#giada d’amiano

[joinmeinenvy]

closed starter @xogiada // in italy, during the holidays

The courtyard of their aunt’s home was bathed in the soft, golden hues of the setting sun, a quiet beauty that felt like a balm to Francesca’s restless soul. Returning to Italy with her sisters was exactly what she needed—a chance to reconnect, to mend what had been fractured. At a small table near the edge of the garden, Giada and Francesca played cards, Giada winning hand after hand with ruthless precision. Francesca’s laugh rang out, light and joyful, but it faded too quickly, as though allowing herself to enjoy the moment felt like tempting fate. Francesca’s gaze kept drifting to her bag, where a final gift for Giada resided, one she should have given her long ago. She forced herself to focus, watching her sister’s happiness, committing the sight to memory. “Okay, I’ve lost enough to you,” Francesca teased, tossing her cards onto the table in mock defeat. But her playful tone gave way to something quieter, more serious. “I have one last present to give you,” she said softly, her voice steady but weighted. Reaching into her bag, Francesca pulled out the envelope. It was old, its edges crinkled and worn with age, the top partially torn as if it had already been opened once before. She held it for a moment, running her fingers along the creases as if gathering the courage to hand it over. “I love you,” Francesca began, her eyes meeting Giada’s. She didn’t pass the envelope just yet, needing her sister to hear the words first. “Nothing in this world means more to me than your happiness and well-being. I know I’ve kept things from you, and I’ve realized I’ve been unfair—trying to protect the people I love without giving them a choice, without including them in the decisions.” The confession felt heavy, like she was unearthing a secret she’d buried too deep for too long. Her breath hitched as she slid the envelope across the table.

“This belongs to you.”

[angelinaxdamiano]

(EVA DE DOMINICO, CIS WOMEN, SHE/HER) Oh, is that ANGELINA D'AMIANO? I heard the TWENTY NINE-year-old is INTUTIVE. But don’t let that pretty face fool you, they are also LETHAL. Makes sense seeing how they are a FIXER in the SERPENTS gang. (LEILA)

BASICS

Full Name: Angelina Pilar Diaz D'Amiano

Nickname: Ang, Lina

Age: 29

DOB: May 3rd

Parents: Antonia and Massimo D'Amiano (adopted) Maico and Martina Diaz (biological)

Siblings: Giada D'Amiano

Hair color: brown

Eye color: Brown

Height: 5'5

Tattoos: tbd

Scars: tbd

Piercings: tbd

Sexuality: bisexual

Occupation: tba

BACKGROUND

Angelina’s story began long before she was born. Her father, Maico, was just a teenager when he crossed paths with the formidable Massimo D’Amiano in Brazil. Though Maico had ties to the criminal underworld through his father’s cartel connections, his family held little power. He had traveled from Argentina to assist with a delivery when fate intervened, something transpired between him and Massimo, and by the end of it, Maico had saved the man’s life. That single act forged a bond that would span decades.

Maico eventually returned to Argentina, where he met the woman who would become his wife. Though his work frequently brought him back to Brazil, the D’Amianos remained a constant presence in his life. When Massimo and his family later moved back to Italy, they stayed in touch, but as time passed, and children were born, their communication faded.

Maico struggled to climb the ranks within the cartel, but progress was slow. By the time his daughter, Angelina, was born, he was still fighting for status, for money, for security—none of which came easily. Angelina’s childhood was anything but normal. She was never shielded from her father’s work; instead, she was taught to adapt, to learn quickly, to understand the brutal realities of their world.

She saw things that would haunt any child, but eventually, the fear dulled into familiarity. Then, shortly after her seventh birthday, her world was shattered. The cartel was an unforgiving business, and one bad deal, one wrong move, was all it took. A hit was placed on her family. In a final act of desperation, Maico hid Angelina away moments before he and his wife were murdered before her eyes.

But favors in their world were never forgotten. Angelina had been taught one thing. If anything ever happened, she was to call Massimo D’Amiano.

The D’Amianos didn’t hesitate. They were on a plane to Argentina within hours, retrieving the orphaned girl and bringing her back to New York, where they now lived. It was convenient timing—their eldest daughter had recently left for Italy, and in Angelina, they found another little girl to love, to protect, to raise as their own.

But Angelina was never like other children. Death had touched her too many times, and innocence had long since left her. She had no interest in dolls or fairy tales; instead, she devoured knowledge, always observing, always calculating. The D’Amianos never tried to change her. After a few years, they finalized the adoption, and she officially became Angelina D’Amiano.

By the time she was twelve, Giada—their eldest daughter—returned home to New York. The dynamic was tense. Giada saw Angelina as the child who had replaced her, but Angelina saw Giada as something else entirely, everything she wanted to be. She followed her, studied her, and learned from her.

As she grew older, Angelina stopped pretending to be something she wasn’t. The darkness inside her was undeniable, and she embraced it. Her fascination with chemistry proved useful in ways no one had anticipated. After Massimo’s death, she followed Giada’s path and joined the Serpents, a place where she could thrive and not hide her nature.

She became a fixer, cleaning up the evidence, disposing of bodies, and erasing problems before they could become threats. A master of blackmail and extortion, she weaponized her beauty, charm, and intelligence, turning weaknesses into leverage. Everything she did, every skill she honed, was for the Serpents. Angelina D’Amiano never failed to deliver.

Day to day, Angelina comes across as cold, aloof, and sharp-tongued. Her bluntness often rubs people the wrong way, making her seem snobbish or like a know-it-all, but she doesn’t care for their opinions. She was forced to adapt from a young age, developing a keen analytical mind and an uncanny ability to read people.

Angelina struggles to form attachments, not because she’s incapable of feeling, but because she refuses to make herself vulnerable. She wears her heart on her sleeve more than she’d like to admit, though she buries it beneath layers of indifference. Control is her constant, growing up in chaos, she learned early on that the only way to survive was to stay three steps ahead.

Blackmail is her favorite tool. The power she holds over others, the way they squirm under her influence, it gives her a thrill like nothing else. It’s not about climbing the ranks or ruling over others; she has no desire for leadership. Angelina thrives in the background, where she can manipulate, clean up, and erase problems before they even become threats. She doesn’t need recognition, only results. WANTED CONNECTIONS

an ex, maybe this was the one person she really let get close

best friend

no strings attached hookups

Someone she buts heads with, a bickering irritated relationship

An informant, someone she has info on and has them under her control

unexpected weakness

Unwilling accomplice, someone she dragged into the dark (civilian role)

A shadow from her past, someone who was there all those years ago when her parents were murdered

A rival, someone who challenges her dominance

[sinnerssquarehq]

Welcome to Sinner's Square, may your sins purge your soul. The following applications have been accepted. Please send in your accounts within the next TWENTY-FOUR hours or the role of PETER GADIOT and CHRIS EVANS will be reopened. Let us know if you need more time.

(PETER GADIOT, CISMALE, HE/HIM) Oh, is that GABRIEL DE LA CRUZ? I heard the THIRTY-FOUR year old is DISCIPLINED. But don’t let that pretty face fool you, they are also PARANOID. Makes sense seeing how they are a HEIST OPS in THE SOCIETY gang. (evie, twenty-six, she/her, gmt) *LUCIANO DE LA CRUZ OLDER SIBLING connection

CHRIS EVANS, CISMALE, HE/HIM) Oh, is that DONOVAN WALSH? I heard the FORTY-ONE years old is PLAYFUL. But don’t let that pretty face fool you, they are also UNPREDICTABLE. Makes sense seeing how they are a LEADER in THE SYNDICATE gang. (evie, twenty-six, she/her, gmt) *brooklyn cox sugar daddy & giada d’amiano’s teenage lover

[giodamiano]

Giovanni D’Amiano - Like a street, look both ways before you cross me

BASICS

Name: Giovanni D’Amiano

Face Claim: Henry Cavill

Age: 42

Birthdate: November 21 1979 

Star Sign: Scorpio

Gender: Male 

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Straight but fluid

Mafia Position/Job: Underboss/Owner of Half Gallery

Birthplace: Milan, Italy

Theme Song: Sucker For Pain -Lil Wayne and a bunch of others

Quote: They feared me because I feared nothing 

FAMILY

Father: TBU

Mother: TBU

Siblings: Giada D’Amiano | Romeo D’Amiano

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair Color: Dark brown

Eye Color: Blue

Height: 6’1

Build: Athletic

PERSONALITY

Often he seems cool and collected, his intelligence and charm do very well to hide the anger and disgruntlements he holds for the world as a whole. He indulges himself freely in things that he enjoys, so if you are part of  his joys he can seem like one of the best people in the world. If you  cause him any sort of irritability he is quick to feel the need to punish   and take revenge against. His family is where his loyalty lay, so he will do whatever he needs to do to protect them, no matter how damaging the cost may be to someone else.

BIO

Giovanni can be a difficult person to get along with. He knows this about himself and he uses it to his advantage as often as he can. He’s intelligent, cunning, and every bit as ill-tempered as one would expect from the rebellious second eldest from the D’Amiano clan. Gio always had a bit of a rebellious streak, though it was never seen as such. In his old school Italian family ways, his family assumed this to just be Gio being a boy, boys did things, they got into trouble, and because of this most of his antics were excused.         The fights at school, drinking and drugs, the stealing because he could, and even the frequent turnover of women that always accompanied him in bed. All of it was excused, chalked up to the old fashioned and very     incorrect expression “Boys will be boys”.         The other reason his father always turned the other cheek was the fact  that Giovanni never had as much expectations as his older brother. Romeo was often being trusted with more responsibility because he was next in line, which could make some younger brothers jealous but for Giovanni it was a relief. He got to have the responsibilities he wanted, got to have fun, and was never put under as much pressure.         As they grew up Giovanni hasn’t really changed his ways. He still does all the things he used to do, but is a lot better at not getting caught doing    it. His siblings have always had his back and in return they may be the     only people in the world that he trusts and is kind to without ulterior motive.         Giovanni owns the Gallery; it makes a great place to launder and fence for his family business. He’s often in a serious mood with work, as he is     loyal to his family needs, but that doesn’t mean he is above reproach.    Giovanni needs things to be done his way and perfectly, if it’s not he can    turn his anger on like a flip of a switch.         When he’s not working or doing something for the family, Giovanni spends his time in any illicit activities he can find that will bring him any ounce of happiness and freedom. Doing this as often has he has, he’s developed a little bit of an addiction to a couple things, cocaine and alcohol being just a couple of them. His family knows he likes to have a good time and partake in these things, but doesn’t know the extent that he has begun to rely on them to keep him content.

 WANTED CONNECTIONS

Add Familia Blood

TBD

OOC INFORMATION

Steven

[joinmeinenvy]

Francesca never considered herself the "model" type. Sure, she was attractive enough, but the thought of strutting down a runway filled her with anxiety. When the idea of modeling was first presented to her, she flatly declined. But, of course, the D'Amiano women never took no for an answer. After some gentle—okay, not-so-gentle—persuasion from her sisters, she reluctantly agreed. It was for a good cause, she rationalized to herself. As Francesca looked at the picture in front of her, her eyes widened in awe. It was absolutely stunning. Giada had outdone herself, but that wasn’t surprising—everything she created was always breathtaking. Francesca felt her excitement build by the second. “Amazing! Sei un genio,” she exclaimed, her voice filled with admiration. “I’m the nice one, I presume?” she teased, despite already knowing the answer. Her eyes then flicked to Alessandra’s outfit, and she couldn’t help but stare. The difference in style between the two of them was striking, yet both were equally incredible. "Wow, you're going to look fantastic." Alessandra’s style was fierce and commanding, while hers was softer, more approachable. Francesca couldn't help but admire how both styles seemed to complement each other, though they were worlds apart in their execution.

When the topic of being armed came up, Francesca froze for a moment. She hadn’t truly considered the possibility of an attack—at least, not in the way her sisters had been trained to expect. But with the way things were unfolding in the ongoing war, it was becoming clearer by the day that danger was never far behind. Francesca’s stomach churned slightly, the weight of the reality sinking in. “Please do,” she replied, her voice soft but laced with nerves she couldn’t completely hide. She wasn’t like her sisters—she wasn’t trained for combat or quick reactions. If someone were to attack her, her instinct would likely be to scream and run, hardly a heroic response. Yet, she knew better than to let her vulnerability show. “I trust you,” she added quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, hoping her nervousness wouldn’t be too obvious.

@alessandradamiano

for: d'amiano sisters! @joinmeinenvy, @alessandradamiano where: moda bella design studio & workshop

If Helen was the face that launched a thousand ships, and in Sicily that the women were more dangerous than shotguns, then the D'Amiano sisters could bring mankind down to its knees with just the bat of one their perfectly curled lashes. Imagine what a bustier and some thigh highs could do — perhaps even end a gang war. For fashion had always been Giada's best weapon, and ceasing production on her annual runway show in the middle of one was never an option for her. Even if certain precautions needed to be taken.

"I have some thoughts. Take a look, miei cari. And tell me what you think." Giada instructed from behind her design desk, fingers at the base of her sketchbook slipping it towards her already stunning sisters. It showcased custom twin silhouettes reflecting each of their personalities. Francesca’s variant more sweet and coy, and Alessandra’s more sassy and sultry. "I'm thinking it’ll be a play on the whole naughty and nice list for the two of you." She paused, and allowed the concept to settle before moving on to the next one. This one wasn't going to be such an easy sell.

After the fiasco that was Halloween, she'd be remiss not to consider the possibility of another attack from the shadow, even if all this was charity. "And I also want you both armed in some way given the state of things. I'll figure out a way to seamlessly work it into the design so it’s not noticeable..." She trailed as a spark of inspiration struck her. "Hmm. Perhaps something with the heels?" She murmured more to herself and wrote that down.

[romeodamiano]

── There’s a new day dawning in the perilous streets of New York City. Here you’ll find ROMEO D’AMIANO who is said to resemble Milo Ventimiglia, but is a 45 year old Crime Boss and Owner of Il Piacere swearing undying fealty to the D’AMIANO FAMILY. Upon meeting them, they are charming and hospitable. Do not be deceived, they are also secretive and calculating. After all, you cannot spell family without lies.

BASICS Name: Romeo D’Amiano └  Face Claim: Milo Ventimiglia Birthdate: July 8, 1976 └   Sign: Cancer Birthplace: New York City, NY Gender: Male └  Pronouns: He/Him Occupation: Owner of Il Piacere Italian restaurant; restaurateur & other investments └  Alleged: (Don) boss of the D’Amiano crime family Theme: Million Dollar Man / Lana Del Rey ♫ Quote: ❝ Behind every great fortune there is a crime. ❞ FAMIGLIA Father: TBU Mother: TBU Siblings: Giada D’Amiano (sister);  APPEARANCE Hair Color: Brown Eye Color: Brown Height: 5′10″ Build: Aging, athletic build PERSONALITY └ While Romeo’s father was a smart man, he was also a temperamental one. A witness to his father’s occasional outbursts, he was able to learn how not to be in many instances and has taken to a more reasonable approach to all aspects of life, but business especially. └ With so much money at stake in almost every endeavor, he has embraced the Commission’s demands for both peace and prosperity. Ambitious enough for the head seat, he’s more than happy for his even slice of the pie, but also more than willing to play the long game, both for himself, his family, and la famiglia. └ An observant boy grown into an observant man, he’s become something of a genius at reading people. This has come in handy in both business and love. Despite such shrewdness, he does have something of a sentimental streak, which his sister knows all too well.

└ Outside of business, he’s something of a romantic. He’s every bit as Italian as one might expect ─ a dancer, a singer, a lover of good food and fine wine, and one hell of a cook (even if he’ll never reach the heights of his own sister’s talents). BIOGRAPHY └ TBU WANTED CONNECTIONS └ Allies ─ sometimes you need friends, even in the underworld. └ Bloodline ─ at this point, who knows how many D’Amianos there are? └ Lovers ─ he’s an unabashed bachelor, much to his family’s chagrin. └ written by R.

[mafiahq]

╾ 1+ APPLICATION : Welcome to NYC , GIADA D’AMIANO ! Follow the steps here and remember , there is always someone watching in the city that never sleeps. JORDANA BREWSTER is now taken !

✘ ╱ Jordana Brewster + cis female + she/her ╾ better keep an eye on GIADA D’AMIANO née NARDI whenever they are around. Some say the FORTY SIX year old made their name by being a CONSIGLIERE for THE COMMAND. Feared by their MANIPULATIVE + GUARDED tendencies, however, their INTUITIVE + OPPORTUNISTIC side helps maintain the facade. Can be easily found at EMPIRE CASINO working as the OWNER ( ally + 30 + she/her + est )

[joinmeinenvy]

closed starter @xogiada @alessandradamiano // Italy holiday

Italy held a special kind of magic during Christmas. The twinkling lights adorning its historic buildings seemed to weave the past and present into something timeless and new. For the D’Amiano sisters, the holidays were a time to reconnect with their extended family, but this year, Francesca couldn’t shake her dread. The unspoken tension from the holiday gala loomed large. The conversation they’d been avoiding couldn’t be delayed much longer. Despite the chaos and distractions of their bustling family gatherings, the three sisters eventually found themselves alone in the quiet dining room. The house had gone still, with everyone else asleep. Francesca glanced nervously between Alessandra and Giada, a heavy silence settling over them. She hesitated, afraid of what their responses might be, but she knew she had to speak.

“I’m sorry,” Francesca said at last, her voice soft but full of regret. “I know I’ve hurt both of you, and I wish I had told you the truth sooner—about Donovan, about the baby, about… everything.” Turning to Giada, she added, “I’m especially sorry for trying to take the fantasy bra. I never wanted to ruin your gala.” Her gaze dropped, bitterness flickering across her face. But I ruined it anyway, she thought. She took a deep breath, followed by a long sip of wine, as if bracing herself for what came next. “Do you remember a few years ago, when I changed my phone number and moved into a new apartment? I told you both I wanted a fresh start after breaking up with that lawyer I was dating.” Francesca’s eyes lingered on the wooden table, her finger nervously tapping against its surface. “That was only part of the truth. The real reason was so he couldn’t find me.” Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. “He… he wasn’t good to me. He had a temper, and sometimes, he took it out on me.” Her confession hung in the air, the weight of her words settling over the room like a heavy blanket.

[xogiada]

“Then perhaps, a chair?” Giada suggested, but didn’t wait around for an answer, already motioning towards one of the nurses on staff and making her request. Not only was her sister an employee, but for as long as Giada could remember her father had always made extremely generous donations to St. John’s on behalf of the D’Amiano’s— a tradition Giada herself had ever so graciously taken over in the wake of his death. And if they weren’t going to name the East Wing after him, the very least they could do was provide Giada with a chair. “Shouldn’t be long now.” She turned back to her.

Sera of course knew who Giada was and remembered how she'd allowed Sera to go in the ambulance instead of herself. It was something she'd be forever grateful for. "Hey, yeah I'm okay just tied. I don't want to miss the moment she wakes up. I'm fine, I'll get some sleep as soon as I know she's okay. I wouldn't be able to rest knowing I should be here."

[joinmeinenvy]

The D’Amiano Sisters

How much they loved each other these three.

@alessandradamiano @xogiada

[xogiada]

Yours Always, James || Self

Giada finally reads the stolen letter Donovan James sent to her sixteen years ago. tw: mostly just general sadness, heartbreak, & a violence mention mentions: @moody-money & @joinmeinenvy

Her breath hitched as she unfolded the letter, her fingers trembling, shaking no matter how many times she willed such nonsense to stop. She was Giada D’Amiano for god’s sake. She didn’t let things like stolen letters get to her. Yet, they continued to move of their own accord, even as she stepped out onto her bedroom balcony, and pressed her back to the sliding door, preparing to begin the inevitable.

Dear Giada...

Her irises fluttered down and fell upon the note penned in his handwriting, the gentle curve of the G and the way he dotted his I's. They fell upon the date, proof that sixteen years ago James was alive. Was he still? The possibility weighed heavy on her, and all of a sudden, Giada was seventeen again, exiled to Italy in the very same bedroom she was forced to spend abroad as punishment for falling in love with a boy in a rival gang. It was the memory of his voice that got her through that first year, and it was like she he could still hear him now, reading the very words from the page to her aloud.

"The sound of your laugh, the way it could make everything else fall away. The way you’d look at me when it was just us, like I was something more than a stupid kid with big dreams."

Her lower lip pulled ever so slightly between her teeth to ward off the tears that pricked her lashes, a sad sort of laugh escaping her instead. James and his big dreams. The hours upon hours they'd spend just talking about them. And that smile, that dorky little smile she couldn't get enough of. It was infectious; he was infectious. He made her want to aspire to do something, be something. Not just waste away and become some spoiled Serpent Princess or Daddy’s little girl for the rest of her life. He made her want to make a name for herself, consider a life outside her ivory tower in Manhattan. Perhaps even design clothes.

And while James may not have wielded a shield like he always wanted to, her Captain America had saved her in more ways than she would ever be able to thank him for.

That's when Giada did the unthinkable: she allowed her mind to wonder. She allowed herself to dream big like James would have, and imagine for just a couple fleeting moments the what if. What if she had gotten this letter sixteen years ago. Sixteen years ago, her life looked so much different than it did now. Giada was still a Serpent Princess engaged to be married to someone with no ties to the organization, a respectable man as her father put it.

And that wedding. It was supposed to be the social event of the season, of the year with no expense spared. It was the exact opposite of the marriage she dreamed of with James. Had she gotten this letter, would she have called off her wedding sooner?  Would she have found him? Tracked him down and then what? Would they have lived happily ever after? Would Giada have ever even become a Serpent? A councilwoman?

She peered up at the Italian sky as if it held all the answers, something supernatural about them now trading their brilliant hues of crimson and pink for a darkened smattering of twinkling stars that blinked back at her, reassuring her, and confirming that James was still out there. Perhaps he was even looking at them, too. Her breath hitched a the thought, having to remind herself to keep going. And oh, how she wished, she had stopped right there. The cold hard truth now staring right in front of her as she read the next lines. Francesca's confession and their father's lies corroborated in writing.

"One minute we were dreaming of a future, and the next I was left in the alley, bloodied and broken by your father and his Serpents"

Her father. The Serpents. The cost of rebellion and the lengths her father would go to. All because of her. All because his teenage daughter fell for someone in a rival gang. Giada had always known her father wasn’t a saint, even understood many of his unspeakable actions when she might not have necessarily agreed with them, —hard but fair. Even her own banishment to Italy she had come to terms with, but this. James was innocent; his only crime: loving a D'Amiano. She held back her tears, refusing to crumble for the man she once held in such esteem, a hand at her lips as her irises powered on line after line after line.

"You weren’t just my first love. You were my first everything...you changed me, Giada. You made me better. You taught me how to love, how to hope, how to find beauty in a world determined to break us."

Those words were her undoing. Giada pressed the letter to her chest, clutching it to her heart as if it would bring James back to her, a rush of emotions and memories flooding her, slowly, painfully and then all at once. It was all too much. Her grip loosened around the paper, and the rest of the details cease to matter to her. There was nothing that could be done now; it was all too late, and she had Francesca to thank for that. It wasn't the world that had broken them; it was her sister. The letter slipped from her fingertips, dropping to the ground, her thighs unable to bear her weight any longer as she slid

down down down

to the ground, back pressed against the balcony door. She buried the crown of her head into her knees, loose tendrils of her always perfect locks falling from either side of her pulled back hair.

A long, long time ago, Giada vowed she'd never a man of all people bring her down, or reduce her to tears, carefully playing their games and building up her walls and even as she pressed her frame to the back of the door, the tragic truth of it all hit. This wasn't the work of a one. Her heart wasn't splintering into fragments for James and all that could have been; it wasn’t shattering for the man she always thought her father was either. iI was breaking for the what came next. How did her and Francesca move on from here?

The tears came quickly, cascading down her cheeks in near perfect spirals, allowing a rare crack in her porcelain façade. Her sobs were muffled by her knees quiet enough not to alert her sisters or her aunts to the noise, and she stayed this way for what seemed like hours. But in reality it was only a few minutes before she regained her composure, just as her own mother had thought her to do and fixed her invisible crown to rise up from the ground, hardened.

Because no matter what, Giada D'Amiano was a force to be reckoned with, forged from the ashes of her past and p r e s s u r i z e d by the cracks they left in her wake, and that’s made her dangerous. Giada, like each one of her sisters, was a diamond. But she wasn't just some dainty little precious gemstone like her younger sister was; she was an uncut gem, all high cheekbones and sharp edges, and only diamonds could cut other diamonds.

[joinmeinenvy]

A Sister’s Betrayal || self para

mentions: @mirayaslan

A heavy weight settled in Francesca’s chest as she sat through hair and makeup, the anticipation of the lingerie show pressing down on her. It felt like a rock, unmoving and suffocating. She considered just vanishing afterward, slipping away unnoticed. She didn’t have the strength to face the two people who’d let her down tonight—each in their own way, but equally painful. But she wouldn't leave Giada. It was her sister's big night, and disappearing would only add to the chaos. The makeup artist stepped back, offering a final flourish, and Francesca’s reflection in the mirror took her by surprise—stunning, almost unrecognizable. But the brief moment of peace shattered when her phone buzzed, the familiar text tone cutting through her like a knife. She glanced at the screen, her heart stopping as she read the message.

Francesca, it seems that even the purest of souls have the darkest of sins. Will you betray one sister to protect another? You are tasked with stealing the fantasy bra, estimated to be worth millions, before its debut on the runway. Succeed and your secrets will be safe. Fail, and several will suffer from your actions. -Giovanni Moretti

Francesca blinked, her stomach sinking as she read the message over and over, each time hoping it might change. But it didn’t. A wave of dread washed over her, and her panicked eyes darted to the makeup artist, who was watching her intently. “Are you alright?” the artist asked, concern lacing her voice. Francesca forced a smile, nodding stiffly, but inside, everything was unraveling. How did Giovanni know? She’d been so careful—so meticulous in covering her tracks. Her stomach twisted at the thought of what this would do to her sister. Both of them. Her vision blurred as she blinked rapidly, fighting the tears. Before she even realized it, her feet moved on their own, carrying her toward wardrobe. She had to get the bra. A few million was nothing compared to what her secret would unleash. If this got out... tonight would be ruined. She would be ruined.

Thankfully, no one seemed to notice Francesca as she moved through the bustling chaos of the dressing room. Surrounded by women in lingerie, she had a way of blending into the background, a talent she'd honed over the years. It was a superpower of sorts, and she usually used it for good. The stylist was busy running around, distracted with other tasks, so Francesca seized the opportunity. She quickly scanned one of the racks of clothes, her heart pounding as she searched for the item she needed. Just as she thought she might have a moment of peace, an aggressive tap on her shoulder snapped her back to reality. She turned around to see the angry stylist from earlier, her arms crossed, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Who are you? What are you doing?" the stylist demanded, her voice sharp.

Francesca’s pulse spiked, but she didn’t hesitate. Her mouth twisted into a sheepish grin, but her mind was already working on a solution. She pulled out a card she didn’t use much—one she kept hidden for emergencies like this.

"You don’t know who I am?" she asked, her voice suddenly colder than she'd intended. "I’m Francesca D’Amiano. Giada D’Amiano’s sister. You know—the hostess of this event?" She crossed her arms, attempting to appear tougher than she felt, though she could tell panic was probably seeping through her expression. "I was told to come here to check on things," she added, her voice dropping to a warning tone, "and I’m sure Giada would love to know how one of her stylists is treating her sister." The word sister lingered in the air, each syllable heavy with accusation. The stylist’s face faltered, the color draining from her cheeks as the realization of her mistake hit her.

"I—I’m so sorry," the stylist stammered, flustered and apologetic. "I didn’t— I mean, I didn’t know. What can I do for you, Ms. D’Amiano?" Francesca's tough façade immediately faltered. The guilt washed over her as she saw the stylist flounder, clearly just trying to do her job.

"It’s okay," she said softly, her voice unexpectedly gentle. "I’m sorry. That was mean." She paused, swallowing the knot of discomfort in her throat. "Giada just wanted me to get the fantasy bra. She wanted to look at it one more time."

The stylist tilted her head, confusion clouding her face as she processed Francesca's sudden shift in demeanor. "We've already put it on the model. I double-checked everything, and there were no issues with the bra. Should I radio Ms. Giada to let her know?" Francesca’s eyes wandered over to Miray Aslan, who was wearing the fantasy bra. A cold chill gripped her chest, and a dizzying wave of panic hit so hard that she crumpled to the floor, barely catching herself on the stylist’s arm.

"Miss D'Amiano, are you alright?" The stylist’s voice wavered, part confusion, part concern. Francesca didn’t answer. Her vision blurred, and she let the stylist guide her to a nearby chair, though she barely felt her body moving. She didn't even notice the tears silently tracing down her cheeks as her mind raced. She felt empty. Numb. Her secret—the one she'd guarded for so long—was about to come crashing down. It would destroy everything. Her sisters would be heartbroken, confused, and full of questions. And the answers to those questions would dredge up memories she wanted to leave buried forever. Why was she like this? Why was she always at the center of every disaster? She was the common denominator in all her failures. I must be cursed, she thought. I’m the problem. Her thoughts spiraled, dragging her deeper into the pit of self-loathing.

A wave of movement in front of her snapped her out of it. "Miss D'Amiano?" a stagehand asked gently, their voice filled with concern. "We’re ready for you to line up, but..." They trailed off, taking in the state of her face. Francesca glanced up at a nearby mirror, and the sight of herself almost made her gasp. She looked like someone had taken every ounce of fight she had left and crushed it. Her makeup was smudged and running, her eyes bloodshot and red. She barely recognized herself.

"Let’s get makeup over here," the stagehand said quickly, clearly uncomfortable with the sight of her distress. "I'm sure they can fix you up." Francesca didn’t speak as they called for a makeup artist to return. She just sat there, feeling the tears stop as the makeup artist worked to fix the outward mess. But no matter how much they touched up her face, nothing could fix what was breaking inside. Her mind drifted, far away from the chaos, to a place where nothing could hurt her. She imagined a world where she didn’t have to face the growing terror inside her. But reality crashed back as the weight of what was coming hit her again. Hurt was coming. And she didn’t know if she could survive it.

[xogiada]

for: @angelodamiano location: d'amiano fam's fav spot

Giada was nestled into her regular spot in the back of the family's favorite restaurant accompanied by some paperwork, a couple of sketches, and a spread that only D’Amiano’s could serve up. It was a place that made her feel almost at home, where she could collect herself, have a good meal, and be surrounded the people that mattered most— family. Even on a random weekday afternoon when threats were beginning to swirl in aftermath of Giovanni's death.

The sound of a familiar voice caught her attention, and she peered up from her working lunch with a widening smile. “Ang, come, sit, mangia!” Giada all but ushered her brother into the booth herself, already making him a dish as she passed him over a slice from her margarita pie and a couple of sides. “When’s the last time you ate, anyway?”

[xogiada]

giada d'amiano.

(JORDANA BREWSTER, CIS FEMALE, SHE/HER) Oh, is that GIADA D’AMIANO I heard the FORTY- ONE year old is INTUITIVE. But don’t let that pretty face fool you, they are also MANIPULATIVE. Makes sense seeing how they are COUNCIL in THE SERPENTS gang. penned by ally

basics.

full name: giada rosalia d’amiano nickname(s): g, gia, ms. d’amiano face claim: jordana brewster age: 41 birthdate: may 4th star sign: taurus gender: cis woman pronouns: she/her sexuality: bisexual gang: the serpents, council  cover: boutique owner birthplace: milan, italy  current residence; new york, new york languages: english & italian & Portuguese theme song: gloria - laura  branigan

reflection.

face claim: jordana brewster. hair color: dark brown eye color: espresso brown height: 5’7 build: tall & slender, and loves her risotto alla milanese tattoos: tramp stamp from her rebellious teen years. small butterfly because her favorite aunt used to call her "piccolina farfalla" little butterfly in italian. scars: burn mark on her leg from boiling pasta

family.

mother: antonia d'amiano father: massimo d'amiano siblings: angelina d'amiano (29, adopted) pets: tba

personality.

characteristics:  intuitive, clever, quick witted, savvy, manipulative, reticent, opportunistic, passionate, loyal, dramatic, particular, innovative, honest  fears:  small spaces and off the rack couture  hogwarts house: ravenclaw passions/hobbies: designing clothes specifically lingerie for her boutique, cooking her family’s secret recipes, entertaining, shopping, watching old hollywood films especially ones starring sophia loren, playing cards and smoking cigars, supporting ac milan football club, fashion week  drugs/ alcohol/ smoking: not opposed, thing of the past/ in moderation, big vino lover / cigarettes and cigars socially   colors: classic black and white, pops of red and jewel tones. aesthetics: cigar smoke and lipstick stains, having an ace up her sleeve, homemade vino, power suits, imported issues of vogue italia, stilettos tapping impatiently, family style dinners, fur lined dressing gowns, upping the ante, sketches and 100s scattered over marble countertops, sips of espresso, focaccia to finish off the last bits of sauce, 3AM strokes of genius, a spritz of dolce & gabana, mascara stained satin pillowcases, fashion week in milan.

biography.

Giada was just a child when her father uprooted his family from Milan, Italy to New York City to join her grandfather in the Serpents gang he would eventually become a council member of. Growing up, she was the principessa, and apple of her mafiosa father’s eye. Though she was surrounded by the family business, daddy’s little girl was always thought to be just that and young Giada was kept as in the dark as much as possible when it came to his dirty work, deemed by her father a man’s business.  It was a challenge that made his endeavors all the more intriguing to her. While her mother urged her to help her with Sunday dinner, Giada found herself sneaking off to play cards and smoke cigars with the neighborhood kids. She was sharp, intuitive, and business savvy taking after her father more than mother. Quickly, she learned the ways of the streets, and the higherary of the families. Eager to prove herself, Giada used her cleverness to hustle kids and make a pretty penny. Her efforts only disappointed her parents, and the more Giada was kept away the more she began to rebel, even falling for a boy from a rival family.  Naturally, it couldn’t work and by the time Giada was 17, she was shipped back to the motherland in hopes of straightening her out and keeping her away from the family business. She lived with her Zia Teresa outside of Milan learning the ways of the old country. Her zia taught her all the secrets behind the family recipes, how to sew, tend a garden, and above all else that the most important thing in this life is family.   After living in Italy for five years, Giada returned from the fashion capital not only with renewed sense of clarity, but with a degree in fashion merchandising. She and her siblings became incredibly close afterwards, and she is the first one to invite everyone over for Sunday dinner and a round of scopa. She found love and met a person who would later become her ex-fiance. In return, her father gifted her Moda Bella, not only as a reward for a job well done but also as another distraction in hopes she would be too busy with the boutique to concern herself with business dealings.  And for a while that’s exactly what Giada did; she kept her cards close and played the long game. For while there is a queen in the deck, one must be careful how they play it.  When the D’Amiano patriarch passed, she couldn’t help but jump at the chance to become a part of the serpents in her father's honor. She started off small, offering up her boutique as a stronghold in addition to 30 percent of the earnings and eventually working her way up the ranks.  Now at 41, Giada has gambled away her chance at love and a family of her own to be dealt in at The Serpents table. She earned a spot as a council member with a hunger to keep the momentum going. She is willing to do just about anything to prove that she too can play with the big boys.

PINTEREST I SPOTIFY | WANTED CONNECTIONS

[xogiada]

for: @saccharinexvenom (romeo) where: outside of big brain tech

It wasn’t unlike the D’Amiano council woman to subject her Louboutins to the crowded, dirty streets of Queens —all apart of the job after all —but it was unlike her to be forced to wait around for over ten minutes for a meeting. Juggling both her boutique and the current state of the Serpents meant she was a very busy woman and that her time was also very precious. Footsteps finally sounded, and Giada folded her arms beneath her chest as her growing frustrations began to plateau. She canted her head to the side ever so slightly, pressing her stained lips into a tightening scowl. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

[xogiada]

“Now, now, now.” Giada mimicked Griffin's tone, all in good fun. She really couldn't blame him for being so forward with her because even seventeen years his senior, Giada D’Amiano was still a catch if she had ever seen one. “I’m flattered Griffin, truly, but if I wanted to be having 'fun' I’d be having it.”

Her deep chestnut irises fluttered around the casino at any Tom, Dick, or Harry she could find to further her point. She waved his hand from her thigh, a proposition forming on her painted lips. “But I suppose I am a gambling woman, so why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, honey? If you win, we can talk fun.” 

"Gia, Gia, Gia" Griffin said after she scored her win. He was nursing a glass of whiskey, his black button-up sleeves rolled to his forearms. "I don't want to take all your money, babes." Was it inappropriate to flirt with her? Probably. But that never stopped him before. Taking the seat next to her, he let his hand lad on her upper thigh and slowly drag it up, "How about you deal yourself out and we have some fun"