Nickname: Graffiti
Real Name: Francesco Amretta
Bio: Francesco came to America from Palermo as a 14 year old boy, when his Uncle had managed to secure him passage to meet up with his mother who had travelled there two years prior. Unfortunately they had lost contact with his mother, Valentina, 6 months before his journey and if his uncle had reached her, he never knew. He washed out on Ellis Island and was promptly registered as an orphan, being taken in by the local church. Father Thomas was diligent with those who came into his care, ensuring each could reach and write and had a grasp of the language. Francesco asked questions about his mother and Father Thomas made what enquiries he could, eventually discovering she had died of Cholera. Francesco took this hard and struggled with the lessons the priest wished to teach him.
By 16 there was no longer a place for Francesco. The church would have done more but their resources were stretched thin enough as it was and they needed the space for more orphans. He thanks the priest and struck out on his own. It was a difficult few weeks, scraping what he could to survive, eventually finding work at the Lambs Club, where an older immigrant, Henry, took a shine to him, eventually letting him share his apartment. He soon discovered that Henry supplemented his earnings by taking on work for a local gang who paid cash to anyone capable of making collections on their behalf within the neighborhood.
At 19 he was pinched for the first time, caught by the cops beating the breaks off of one of their gang's rivals who had been scrawling disparaging remarks about his mother on a boxcar. After the office clipped him a couple of times and demanded his name, Francesco had flicked his head to point at the scrawl on the boxcar and implied the officer's wife was similarly minded. It earned him a beating and a nickname that stuck.
A visit from Father Thomas some years later after another incarceration convinced him to make something more of his life, although probably not in the way the priest had in mind. He knew he could be more than just fists, he knew his letters and was good with numbers, so upon release he turned his back on the petty block shit that had been his livelihood and headed to Manhattan. He had heard talk about a better class of work on offer for a guy like him and he made inquiries about Seda in some of their usual haunts, trying to catch the eye.
