Sullivan stood off to the side, observing with mild amusement as Emiliano gracefully tapped the ball over the small hump and watched it vanish into the hole. It was then that he noticed the small windmill obstacle, and he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. "A windmill, Emiliano? How delightfully cliché." Of course, Sullivan wasn't the least bit surprised that the course was as extravagant as he expected it to be. It was then, he took a measured swing, the soft tap had enough force for the golf ball to smoothly navigate the same path from moments before. "You know, we really should consider turning this into a side business. Imagine the clientele." He was only joking, of course.
Sullivan found himself wondering, not for the first time, whether retirement would suit him in the slightest. He suspected that, left to his own devices, he might simply wither away from sheer boredom. Recent events had given him little reason to test the theory. Lucky for Nicolas, it seemed Sullivan would be postponing that particular experiment for the foreseeable future. The fire at Guilletta’s had been his primary focus. Unfortunate on its face, certainly, but Sullivan had spent enough years watching the world unfold to know that misfortune often traveled in clusters. The fact that five other buildings had gone up in flames that same night did little to convince him otherwise. “Retirement remains a deeply fascinating concept to me. Everyone always speaks of it as though it’s the natural reward for a life well lived.” He bit into the club sandwich the chef had so kindly prepared for him, chewed thoughtfully, then washed it down with a sip of Coke Zero. “Personally, I’ve always suspected it’s a conspiracy orchestrated by the golf industry.” Sully reached for the pickle on his plate and held one out toward Nico. “Pickle?”
Why he had agreed to be there so early was anyone’s guess. While Sullivan had always been an early riser. He was a man of habit. Preferring to enjoy his coffee while he read over the morning newspaper, over wasting all of his energy before the sun came up. He stood by the dumbbell rack, a towel draped over his shoulder, watching Santiago wrestle with the barbell. “You know." He began casually as he reached for his weights, the crisp while of his Tshirt a stark contrast to his usual tailored suits. “There was a time I could deadlift a body out of a marsh without breaking a sweat. These days, I find it far more efficient to bribe a man with a forklift.”
SPOTTED: SULLIVAN RILEY in new york city! heard the FORTY SIX year old belongs to THE MOB as a BODYGUARD TO THE DON. word on the streets is that they can be PRECISE, COMPOSED, & MAGNETIC, but they can also be DECEPTIVE, MORALLY AMBIGUOUS, EMOTIONALLY GUARDED
𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒
full name. Sullivan Riley
nickname. Sully
age. 46
brthday. October 3rd (Libra)
hometown. Boston, Massachusetts
occupation. Personal Bodyguard to Nico Caravelli
affiliation. The Mob
faceclaim. Idris Elba
character cnspiration. Raymond Reddington (The Blacklist), Stringer Bell (The Wire), Alan Shore (Boston Legal), Elijah Mikaelson (The Originals)
𝐓𝐋;𝐃𝐑
— SULLIVAN “SULLY” RILEY spent four years in the Air Force before an explosion during deployment left him with a permanent injury to his left knee and sent him home with an honorable discharge at twenty-two. Private security work followed afterward and eventually led him to Enzo Caravelli in New York, where Sully was brought onto general detail before later becoming Nico Caravelli’s personal bodyguard and closest confidant.
𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒
Once talked a man out of shooting him simply by distracting him with a story about Havana in the nineties. nobody ever figured out whether the story was true.
He tends to remember small details about people and uses them constantly during conversations.
Loves Espresso and jazz music
Has an irrational hatred of seagulls that feels rooted in a story he refuses to explain.
Sully's big dream is to experience a rodeo before he dies. He also would like to wear an authentic cowboy hat during said experience.
Always dressed in an expensive tailored suit. Mostly for appearance, but also because they help hide the stiffness in his leg.
Prefers humor over outright threats. most of the time it works better.
Tells stories constantly. sometimes they’re relevant, sometimes they absolutely are not.
Genuinely good with people. politicians, criminals, bartenders, random old ladies at grocery stores — doesn’t matter. he knows how to talk to almost anyone.
Sully grew up inside Boston with parents who believed discipline mattered more than raising their voices ever would. His father spent most of Sully’s childhood in law enforcement and carried the habits of the job home with him without realizing it half the time. Structure settled naturally into the house after enough years passed. So did routine. By eighteen, the Air Force felt less like a dramatic decision and more like the direction his life had already been moving toward for years.
He stayed four years before an explosion during deployment tore through his left knee badly enough to send him home with an honorable discharge and a limp that never fully left afterward. The surgeries came first. Then physical therapy. Then the long stretch afterward where everybody else seemed more certain about Sully’s future than Sully was himself. Private security entered his life somewhere during that period through a former contact overseas and stayed there. One contract became another. Then New York. Then Enzo Caravelli.
At first Sully worked general detail alongside half a dozen other men rotating through properties, meetings, restaurants, and late nights that usually ended with blood on the floor or tempers blown apart beyond repair. Somewhere during those first months Nico took to him quickly enough that Enzo reassigned him permanently and after that the arrangement simply never changed. Years passed quietly beneath the volatility surrounding the rest of the organization. Men came and went constantly around Enzo. Sully stayed.
By the time Enzo died and Nico stepped into his place as Don, nobody really questioned where Sully belonged anymore. He had already been standing beside Nico long enough that the rest of it felt natural. Almost expected.
