“Loyalty is not spoken, it is proven — in silence, in sacrifice, in blood.”
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Life had not always been as luxurious as it was. He came from a rough upbringing and fought hard to survive the harsh life on the street. A valuable lesson that has forced to shape him into the man he is today.
Born in Maryland as an only child, raised by a single mother with his father out of the picture since he was a baby. The bastard left no financial support and led his mother to work two jobs tirelessly just to keep food on the table. Together, they live in a small, cramped two-bedroom apartment shared with the grandmother and three cousins. Not exactly an ideal home, yet better than the cold, uncaring street.
Growing up in poverty, Ezekiel turned to petty crimes despite his mother's disappointment. From stealing to robbing small shops, he honed his skills and earned significant money to support himself and his mother. Crime became part of him; it was the only thing he understood better, and a grueling desire to protect his mother first and foremost, and his family. He was becoming bolder.
At 21 years old Ezekiel had finally found his true calling–street fighting. He would show off, defeating men twice his size, occasionally joining the underground fighting club to chase the high and sweet money. He fought till he bled and left with one or two broken bones; it’s all he enjoyed.
No one would think he’d let himself stand near an old bookstore, asking for a book, and sat in the alley—reading. Books were not merely his solace; they were the lifeline that kept him from drowning in the hostile maze of crumbling walls and broken streetlights, where the poor were forgotten and the desperate preyed upon the desperate.
Everything came crashing down when he made a mistake back in the underground ring. An accidental jab to the head had crippled a guy—the infamous Black Blood member. And at that moment, Ezekiel knew—he fucked up.
The Black Blood gang retaliated against him. He was targeted, hunted, and threatened. His pride had betrayed his very being; now, he must reap the consequences. Ezekiel knew he had to protect his family before everything worsened. He chose to fight them—a move he hadn’t regretted—just so they would leave his family alone. It was the exact moment of clarity that he realised he must face his own mortality.
He fought hard.
For the sake of his mother.
Blood sprayed, bone breaking, and blurred vision. All mixed in one confusing, overwhelming sensation. He saw his life flash before his eyes as each assault landed on his body. He was outnumbered and he was on the brink of death, yet he wouldn’t back down or retreat. He still had it in his stubborn pride and will to live.
Before the Black Tiger was able to pull a trigger right on his head, he was saved by a man known as The Lupin. He didn’t remember the exact event that happened beneath the bullet rain. He only recalled as he lay sprawled on the cold pavement, staring at the night sky framed between the stretched silhouettes of buildings, teetering between consciousness and the void, and then shadows shifted. A figure crouched into view, blotting out the fractured stars with a calm silhouette. And just like that—all of it slipped away into darkness.
"Easy now,” the voice was steady, almost annoyingly casual. "It's gonna be alright, kiddo."
Ezekiel joined the Rhode Island Mafia as an associate. He wasn’t Italian nor of Italian descent, and in this world, that mattered. Bloodlines were everything, and outsiders didn’t get far. But Lupin—one of the old lions of the Rhode Island Mafia—saw something in him. Enough to take him under his wing, a controversy.
Tradition was the backbone of the Family, and Lupin had broken it like it was nothing. They argued in backrooms, voices raised, pride wounded. But in the end, no one dared cross him. Lupin had made up his mind. He didn’t care that Ezekiel wouldn’t be a made man; not when Lupin hadn’t just spat in the face of a hundred years of tradition by adopting a promising young boy into the mafia family, and he knew it.
For years, he endured it all; the pain and the suffering, Ezekiel knew the score. He’d never be a made man, not in this lifetime. But if Lupin was giving him a seat in the shadows, then he’d earn it the hard way. Every bruise, every scar, every job that sent him crawling home at dawn—he took it.
Lupin’s training was merciless, but it beat the softness out of him. The boy who walked in became something sharper, colder.
It was during those years that he crossed paths with Pietro Castrogiovanni—the Don’s son, barely thirty-one. What should’ve been a passing acquaintance turned into something deeper. They built trust the hard way, brick by brick, until friendship was the only word that fit. They became close. Too close, some said. But in a world where trust could get you killed, they clung to it.
By his thirties, Ezekiel had shed the skin of an outsider. He was sharp, efficient, a street-bred tactician who knew how to keep the wheels turning when things got ugly. And things always got ugly.
He didn’t just earn a seat at the table—he earned the ear of the Don himself. Consigliere.
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| ID Number | #91002A8-EZM |
|---|---|
| Name | Ezekiel Monroe |
| Alias | Cygnus - The Swan |
| Role | Consigliere |
| Blood Type | O - |
| Sexuality | Pansexual |
| Race/Ethnicity | Caucasian - American |
| Age | 52 |
| Height | 6′ 3.2″ / 191 cm |
| Sex | Male |
| Hair | Long - Black |
| Eye Colour | Blue-Grey |
“52 years old and I’m still intimidating hm?”
⟡ A well-build man, tall and imposing, always keeping in-shape despite his age.
⟡ He particularly well known for his long black hair he always braided. It’s for a reason, he did to keep his hair away; his mama taught him how to braid and he loved braiding her hair.
⟡ Always wearing his obsidian earrings, for good luck he said.
⟡ Outfits : Standard mafia uniform. Black suit, white undershirt, black vest with matching tie.
