In the dark of an alleyway, a match head flared to life. The glow of the flame only briefly showed the face of a twenty-something woman looking down at the cigarette she was lighting. The flame pulsed twice, then fell to the street where it was snuffed out by the toe of an Italian leather boot. The streets were characteristically quiet for 3 am- for it was about the only time that Las Vegas actually slept; though not for Josephina Santoro. Sleep only came for her when she was so tired her body simply refused to keep going, despite the loudest of protestations from her mind. But she wasn't there yet. 

By all possible definitions, Josephina was a wanderer. Even as a child, she couldn't stay in one place for very long; a trait that drove her parents quite mad at times because she always had to be watched lest she wander off and get into trouble. When she was seven she sent half the city of Philadelphia into a wild panic after it was thought she'd been kidnapped, only to find that she'd "gone for a walk" with a homeless woman and ended up entertaining several vagrants in a tent city a few miles away. That had earned her a stern lecture from her mother about running off- which she only half listened to- and she would later convince her father to return to the tent city with her to help her new friends with some food and new clothes. Illaria Santoro would later give her husband a teasing eye roll as they got into bed. "Thick as thieves, you two."

But that was exactly the correct estimation. She was, after all, named for her father. Though she used her mother's family name, her given name came from her father. Feminized to be Josephina, she preferred it shortened so it sounded just like his; "Jo," for one of the legends of Race Street, the king of the skies over Philly- but most importantly- her Dad, Joe Adonis.

In some ways, Jo looked like her mother. She had the dark hair and olive complexion of Illaria Santoro; but in the eyes, again, she was her father's daughter. At only 24, she had the eyes of someone who had lived and seen ages. Her face was one that might have fit some kind of intelligence agent, or one of the professional poker players here in Vegas- it never gave anything away if she didn't want it to. Her physique was womanly; fit and curvy like a woman should be; but there was a hidden strength that one wouldn't guess from looking at her. Where her mother would have preferred she take ballet, Jo had flatly refused and insisted on going to the boxing gym with her dad. At first, she would just watch the others train and play with the bags and weights as they lay around, but then Adonis started letting her learn some things. When she showed a particular skill for footwork, he passed her onto a carefully selected trainer around the age of 12. By the time she was 16, she was laying out boys four years her senior. Of course, she wasn't allowed to fight in actual tournaments, but within the gyms, she was very well known and a popular sparring partner for the guys who could stomach getting hit (or beaten) by a girl. Of course, it went without saying that her father was just as proud as he could be- and that made Jo happier than she could imagine.

Fate, though, would deliver the ultimate gut-punch. Joe Adonis was 61 when, on a bright morning in Florence, he was taken from his family by an aneurysm. It happened quickly- mercifully- with Illaria by his side; but Jo was not there. She was, in her nature, wandering the nearby Tuscan hills. It was nearly dinner time when she returned to find that her world had shattered, and her father was gone. At 22 years old, Jo stood in a room she knew very well, surrounded by people she knew; and for the first time in her life the wanderer felt utterly and completely lost.

In the two years that followed, she tried to find her way. She tried college as her mother had encouraged; but she wandered away having found no motivation. She tried learning a few trades, but ultimately left those as well when nothing kept her interest. A year after her father died, she lost her mother- likely of a broken heart. Jo buried her beside her husband so that they would be happy and together again, and was glad for them. Now, Jo was truly on her own.

With the recently lit cigarette dangling from her lips, Jo grasped the sides of the metal ladder braced to the side of whatever building she was near. Within a minute or so, she was at the top of the ladder, looking over the dark, quiet town of Las Vegas. Carefully, she stepped over and sat on the parapet, allowing her legs to hang over. She took a deep drag from the cigarette, then slowly exhaled and watched the smoke curl off in the still air. In a strange way, right now she had everything and nothing at all. She had an inherited fortune from Adonis-Santoro Enterprises International, but no direction in her own life. She had her youth, but no one to enjoy it with. She had a love for adventure, but nowhere to go. 

"So, Jo...what now.?"

With a flick, the cigarette sent ashes floating off into oblivion.