centre
Who: open @mobscene-starters
"I'm going to need one more of these," Lorenzo said, finishing a shot and holding up another finger.
"May the Lord not curse me with a Russian hag. I doubt drowning my date in the river would be looked upon positively."
"Make it two." Despite practically materializing out of thin air at Lorenzo's side, Giordana wasted little time making herself comfortable by intruding on his solo binge. "God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers. Maybe he'll think you're chicken shit after all." There's a hint of a tease although her features don't betray it. "Drowning is such a waste anyway."
Tagged: @vinnievespucci
When: During the women's fights
"Which one of you is going first again?" Between him and Giorgio, she had very little concern as to how the Italians' evening would turn out... Minus David of course, but there had to be concessions somewhere. "I heard Gianna's on deck."
"Probably not. Ask me again the next time she's been in my kitchen. I think I'm going to petition Lara to keep the place open for women, though. Look at me. A true proponent of feminism. Melissa next time?"
"Your altruism is blinding. We should get you on a committee." At the mention of someone she'd hoped to spot on that list beside her own name, Giordana paused mid-adjustment of her dress to send him a blatantly amused glance in the mirror. "She’s too chicken shit to get in the ring, but a girl can dream.”
She'd taken about twenty minutes to clean herself up and push down the self-resentment that had risen in that short time. Giordana's offer to buy her a drink was much more interesting than the pity party she'd plan to throw herself in some dark corner.
It was also easy to accept a loss given she hadn't planned on winning in the first place. That, and losing to this particular Italian.
"I'd heard you were good but being on the receiving end of it..." Nevra dropped her voice, slinking closer. "I wouldn't want to meet you anywhere outside of there." She nodded back toward the ring.
Avoidance is the name of the game as Giordana waits patiently at the edge of the bar for her former opponent to appear. The other Sovrani hadn’t come to claim, or question, her just yet and she needs a moment to concoct her excuse for holding back so severely.
Most wouldn’t recognize the stark difference in her aggression, but Vincenzo and Giorgio would. Rina. Even David. She’ll chalk it up to strategy, putting on a show, or not giving the masses a glimpse into her true capabilities… some placating answer and not one she’s eager to defend.
Once Nevra appears, she offers a quirk of her mouth in appreciation for the compliment and then her eyes flicker to the other’s swollen lip. "The headbutt might've been overkill." As close to an apology as she'll ever come. “For someone who threw the match, my ribs say you could’ve done far worse damage. Why did you let me take it?”
Fight Club 2025 // @theundergroundlondon, @erdogan-nevra
Nevra:
Could the lights be any brighter? They snuffed out Nevra’s vision momentarily as she walked into the ring to the sound of glasses clinking, laughter, and a subtle tension that hummed around the room.
Oh right, this is a goddamn performance.
She had no right to object to it, she supposed. She’d volunteered for this when the message went out that women would be added to the list of fighters this year. A surprising move but one Nevra hadn’t contemplated long before signing up. The decision on how she would handle the fight also came without much thought. Receive as much pain as possible.
Why? Because she fucking deserved it.
Sure, she’d put on a good show for Lara but unlike the other fighters, there was no reputation to uphold. Killing people for a living didn’t mean delivering it by hand- most of the time anyway. So who would blame her for losing in an all out brawl?
The floor under her feet had just enough give to tell her that hitting it would fucking hurt. This wasn’t a gym where the goal was to practice. Fight Club was meant to intensify it.
Nevra bounced on her toes anyway, testing out spots that might prove slippery later on should any blood spill. Adrian had wrapped her hands and gave her somewhat of a sad look before letting her leave the waiting room. He definitely didn’t approve of this but it wasn’t his choice. He might be her mentor but he wasn’t her keeper.
Finally her head lifted, the short braid of hair brushing her neck as it settled, eyes landing on Giordana as she walked into the ring. The match had come as a pleasant surprise when she'd arrive at the Underground a few hours before. That didn't mean it was going to be any easier.
“Ayaz will kill me if I ruin your face.” Her smile and laugh were genuine.
Giordana:
A woman’s hand moved robotically in the reflection staring back at Giordana. Tucking loose strands of long, dark hair into a tight ponytail, methodically stamping down any imperfections until she appeared… perfect. Almost unsettlingly so, but therein lay the entire point. Half of her battles existed on the psychological level before they ever reached a physical realm. Tonight would be no different, certainly not with all of London’s underbelly looking on.
Separately, Vincenzo and Giorgio had each offered to wrap at different points, but she declined them both and asked Frankie instead. It felt a bit full circle, remembering the way he’d patched her up after that first adolescent fight in a Sovrani warehouse. The blood staining her clothes hadn’t been her own then, and it wouldn’t be after this evening’s skirmish either.
It’s a bit of a power move entering the ring so close to her opponent rather than opting for the safer distance. Call it a lack of fear, or disrespect, or general unseriousness at the concept of fighting for entertainment, but she doesn’t bat an eye whilst climbing in. Unlike other opponents, it’s doubtful that Nevra would immediately begin swinging before the official start anyway, but Giordana finds herself pleased to hear the other’s jovial voice.
She doesn’t need to glance around in fear of being heard, their proximity is close enough and Nevra has the good sense to not shout over the low rumble of voices above. “He won’t be thrilled if I put you in the hospital either, so I guess we’re at an impasse.” Her lips curve upward slightly at one side in a wry smile; conspiratorial.
Drifting back until her feet position themselves in the middle of the ring, she waits for the signal to begin. For once Giordana’s expression isn’t vacant or laced with disgust, but rather obviously amused at the chosen matchup. She’s going to have fun with this.
Nevra:
If it were a normal match they would have shaken hands but Fight Club was anything but normal. The bellowing around them made that clear enough. Instead, Nevra’s body mirrors Giordana’s and moves into position, smoothly as if they were shadow and owner. Standing opposite in the middle of the ring, her feet move the instant the match starts.
She’d never seen the Italian fight but her reputation precedes her and it certainly is a bloody one. Bodies left in her wake, both alive and dead or so she’d heard. She didn’t plan on being the latter. To prove it, Nevra darted toward Giordana and landed the first blow. A jab to the side followed by an elbow to the chest. The stinging on her own skin was a good sign that her opponent had at least felt it.
Dipping to the side, Nevra was close enough to her ear that Giordana would hear her over the crowd outside of the ring. “So, maim anyone of importance lately?” It was ludicrous to ask given the task at hand but she just couldn’t help herself. The pair of them matched up seemed almost comical. Apparently Lara had a dry sense of humor.
The grin on her face only lasted long enough for Giordana to see. The people watching would get the show they wanted but the two of them would sure as hell enjoy this the way they wanted to. It just so happened that included a nice little mid-spar catch up.
Giordana:
The fight begins and when Nevra moves, Giordana remains purposefully locked into her position at the center of the floor. Had it been anyone else in the ring, she might have advanced on them with all of the merciless brutality that accompanied her name–– more machine than woman, violent for the mere sake of it.
Instead her movements are defensive. A protective measure, but not for herself.
No one is less surprised than the Italian when her opponent lands a hit to the side, nor when it's followed by a secondary blow in quick succession. Both ricochet instantly through her ribcage and activate particular lethal impulses, which she manages to curb by channeling the energy into opportunity: a direct gut punch once Nevra’s smile fades. Manners and all that…
The force allows Giordana to catch the other assassin by the shoulders, punctuating that first hit with her knee. Red lips ghost along the shell of Nevra’s ear, “If I considered them important, they wouldn’t be maimed.” And then she drops the brunette with a single swipe of her leg. “Nice braid by the way.”
It sets a cadence for their fight over the next two rounds; wherever the Rutherford manages to get a shot in, her counterpart retaliates thricefold. Precise, measured, disciplined in ways that faintly resemble the methods of a certain Frenchman. Giordana never strikes sharply enough to cause any real damage, but the sounds created by her impacts feel more audible in this place.
So theatrical.
Although anyone observing closely enough might notice the women never fully separate from one another. Fingers hold onto bare skin a fraction too long, smirks fading once bathed in the overhead light. They’re on the floor when Lara calls round two in Giordana’s favor and she swipes a stray trail of blood from the edge of Nevra’s mouth before standing. Nobody would ever accuse her of not showing a little aftercare.
Nevra:
The first crack of Giordana's knee into her body tells her that Lara had done her work in pairing them up. Of course she had, but it was still satisfying to know that the woman wouldn't just throw anyone together.
As the hits kept coming, Nevra's decision to let herself take the punishments without giving much back shifted. Her knuckles sunk deeper than she'd intended, though not enough to break anything. Even if the assassin didn't hold any respect for the Italian, which she did, she wasn't about to break any bones. For Ayaz's sake, she told herself.
Giordana's fingertips trailing across her jaw felt like a whisper after the blows the woman had dealt. Instinctively, Nevra grasped her wrist and yanked her to the ground, one leg sweeping the standing pair to aid in the fall. The grace with which she moved next might have been mistaken for a situation much different to the one they were in now.
What the crowd saw was one woman on top of the other, knees holding Giordana there like a cage but not crushing. Her hands did all of the work, finding skin where they could. She kept at it for more seconds than she could count before taking a beat and bending her head, their faces just inches away. Now it was her turn to whisper into her opponent's ear.
“Think this is the show they were expecting?” She pressed her hands into the Italian's shoulders, pinning her to the mat for a moment before she eased the pressure just slightly enough for Giordana to get the hint. “Take it, if you want it.”
Nevra's body uncoiled, invisible to those outside the ring but she knew Giordana could feel it.
Giordana:
Nevra landing on top of her is perhaps the most telling moment of all, considering Giordana doesn’t indulge her usual instinct to gouge her pretty eyes out for it. Or reverse their positions when her legs are strong enough to aggressively flip them both like a table. Their entire match until now has been more of a dance anyway, a coordinated game for show rather than a true brawl. The hits might be real, but their impact is superficial at best. No breaks, no vitriol.
At her counterpart’s question, she stifles a quiet sound of humor before it escapes. Or maybe her ribs are just a tad bruised. “I think Lara knew exactly what she was doing.”
They’re clearly the appetizer meant to tantalize and excite the crowd before the true gore begins. If Lara intended on kicking things off with reckless bloodshed then she would’ve paired Giordana with a Russian… or the yappy little bitch who sunk a bullet in her boyfriend.
Once Nevra’s body slackens slightly, she takes the win through a backroll and seamlessly reverses their positions. Wrangling the slightly smaller woman onto her stomach, Giordana pins her arms with both legs as one forearm wraps around the Rutherford’s neck. The other hand sits gingerly on top of Nevra’s dark locks, both a kindness and a warning that she’s no stranger to snapping necks. Her sparring partner will understand the former and the crowd can infer the latter.
“Tap out.” Then, even lower, “So I can buy you a fucking drink.”
She watches, victorious, as the other woman hits the mat twice with her foot to indicate defeat. Her grip loosens and she wordlessly slinks out of the ring, back into the shadows of the hall to wait.
"Yours has to clean it up?" He echoes, giving way to a disbelieving scoff. "Do you know how fucking arrogant that sounds? My family has made messes and cleaned them up for years, decades. Long before your lot even showed up." It reeks of self-importance, no different than if her beloved Sovrani had made some poor decisions, and his sister waltzed over to Rome and acted like the savior no one had asked for.
"It isn't anything new, Giordana... Get off your bloody high horse."
But whether she is taking his advice and doing just that, or whether it's some other remark he's made that has her struggling to find her tongue a moment later, Gideon doesn't know. He'd like to know; like to figure out exactly what landed to make proud, passionless Giordana Rossi seem to crack for a moment and show a sliver of human emotion. Hurt, he can read that well enough, but he's gone too far to pull back now.
And there's a human victim of torture hanging limply in her club room right at this very moment, flanked by her two leering goons, who makes a very potent argument for the thought that maybe he hasn't gone far enough. Especially when Giordana excuses it all with a paltry, pathetic — 'I'm just doing my job.'
This time when he scoffs, it's with bitterness rather than scorn. "Well I hope it's worth it, whatever he pays you to be a robot who doesn't think for herself."
Maybe it's unfair. There are countless like her in the mobs, including the one he knows best. Soldiers who do exactly as they're told, becoming human weapons with varying levels of lethality. She might be a colder piece of steel, a shinier model, but really what she does is nothing new, nothing he hasn't seen before. Why is it that with Giordana it bothers him so goddamn much?... While he's busy thinking about it, the Italian seems more preoccupied with the praise she's owed for not ending his life.
'Don't you know how often accidents happen? I've had so many opportunities.'
Gideon stares at her. If he were a younger man – five, ten years ago, before he had a son to put first– he might've goaded her to do just that. Might've cornered Giordana and thrown down the gauntlet, waiting to see whose bluff would be the first to drop.
But he can't afford to be reckless, not when he has a child to consider. And although her words jab at his pride as if her thumb's on a tricky detonator, he holds back.
"You want me to thank you?..."
He won't dare the loyalist to make good on her veiled threats, but won't give her the satisfaction of cowering, either. Gideon steps forward, closing the distance between them in the parking lot. A scowl's etched in his features, grey eyes spearing through green. "Poor Giordana Rossi... So contemptuous of a Rutherford, yet here you stand, waiting for my gratitude all the same. You want thanks?" He dips to her height, eye level, as one hand reaches abruptly to grasp her denim-clad thigh. "This leg you're standing on seems a fair fucking fraction more than that. More than you deserve."
He had been the one to stitch it up, after all. Frantically fighting the clock for her sake, while she'd done nothing but hemorrhage blood into his couch. The surgeon's fingers tighten before releasing her, hoping the muscle-memory of pain reminds her of just how close she'd come to losing her own life that day, and who'd been there to stop it.
"Maybe I'm not the one who expects something different whenever it suits me."
"Arrogance? You think I enjoy being an ocean away from home for this shit?" She'd come for Vincenzo, because he'd asked. Because these vermin required exterminating before London crumbled like Launceston or Porto, painted with the blood of too many. "Maybe I am on a high horse, but at least mine is warranted. You're fucking naïve if you think the decision to bring them here is something your father or Lin can simply undo with a wave of their hands."
Dark hair shakes almost in disbelief that he could be so hopeful about their chances. "You can't even begin to imagine what the Russians capable of once they decide this little alliance isn't worth it anymore. They'll burn your city to the ground and everyone you care about with it just because they can. To prove a point." What happened at Mistral's was a mere echo of their past crimes, and more would follow suit. Perhaps it borders on reciting indoctrination, but Giordana witnessed such immense brutality herself.
Theirs and her own.
Whatever box she's managed to compartmentalize her genealogy into, the overlap of her behaviors with those she detests, tears open again as it had months ago. Hatred turns inward and the venom she holds for her enemies bleeds into self-loathing. “Calling them animals would be a kindness.”
Bright eyes roll almost involuntarily. "Vincenzo doesn't need to pay me for my loyalty." She'd given it freely before they properly met. "It may shock you that not everything in this world can be bought." A low dig, Gideon has never once cloaked himself in the wealth provided by his last name, but she brings out her shovel anyway. Bury it all.
You want thanks?
As he approaches, her lips part to tell him that he might be the densest person she's ever had the displeasure of knowing. Instead, when his face lingers mere inches away, Giordana raises her chin in telltale defiance, "No, I want you to––"
A firm clasp of her shoulders, a frustrated shake of her body, they would've been expected in light of their past encounters. But this? His fingers fastened to her thigh... Green eyes widen slightly of their own accord, genuine surprise painting her expression before one hand arches back and slaps him. Call it an involuntary reflex.
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