With Le Rouge’s affiliations leaning towards the Ivory, Emilia had come to see the place as a safe haven. Far away from the Vargas and Vittori, it was the kind of club that she could let loose with little reservations. There would always be some Capo or made man around, armed at that. It was another night off on her calendar which meant the Ivory Princess was cradling her third dark & stormy, letting the house music and lights pour over her. At least that was until she finally got cell service and saw three missed calls from her father… With quiet corners few and far between, it seemed like the balcony was the only place to get some privacy. Hey, sorry, didn’t have service, can I call in the morning? Fingers typed away the message, barely registering the other man before she heard him speak. Emilia’s eyes flickered upwards with a curious glance: this was not someone that she knew. And in a city like theirs, the wrong meeting with the wrong stranger could end up bloody… The brunette put the phone in her back pocket, one eyebrow arched upward. “Every time I hear that it’s usually a lie.” The warmth of her voice contrasted with the gentle Montreal chill. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in if you’re looking for some peace from everything inside.”
AS FAR AS STEFAN WAS CONCERNED, nowhere in the godforsaken city of Montreal was void of endangerment. Wherever he would wander, the possibility of experiencing a perilous situation remained prominent as ever. At this point, the Capo continued throwing caution to the wind ; teetering the fine line between insanity and downright absurdity. Regardless, the male found himself slinking through the crowds occupying Le Rouge, acute discernment surveying the area until he'd managed to evade any probability of conflict ; retiring to the confines of the spacious balcony. As he took a long draw from his cigarette, Stefan's inky pupils floated toward the female who'd emerged from behind the doors. Allowing a mild chuckle to tumble past his lips, his breath mingled with vapour, he gave a nonchalant roll of his shoulders. “ Can't argue with that, ” he remarked, forefinger tapping the end of the stick, flecks of ash peppering the ground beneath his feet. “ As a matter of fact, I was. ” His statement was laced with factuality, another puff being taken from his cigarette. “ Though I suppose it was too much to ask for. Not like I own the place, ” Stefan quipped, a subtle smirk embellishing his features. “ Is that what brings you out here? Escaping the madness inside? ”
Something about the night was alluring, Safiye getting all dressed up - old friends reaching out. It felt as though she was in her early twenties again, a thrill she’d been missing in recent times. As the night moved along it started carrying some of her energy with it. Having a light hand on the wall as she wandered for some haven - the door seemed to be it for the moment. Cool air chilling over her skin, a breath of fresh air. All but a few moments was it lived up when a voice cut the peace. “Hm?” Brows popping up as she glanced over, some unconscious movement in fixing her dress with the realization someone else was around. “Biting is the least of my concern.”
AN ARM ROSE, deft digits plucking the cigarette from its perch between his teeth as inky eyes drifted across to settle upon the female. Ejecting a coiled tendril of nicotine-infused vapour into the atmosphere, a small chuckle escaped his mouth in quick succession. “ It that so? ” He questioned, a dark eyebrow lifting in curiosity. “ Now I'm intrigued. Exactly what is of your concern? ” Perhaps it was bold of him to enquire, yet Stefan couldn't find it within himself to give much consideration to her perception of him nor of his inquiry. The Capo had never been the type to waste a thought on the opinion of others, especially those who hadn't the faintest idea about him.
It wasn’t often Henri was seen on the floor of the Calypso — he typically left these things to the lower hanging fruit of the family, but there he was nestled at a poker table, betting and losing, betting and losing. A steady stream of cognac was hand delivered to him as the hours faded one into the next, grey eyes boring into unlucky hand after unlucky hand before bluffing his way to even greater losses. It had been Lorenzo Vittori who’d once taught him to count cards, and then catch those who did it. How beautiful and simple life had been once upon a time, when all that was expected of Henri-Philippe Baudelaire was to knock the teeth out of someone bold enough to try and cheat the cheaters. And then suddenly, in a stroke of luck, “Vingt et un,” The dealer announced with a smile as Henri placed his cards down. “Félicitations, monsieur Baudelaire.” It was only once the chips were delivered to him that Henri would look up at the figure situated at the table with him.
“Don’t worry, this is an anomaly for the evening.” He’d state with a demure smile. @ftwstarters
ONE MIGHT SAY that Calypso acted as a second home of sorts for the raven-haired man. They wouldn't be entirely wrong in that assumption, either. When not taking care of Vittori business, you could find Stefan tucked away in a corner of the casino ; dark eyes roaming the premises, consistently vigilant. After all, the enterprise had been the point of his origin within the organisation. Through it, he'd managed to ascend the ladder, finally reaching the rank of Capo. Still, an element of the male remained fond of the establishment. He'd catch himself watching the patrons with amusement, reminiscing on the period of time where he'd engage in poker collusion. The time when, as a made-man, he'd deal the cards, shuffle the decks in order to fix the outcome. It was during that time that he'd learned the art of sleight of hand, of bluffing others. A skill Stefan had carried into the field of crew chief. Of course, it helped an abundant deal that the Capo had always been cunning, able to outwit friend and for alike.
ADMITTEDLY, it was a rarity that Stefan would spy the Vittori boss perched at a poker table. The instant Henri had set foot inside the casino, the Capo had kept a keen eye on the man ; ensuring that both his safety and the elk of his company were of a satisfactory level. Having clocked off, the dark-haired male found himself situated at the bar, ordering a scotch only to down the contents in one. It was only when a waiter breezed past him toward the table that Stefan assured them he would deliver Mr Baudelaire's drink personally. Self-assured strides carried the male's tall stature toward the busy gathering, and with a tilt of his chin, a mere spectator rose to vacate his seat. Slipping into the now vacant chair, Henri's Cognac was placed upon the coaster next to him. “ Impressive, ” Stefan mused, a subtle smirk claiming the edge of his lips. “ Nicely done. It seems luck might just be on your side tonight, Henri. ”
LONG LIMBS CARRIED THE MALE TOWARD THE EXIT, shutting the door behind him with a subtle click. Reaching a halt at the balcony, Stefan fixed a cigarette between his teeth whilst producing a lighter from the confines of his pocket. Rolling his thumb against the spark wheel, his free hand lifted to cup around the end of the stick ; shielding the naked flame against the light breeze. Taking a long drag from the smoke, the dark-haired male reclined his head slightly to blow a cloud of vapour into the cool night air. The sudden sound of door hinges creaking roused the Capo’s attention, dark eyes drifting to settle upon the figure hovering in the doorway. “ Care to join me? ” He inquired, an indifferent tone settling into his voice as he flicked the end of his cigarette ; watching the flecks of ash drift toward the ground beneath his feet. “ I promise I won’t bite. ” A lazy smirk slid across his lips then, a glimmer of mirth shining in his inky gaze.
Amelia peered around as she leaned against the bar, awaiting her drink. While wine flowed across the expanse of the crowd on countless trays, she couldn’t bear the thought of one more glass. Rather, she chose a whiskey sour in order to rid herself of the acrid taste of the white whine she’d forced fed herself. She preferred red, but it had seemed like an hot commodity that night. As hues fell upon a familiar man, she turned to the bartender and order another. When they both landed upon the bar, Amelia plucked both glasses and moved towards Stefan. “Chéri,” she whispered then, placing the drink in his hand. “Can we speak?” Dark hues darted towards the mouth of the seemingly vacant garden, tilting her head in that direction. She’d spent the better part of the night attempting to gain information out of drunken men and women, but with little patience in regard to the individuals, she hoped Stefan had better luck. If not, she was due for his company.
STEFAN HAD BEEN SEATED AT THE END OF THE BAR, ENGAGED IN FAUX PLEASANTRIES WITH A FEW ASSOCIATES. It was a talent, really: how effortlessly he could plaster feigned affability across his features. He left no room for others to discern that his amicable nature was nothing more than sheer pretence. As dark eyes scanned his environment, the sight of Amelia fell directly into view. With an artificial smile offered toward them, Stefan excused himself from their company. Assured strides carried the male's tall stature through the crowds with ease. Finally, reaching a halt in front of the brunette, the Capo accepted the tumbler she proffered. “ For you? Anything, ” he replied, a lightness of teasing tinging his tone. Upon Amelia's gesture, he gave a mild nod of acknowledgement before following the female outside. Lifting a limb, he brought the glass to meet his lips; taking a generous sip of the whiskey sour while an observant gaze scanned their surroundings for potential by-standers. Welcoming the familiar burn that slid along his throat, his inky eyes were back on Amelia. “ What can I do for you, Amelia? ”
STEFAN VALENTI · XXIX · CAPO FOR THE VITTORI FAMILY · SECURITY FOR CALYPSO CASINO.
⇨ aesthetics ⍮ battered books with dog-eared pages, dried blood caked into the grooves of cut knuckles, the lingering scent of smoke, the silvery glint of old scar tissue, a beaten-up box of marlboros, five o’clock shadow peppering a blunt jawline, discolourations of blue and purple decorating battered hands, a subtle smirk etched upon a devious countenance, ripped leather jackets and worn jeans, calloused fingertips riddled with small paper cuts, dark circles under stormy eyes, the noise of screeching tires in the middle of the night, and clenched, white-knuckled fists.
FUNDAMENTALS.
full name ; stefan lorenzo valenti.
gender + pronouns ; cis male + he / him.
current age ; twenty-nine.
date of birth ; october 3rd, 1990.
zodiac sign ; libra.
height ; 6 foot, 2 inches.
eye colour ; dark brown.
hair colour ; dark brown.
place of birth ; sicily, italy.
current residence ; montreal, canada.
neighbourhood ; rosemont-la petite-patrie,
orientation ; heterosexual + heteroromantic.
religion ; roman catholic.
education ; high school graduate.
occupation ; security for calypso casino.
affiliation + position ; the vittori family + capo.
parents ; lorenzo and carina valenti ( both deceased. )
negative traits ; calculating, hedonistic, distant, sarcastic, and volatile.
positive traits ; adept, charming, audacious, determined, and resourceful.
moral alignment ; chaotic good.
temperament ; choleric.
intelligence type ; linguistic.
spoken languages ; english, italian, spanish, and russian.
BACKGROUND.
trigger warnings ; 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 sizeable 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-defence 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.
TLDR ; HISTORY.
Stefan grew up in Sicily, Italy and both his father Lorenzo and his uncle Giovanni were prominent figures in the Cosa Nostra.
His mother Carina tried her best to keep him out of the world his father was involved in though the older he got, the more intrigued he became by his father’s work until Lorenzo decided to allow Stefan into certain elements of the syndicate.
When he was 11 he was kidnapped by Cosa Nostra’s rival gang The Stidda. They placed a ransom on him which was paid and although they didn’t hurt Stefan, Lorenzo was hellbent on teaching his son how to defend himself thus Stefan became more heavily involved in the criminal world.
During this time, Stefan was placed under a strict training regime where his father and uncle taught him how to use weapons and firearms and how to become void of emotion and ruthless in his approaches.
By the age of 17, Stefan had taken his first life. He’d been ambushed at one of his families gatherings and wound up killing the other man in self defence. It was later revealed to Stefan that his father had set the whole thing up to test his son’s abilities. This, naturally, caused a strain between Stefan and his father.
Around this time, his father was discovered colluding with a member of The Stidda which was deemed a treasonous act and was executed for his actions. Uncle Giovanni helped Stefan and Carina escape the country where they wound up in New Orleans.
It had been a year and things had been fine until Stefan arrived home one day to find his mother had been executed also which prompted him to flee once again. He spent the following few years moving around from various States until he arrived in Montreal.
It didn’t take long for him to fall under the Vittoris radar and when they approached him for recruitment, he obliged. Initially, he started as a poker dealer in the Calypso Casino and a mere affiliate until he was deemed both trustworthy and skilled enough to move up the ranks.
Eventually, he became a Capo and continues to work at the casino as a member of their security.
MISCELLANEOUS.
is extremely skilled with firearms and blades / knives.
also very ruthless and callous when it comes to his job.
has one hell of an ego and protects his pride at all costs.
is emotionally unavailable for the most part so expect a lot of flirtatious lines and not a lot of commitment, sorry ladies kdjsd.
is very talented with technology, encryption and hacking into systems and software.
is also gifted with numbers and in another life he would have gone to university and probably studied accountancy.
oh, he also fights in underground clubs. a lot.
he’s... kinda the worst?? but he also acts like he’s the best, so there’s that!
dark eyes and bruised knuckles are his ultimate aesthetic.
he’s very talented at violin and piano tho he rarely plays either instrument.
comes across as a narcissistic douchebag but that’s what he wants you to think.
you will never, ever see him clean shaved. fact.
favourite coping mechanism? isolation.
he keeps everyone at arm’s length but acts in a way where people are under the illusion he’s their friend.
basically the tall, dark and handsome trope. ( most of the tall, dark and handsome men display aloof, cold, and distant personality but they do have a gentle and caring side. )
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.
They called you golden boy
and pushed you up to heavens
to live amongst the stars.
But you couldn’t bear
the weight of the universe
so you crumbled
and you fell.
And you burned.
And you burn.
they don’t know no gold is made without suffering (via fireheartwrites)
