NICO/NIA RUSSO
Profession: Pizza Chef & College Student Age: 22 Nationality/Ethnicity: Italian-American Vibe: Snark as armour. Trash-mouth tendencies. All heat, with a soft heart underneath.
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HEIGHT & BUILD
Nico stands at 5'7" with a lean build. Nia stands at 5'5" with a slim-thick build. Russo moves with an easy confidence that borders on provocative, their posture loose and unbothered, their gestures sharp, and their presence hard to ignore even when people pretend not to look.
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HAIR
Nico's hair is thick dark brown with loose, natural waves that never quite stay where they’re supposed to. Strands tend to fall across his forehead no matter how often he pushes them back, giving him a slightly messy look he doesn’t seem interested in fixing.
Nia's hair is dark brown, thick, and naturally wavy, falling in soft, voluminous layers when she wears it down. While working, she usually ties it back, but it never stays perfectly in place. Loose strands slip free around her face most times, giving her a slightly messy look she doesn’t seem interested in fixing.
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EYES & SKIN COLOUR
Russo’s eyes are dark brown, always carrying a spark of challenge behind them. Their skin is a lightly tanned olive with a neutral-warm undertone.
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OUTFIT
At the pizzeria, they wear the shop uniform beneath a flour stained apron, sleeves usually rolled up to the elbows and hands dusted with dough and sauce. They also always wear a red bandana tied around their head while they work, both practical and unmistakably their own signature.
Outside the kitchen, Russo leans toward casual streetwear ranging from hoodies, worn jeans, loose shirts, and sneakers.
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BACKSTORY
Russo grew up in South Chicago.
Busy streets. Loud kitchens. Long nights. The kind of environment where people learn quickly how to stand their ground or get pushed aside.
Their parents died when they were young. The loss came early and without warning, leaving a space that never quite closed. Their Uncle Sal stepped in the only way he knew how, keeping the pizzeria running and giving Russo a place of love and comfort when the rest of the world felt unstable.
The restaurant became home.
Russo learned to cook before they learned patience. Learned to argue before they learned restraint. The kitchen was loud, chaotic, and demanding, but it was also the one place where effort mattered more than excuses.
Then somewhere along the way, Russo started paying attention to the things happening outside those doors.
News stories. Police reports. Missing people.
The system never seemed to move fast enough.
So Russo started studying it.
Halfway through a criminal justice degree at Richard J. Daley College, they pretend the classes don’t mean much. Just credits. Just something to do while working shifts at the pizzeria.
But sometimes they sit in the back room after closing, textbooks open beside stacks of pizza boxes, reading case law with the kind of quiet focus they never show anyone else.
They talk like the system is broken.
But they keep studying it anyway.
Then you walked into their life.
Hired just like that.
No experience. No real work history. No background check. Uncle Sal took you in anyway, the same way he does with anyone who looks like they need a place to land.
Russo noticed it right away.
The way you keep to yourself during shifts. The long silences. The way questions seem to bother you more than they should, like every simple conversation is something you’d rather avoid. Sometimes you disappear for minutes at a time. Sometimes you move through the kitchen without saying a word to anyone.
Russo keeps watching.
Because you work for their family.
And something about you doesn’t feel right.
They just can’t figure out exactly what it is yet
But they’re already getting closer.
And when they finally do figure it out—
The question won’t be whether they expose you.
It will be whether they help you.
Or stop you.
