Real Name: "My name is Samuele Giovanni Sordi, but most folks call me Sam."
Alias: "Nope."
Age: "Thirty-nine."
Gender: "Duh."
Appearance: "Me in the face. I'm between six-foot and six-two, one-ninety.
Identifying Marks: "I got the best one of all: my right leg, halfway up and past my knee, is gone. I have an above-the-knee prosthetic; a sophisticated kevlar/titanium setup with hydraulics. It looks human, with toes, knee, and all, but it's black and shiny grey. Water-resistant, too. Other than that, I bear the signs of a violent life in all of its grisly details. I am missing my left pinky, and most of my left hand is discolored by a brown hue, dotted with small and blackish lacerations. The nub is barely distinguishable, though. I've been shot through the left shoulder-blade with a 9mm, a 7.62mm NATO in the left calf, and three more 7.62s in my chest. Those scars are brownish, ugly remnants of the holes. I have a scar down my right cheek from a knife blade, and another one in my back."
"By all rights I should be dead by now, shouldn't I? However, I am one lucky cyborg, truth be told."
Skills: "
Primary Specialty: "I can work with a cell phone in my hand, just as well as I can use a gun. I grew up around what my dad had built, and I knew that's what I was destined for. However, I honed myself in the Army - four years at West Point and eight with the 101st. When I got involved with the family business again, I put my training to use on the mean streets of LA, of Montreal, and wherever Sordi interests were threatened. I have led to from a young age; Student Council, West Point, the 101st, organized crime."
Personality: "I like to think that I adapt well to every situation, but that's not necessarily true. For the most part, I act professional in professional settings. I learned from a young age to respect my elders, and my time as an Army officer solidified that. I act with a certain amount of decorum when I'm in public; people know who I am. I have rubbed shoulders with politicians, celebrities, and others while working at this resort. I want people to like me, and I try to read people the best I can. Because of that, I have friends in over fifty countries that would offer me a bed, money, food, or their lives, if I needed it."
"I can lose my cool though, and it gets more frequent as I get older. Who the fuck has the right to give me shit anymore? Big Sonny? Let me be candid; I might
be his
son, but he and I both know what I am: a fucking
bastard. I was raised by a single mother who got nothing but a baby she didn't want. I got myself into college, without Sonny's fucking help, alright? I went from Pleb to Battalion Commander at West Point, without his help. I led men into battle against terrorists, I took human lives, and I about bled out for my fucking country. I met God, and he gave me my life back, twice. What did Sonny do? He waited for six months until I was in a state of major depression, unexpectedly welcomed me into his home with open arms, bought me a bitching leg, and gave me a job. I'll respect him for what he did for me and all, but he will not walk over me. I earned my status in the family, much to his chagrin."
"Anyone else that gives me shit, I can flip a switch quickly. You have to dominate your opponent in some way, so it helps to go ape, but not always. Reaction; that's the name of the game. Admittedly, it doesn't always turn out well."
Weaknesses:
Ethnicity: "Italian on my dad's; Mom was American."
Nationality: "I have dual US-Italian citizenship."
Likes:Dislikes:Fears:Role in the Family: "I'm a Caporegime, and the third son of Don Sonny. I train our Associates in combat."
Official Occupation: "I run the hunting expeditions into the Preserve. All of the guides and such work directly under me."
Personal Biography: "March 7th, 1978. That's the date of my birth, in Venice to Sonny Sordi and Meghan Olson. You know who Sonny is already - father, businessman, murderer - but what about my dear mother. She and Sonny were never married, and she was never straight-up about what happened. I am a bastard, through and through. I was born in the old city of Venice but I can't particularly recall any of it, partly because I was two when I came to the US. Mom didn't work for Sonny for too long; she went from job to job, and we went from state to state. By the time I was twelve, I had lived in six different states."
"Dad was never in the picture, Mom was working, but I hardly had any friends to speak of. You can guess that my mobile lifestyle had a lot to do with it. I studied good though, joined honors societies and such in high school. Whatever it took to stay out of the house when Mom was hitting the bottle. I swam competitively too; made it into YMCA Nationals four times in a row. As I approached Graduation, I weighed my options carefully. I could go into the military or the workforce, or try my luck at applying for colleges. The most appealing offer came when the local Army recruiter at my school in San Diego approached me, along with a Major in a decked-out set of Class As. They sat me down, and suggested to me that I sign on with West Point; attend the United States Military Academy for four years, and then serve in the Army - as an officer - for eight. What do you think I said?"
"It was the most socially-uplifting choice. I said my goodbyes and went up for training in the Summer following Graduation. I got metaphorically pounded into the dirt and embraced in the cold, tight embrace of Army life. The older Cadets ensured that we would not know the meaning of 'relaxation,' and thus my Pleb year was tough. Nevertheless, I got indoctrinated into Army life and didn't wash out after my Pleb year, like so many other guys. I swam in college, too, but I also attended Army training schools. At the end of Pleb year, I completed Airborne School. The next year was Air Assault School. During my Senior Year, I commanded a Cadet Battalion, which was a good test of my leadership ability. Each problem was a grain of sand, and with each new day in my battalion, I inherited a desert. Complaints, infractions, separations, barracks maintenance, physical readiness standards; it took me time to get the battalion in order. I won't lie."
"Despite whatever life threw at me, I was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the 101st Airborne. I'm proud to have served with that unit, especially when 9/11 rolled around. I remember where I was; Fort Campbell, coming back from an exercise when it seemed as though everyone on Base started flipping out. I started hearing talk about terrorist attacks in D.C. and New York, but I had no idea that we'd be the first ones into Afghanistan. I didn't mind going in; I was young and ready for war. Oddly enough, I don't rightly remember being terrified during my first firefight. I remember alternating between moving and lying prone as bullets flew over my head, explosions in the background. Perhaps the adrenaline made me forget how I felt. I may damn well have been terrified."
"I did four deployments during my time with the Army; when I wasn't deployed, I was taking it easy, going on dates, or drinking. Usually all three. I did all right by my men and my chain of command; I never had anyone do anything that I wouldn't do. I watched the war change from having a clear objective to lacking any semblance of an objective. We got stuck rebuilding Afghanistan, falling into the same mistake that the Soviets and British made years ago. Bush took us into Iraq; the purpose being whatever you think will justify us overthrowing Saddam. My career ended in Iraq, and it ended painfully."
"We were in Baghdad in '08, training the Iraqi Army to fight their own fight. I wouldn't go as far as to call the INA a wholly incompetent force, but they certainly left a lot to be desired until '15. What can you expect from men that hold dear their tribal roots, when you ask them to fight men who share such a deep cultural bond? Anyways, one of our INA patrols called in a potential IED in a market in Mansour. My First Sarge and I, along with an Iraqi Police Colonel and some of his guys, rode up to the target location to find that there was no INA patrol in the area - but there was the green sedan that the unit had claimed was an IED. We got out of the vehicle, the Colonel gave us 360-degree coverage, and I attempted to radio in that 'lost' unit."
"I think about that day a lot. I should have known that we were duped as soon as I didn't see the unit that was supposed to be holding down that location for an EOD team to show up. I finished saying 'over,' and my ears went deaf with a single boom. Dust shot up, the ground shook, and I felt a twang of the worst pain imaginable - before I blacked out. Just like that, I became a casualty; double-crossed by the enemy, posing as my friend. I could say I was lucky; First Sarge Timmons is disabled up to his neck, and those Iraqi cops were shredded by the blast. I've seen pictures of the aftermath; nothing but scorched ground, blood, twisted metal, and body parts. I got those picture ingrained in my head."
"Woke up sometime later - can't say for sure when - in an Army hospital in Germany, most of my leg gone. I went quiet and introverted; my counselors, doctors, other soldiers couldn't get me to open up. If I talked, it was usually because I was pissed. It was the realization that I would no longer be doing the thing I loved the most that truly broke me down. I worked hard to reach where I got to; I was a Company Commander, and I was gunning for a promotion to Battalion XO. If I was still in today, I'd be a Half-Colonel, or even a Full Bird by now. Instead, I recuped for a year, got a standing-o in Washington and some medals from the President, but the Army was ready to cut me loose afterwards. They said that without a leg, I could not expect any sort of career in the Army. I went to a dark place, then."
"I lived in Fort Lauderdale for a half a year after the Army kicked me out of Reed. I had a stump-and-socket leg, which was an extremely painful reminder of everything that I went through. Each day was the same: wake up, clean my stump, take a shower, clean up, put my leg on, and wobble out in search of meaning. Most of the time, I found that meaning in booze and drugs. I'd indulge and complain about how life screwed me over. Sometimes someone would tell me to shut the fuck up; others let me go on because I was a vet. I got into barfights, and ended up getting banned from half of the beach bars in the city. Ended up losing my apartment because I couldn't keep work, so I lived on the streets for two weeks before Sonny found me out."
"I was passed-out on the beach - with no prosthetic leg - when two Italian-looking guys in fine suits showed up. I told them to fuck off; instead, they picked me up, took me to the fucking Hilton, washed me up and got me a suit, and then they put me on a plane. I asked a lot of questions, but before I knew it, I was face to face with the man who knocked up my mom. We didn't see each other having a father-son relationship; we just held eye contact and talked. He wanted to know about me, about the Army, about what I learned. It was a job interview if I had ever heard one, so I told him that without a leg, I was damn near useless. Sonny just shook his head at me."
"Even I am surprised and humbled at the links he took to bring me into his fold. He got me a new leg, and let me emphasize the word 'new.' It wasn't just some metal rod that I put in a socket everyday; this was a legit mechanical leg, one that I could control, move, even feel with. Sonny gave me three months to work on getting situated with my leg. I ran, I swam, and I did all the things that I hadn't been able to accomplish since Iraq. My mood went back up, I started to enjoy life a lot more. I knew that Sonny wanted me to work for him; he was candid to me about his business."
"First place I worked for the Sordi Crime Family was Kingston, Jamaica. I collected dues from protected businesses, and popped heads whenever my Capo - another Army vet named Paolo Torrini - gave me the green-light to do so. I'm not bothered by the killing, but I don't kill people unless they deserve it. Some killers talk about a code, like there's some humanity to what they do, like an excuse. That's bullshit that we all try to subscribe to; that our marks always deserve it. I have killed some twenty-five men and three women; I can't say for sure that they deserved it, but they all had a reason to go. After that was Montreal, where I framed a Surete Quebec detective for domestic violence and possession of child pornography. That got me Made into the family."
"After that came Rio.
Rio, where I met Serafina. Mainly, we were just facilitating the flow of guns and drugs between Rio and its northern neighbors, which gave me free time to kick it on Rio's beaches. I was at a ritzy hotel bar, sipping a Tom Collins, when Sera walked in with all of her Latin beauty for the world to see. In her black cocktail dress, with her jewelry mantling her and her entourage of men and women, she looked like a goddess. I was eight Toms deep when I went to go outside for a cigarette. Sera followed shortly after, and surprised me by asking for a cigarette. I obliged and the two of us just say there, on a metal bench, talking about happiness and success. She showed me her keen intellect and intuition, two things that only reinforced her attractiveness to me."
"After a week or two, we started formally dating. Fancy dinners, walks on Copacabana; the works for any couple in Rio. The first time we made love, she saw my leg and I expected her to look at me grotesquely. Instead, she caressed my leg and told me that there was nothing that I needed to be ashamed of. I started crying when she said that; I was in love. Courtship blossomed into an intimate relationship, which became an engagement - even though I kept my business away from her. I didn't know that she was keeping shit from me, that she was running her own criminal enterprise in Rio. I heard rumors, sure; but I didn't believe them. Maybe I was so happy at the time, that I didn't want to believe."
"It came to a head five months before we were due to get married. I planned to reveal my secrets to her, but I didn't get the chance to do it my way. Apparently, she had her own rivals to deal with, who soon decided to target me in order to get to her. While we were buying up a stock of sanitized FALs, a group of armed gunmen broke up the party. I got shot in the shoulder, but I killed two men; practically tore one guy in half with two blasts from a shotgun. Only one of my three guys