Ever since he could remember, Archibald Lanoix II (named after his father), carried the family name as a badge of honour. It had never been just about money and power, although Archie had never shied away from enjoying either of those things. Being a Lanoix meant being part of something great, even if said greatness was achieved through plotting death and destruction of their enemies.
Their parents never forced him to follow their footsteps (although they hoped he would), they gave him complete freedom to do whatever he wanted with his life, whatever path he wanted to walk down to, was his for taking. In the world full of opportunities, someone weak of nature couldāve been lost easily, but not Archie. He had a fire inside him, belief that he was destined for greatness. Although he didnāt hold any actual title in the mob hierarchy, Archie had been heavily involved in the family business, often tagging along with his father and his second-in-command, learning the ropes. When he turned eighteen and graduated from the elite high school attended by the children of the richest of Chicago, where Archibald was the leader of the pack, he decided to apply for a liberal arts school at the University of Chicago.
Archieās years at the University were spent mostly partying, and making connections, which would undoubtedly come in handy one day. Some classes, that heād find interesting, heād actually attend and study for, but in most cases, Archie would pay or intimidate one of the hard-working students to write the midterms and finals for him. He planned on enjoying his life to the fullest, learning not only philosophy, art, Latin and all the other classes his degree had to offer, but the family business as well. And one day, down the road, take over for his father.
His well-thought-out plans came tumbling down five years ago, as their parents, who had gone into hiding for a decade, had been finally hunted down by the Kovali and murdered in cold blood. It took every ounce of self-restraint not to grab a shotgun and shoot the Kovali dirtbags in the face, but he knew he had to play a long game. Chip away from their power little by little, whilst growing their own with his twin sister by his side. Compartmentalising is an art heās a master of. To the public, heās the charismatic museum curator, patron of arts, the most eligible bachelor of Chicago, everyoneās favourite party boy. Little do they know that heās the silver-tongued devil in disguise, and hiding behind the charming smile is a master manipulator.
Education: Business Degree from the University of Chicago
Occupation: He used to be the CEO for the venture fund he founded, but stepped down and became a board member instead. Dedicates most of his time to being a capo and future leader of the Kovali.
Drinks, Smokes, & Drugs: Yes to all three.
Height: Ā 6ā² 2ā³.
Weight: 170 lbs.
Build: Athletic.
Hair Color: Brown.
Usual Hair Style: See this gif.
Eye Color: Black.
Glasses? Contacts?: Ā None.
Style of Dress/Typical Outfit(s): Usually dresses smart, white shirt and suit jacket, itās a statement he likes to make. If heās partying though, he can be seen in a pair of dark jeans and a simple T-shirt.
Typical Style of Shoes: Black Oxfords or leather boots.
Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings? Rolex & Patek Philippe watches. No tattoos, no piercings.
Scars: Two, one on his leg, and one near his ribcage.
Unique Mannerisms/Physical Habits: Has a signature way of walking, confident, brisk.
Health Problems/Illnesses: Nothing chronic.
&. PERSONALITY
Zodiac Sign: Scorpio.Ā āScorpio is one smooth guy, and common Scorpio male characteristics include magnetic confidence and self-awareness. This man understands himself pretty well, and he'll be pleased and flattered when you take the time to understand him too."
MBTI:Ā ENTP.Ā Ā āFollow the path of the unsafe, independent thinker. Expose your ideas to the dangers of controversy. Speak your mind and fear less the label of ācrack-potā than the stigma of conformity. And on issues that seem important to you, stand up and be counted at any cost.ā
Parents. He worships his mother, and has always been closer to her than to his father. However, his relationship with Rafal has never been strained either, however, ever since his brother got locked up, Adnan got to spend more time with his father and theyāve bonded quite a lot during past years.
Brother. Adnan had always admired his brother, and that hasnāt changed now that he sits in his place. If it comes down to making a choice between his brother and his throne, Adnan will always choose his brother. Still, he canāt help but feel he could actually do a better job than his brother at leading the family one day. Adnan hopes he will see it, too.
Sister. When it comes to Emilia, Adnan is ridiculously overprotective. She can do nothing wrong, and you hurt her in any way, you better start praying or grab your passport and run to another country. No matter how busy his life might get, Adnan always finds time to spend with his baby sister and see how sheās doing.
Eight, heād said, expecting this would leave more than sufficient time, plenty of time, to finish off his business for the day, go home, get ready, and find his way to the Purgatory. Really, he should have learned by now that when you were in charge of a group of men that may or may not contain one or two specimens of profound idiocy, things were going to get in the way of plans. There were always things; new things, old things, the repetition of things he thought heād already resolved - problems, you called those - that were, apparently, beyond the mental capacity of certain barely-evolved ape-like goons that he called his family. The other family, of course; not the ones he sat quietly - or not so quietly - down to Sunday dinners with, but the other one - his Kovali loyalists. Yeah, that one, the one we donāt speak of in a legally inclined environment.
In fact, the problem he was presented with when he reached one of the Kovali safehouse - his base of operations - was of such an absurd level of imbecility that heād contemplated shooting the poor bastard whoād solicited his assistance. Somehow, some way, by some twist of stupidity, they thought it was a good idea to execute a Faction loyalist on a Kovali territory. It had taken most every swear-word he knew in every language he spoke to express his utter disappointment, before he instructed these useless piles of crap never to snort cocaine while on task. The place reeked of blood. He hadnāt been there when his men executed the Faction loyalist who wouldnāt give up the information Adnan needed, but he could tell, it had been brutal. Like always. Lugging dead people around Gold Coast wasnāt exactly his plan when he ordered a hit.
The body had been carried out, dropped off at the side of the room. There were a couple of guys standing nearby; Adnan could hear that the topic of the evening was āthe blonde with a huge rackā. Empty bragging from one of the guys; he knew that no blonde with a huge rack had gone home with him last night. If she had, it had happened after he left, and she would hardly have been as attractive as the man in question suggested. He loved him like a brother, but the guy did not have a game. He had money, at times, but not the game.Ā
Ā āI look down, and sheās got her mouth wrapped around my cockā¦ā
He heard the words, registered them, and he grinned. Empty talk. Big talk. Heād heard it all before. After raining fury upon them for making a mistake, Adnan had calmed down. He walked up to them.āLemme guess, and then she asked you for my number?ā he even offered a joke.
The guys broke out laughing, even the guy the comment was directed at. A crude joke here, a crude joke there, it kept them on his side, and it kept him on their level. Not to mention that it kept him where he felt comfortable. The heir of Kovali, their future leader, where he could be as brutal and crude as he wanted without worrying about hurting peopleās precious feelings; it suit him just fine. One day, he wanted to be the boss. He was going to be the boss, but for now, he enjoyed being a Capo.
Ā As the conversation started again, this time revolving around another loyalistās latest conquest, he let his eyes stray from the party and take in the sight of the dead man. He couldnāt see his face; his arm had landed over his head when heād been dropped there, hiding it, but he could still see the consequences of all the beating he took. It was like writing across his body; several large cuts, giant bruises, a rib sticking out of his skin. He could see his body moving, his chest rising and settling weakly. āYou said that he was dead.ā He didnāt realize until heād said it that heād interrupted the conversation, just to utter a statement in an accusatory tone. Everyone was suddenly silent, staring at him.
Ā āYeah, butā¦ Heās as good as; we didnāt think itād matter.ā
Ā He felt like clearing his throat, but didnāt. He didnāt like being lied to, or being served near-truths.Ā āIt doesnāt,ā he barked, passing the speaker an annoyed look, āBut if he aināt dead yet, he aināt dead yet. You donāt have to spare my feelings.ā He finished his statement with a smirk, and the others laughed slightly. Feelings, pshh. Like any of them had that. He looked at the body again, the weak but desperate way it breathed. āIsnāt Gustaveās closed over the weekend?ā
"Aww, not Gustaveās! Thatās my favorite sandwich place!ā
Adnan smirked. "You donāt have to stop eating there.ā Some of the others laughed, one or two nudged the speaker in the side, waggling their eyebrows and making eating gestures. The man looked sick to his stomach, but it passed quickly, like it should. "Donāt blame me, anyway; blame Gustave for going out of town at the right time.ā It was the easiest way to handle it, really; find the nearest closed sandwich shop or restaurant under their care, make use of their machinery and avoid eating there for a couple of months, until there was no chance of human mixing with ham anymore. It made it easier to dispose of the bodies when they were in little bits, after all. āThere a car out back?ā he asked when the conversation between the others started to fade, and one of the guys dangled some keys and nodded. āAlright. Letās move him.ā
Ā āWhat the hell are you waiting for? You want me to perform the last rites, or something?ā They stopped stalling and picked up the body. He groaned. Adnan didnāt know what came over him, but suddenly, he realized it was just a boy. So young. "Stop.ā The guys looked mildly concerned. āPut him down!āĀ They dropped him, hard. He groaned again, weakly. He felt like a fool when he knelt beside the body, but he knew that he was doing the right thing. He grabbed the kidās head, twisted it in a sudden motion. The snap was followed by a silent exhale. It almost sounded peaceful. He got back up, nodded to the guys. They picked up the body, carried him out. Looking down, he realized that there were stains of blood on his hands. Someone handed him a rag. He cleaned most of the blood off, subsequently dropping the dirty rag on the floor. He was done here. āChop him and bury him,ā the order went directly to one of his closest, and he nodded in response, āIāve got a party to get to.ā
I just saw a kid yell āfuck offā at the top of his lungs and then his phone started ringing so he picked it up like 2 fucking milliseconds after it started ringing and said āhi mamaā in the softest god damn voice Iāve ever heard
