SPOTTED: JAMES ROSSI in new york city! heard the THIRTY-EIGHT year old belongs to THE MOB as a LAWYER. word on the streets is that they can be MAGNETIC, but they can also be ARROGANT.
𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒.
name. James Rossi
nicknames. Jamie, J
birthday. August 3rd
zodiac sign. Leo
siblings. Gianna Rossi, other half-siblings
time in nyc. His entire life
occupation. Managing Partner at Whitlock & Harren LLP
character inspiration: Harvey Specter (Suits), Don Draper (Mad Men), Stewy Hosseini (Succession), Scott Disick (KUWTK)
𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘.
TLDR; The product of an affair between a mobster and his housemaid, James never knew his father or the history behind him. Not the fact that his father was already married and couldn't commit, nor his mother's reason for maintaining a wide distance due to his lifestyle of choice. However, his dad knew about James. He supported them financially over the course of several years, even after his death with a private yet dedicated trust, allowing James' mother to maintain a rather expensive lifestyle for her troubles. As a result, James melted quite well into affluence from the start, befriending other trust fund babies and silver spoons during boarding or law school. Started as a junior lawyer at Whitlock & Harren, only to work his way up over several years until he became Managing Partner with a plethora of high profile cases. Which eventually led him down a path to joining the mob of his own volition and interest, the primary, of course, being money. All the while a more junior lawyer named Gianna has come under his mentorship wing, same last name and half relation. He just doesn't know it yet.
𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.
Loves a big romantic gesture, but lacks any follow through. Which is why he's been engaged 3 separate times and never made it down the aisle. BIG fan of weddings, bigger hater of binding contracts.
Avid swimmer, owns several boats because they look nice and are easy to jump off when he takes them out. Which is mainly while he's in the Mediterranean on vacation several times per year.
Passionate about reality TV, specifically Love Island, Real Housewives, and Secret Lives of Mormon Wives. He firmly believes Jersey Shore was the best to ever do it and watches reruns often.
Calls his mother every Sunday because she raised him solo and it's the grateful, sonly thing to do... And he's also a little bit afraid of her.
Has several tattoos across his body that are entirely hidden by the suits he wears. Some meaningful, some not. He doesn't mention having them.
Besties with the Windsors, ultimate rich boy overlap.
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Troy just smiled, taking a sip of his drink. "I can't believe you miss me in my crashout era." He joked lightly, though he understood what the other man meant. Troy had this issue with finding limits - had always had it, really. He was either all in, all the time, or completely out of it, ever. Addictive personality is what he'd heard his parents call it as he grew up; before his life had completely changed as an adult. Something had triggered it, and he and everyone close enough knew exactly what nowadays. People like Jamie, who'd always been around. Sometimes he had wondered if he would get out of that cycle, and somehow, now he had. "Hey, we opened the windows of your high rise, some would consider that a suicide missions. We're not as boring as you're making us out to be."
"Hardly. But your lack of will to live aside, we had some fun." Fragile, glistening moments in the otherwise dark abyss that was Troy's grief. Stumbling home together and crashing on each other's couches or spare beds, feigning as if they weren't well into their thirties and far too old for such behavior. "The contractor opened the window while we smoked cigars and watched." Which, Jamie supposed, was as good as doing it themselves. "Anyway, I guess boring means you're happy again. And I suppose I can sacrifice cheap thrills for the sake of your curfew if that's true." Teasing aside, it meant that Troy found someone to pour himself into yet again and he'd never squash that impulse. Envious of his friend's luck, certainly. But never disapproving.
𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝 halfway to her mouth. “main character syndrome,” she repeated, like she was filing the phrase away for later use. “i’ve never been outside of america,” she admitted plainly. she wasn’t embarrassed by her lack of international travel, though she knew some people might consider her uncultured. most people considered a lot of things about her to be uncultured. “you got a case of main character syndrome, then? bein’ american and all.” romy didn’t think she did. if anything, she had spent most of her life feeling like a supporting character in her own story. she only stared when he laughed, watching him with that quiet, unreadable focus of hers. then a small, crooked smile tugged at her mouth. “mm. so you meet people the old-fashioned way?” she tabbed the page she was on in the magazine. “me too. i met my boyfriend in person, not on an app. took me five years to realize i liked him, and for him to realize i wasn’t just his weird lil’ friend.” a pause, her brows pulled together. “er, fiancé, now.” she shrugged.
"You should go. There's an entire world to see and experience beyond this place." Dozens of more exciting countries, although in his own prideful opinion, Manhattan was difficult to beat in terms of city life. Something about the allure of the lights and bustle. A lifetime of it hadn't tired him out quite yet. "Oh absolutely and it has nothing to do with being an American." His lips tugged into a teasing smile, not at all ashamed of his own simmering arrogance. "It's the only way to meet people." The only way to read them. To catalog every micro-expression and tick that he could file away for later examination in his mind. "Five years? Why the delay?" Perhaps it was delusional of him, wouldn't be the first time, but Jamie felt as if most people knew if someone was their person early on in the relationship. They simply lacked the conviction to admit it to themselves or anyone else. "Congratulations then. Weddings are a treat." None of his engagements had ever culminated in an actual walk down the aisle, but on some level he relished in the idea of those big romantic gestures. There was a particular atmosphere to them that could be addicting.
The death of Omar Saab, and the hiding of it all, had almost became the last of her priorities once she was sure it was all covered up as tightly as possible. It was easy, the news were covering the case that Interpol had opened upon an anonymous tip - Omar Saab was not gone, hiding from authorities, no trace of him left behind, his assets not frozen due to a number of people that had done dirty work for him. She and James had worked on collecting all of them, arranging all the correct paperwork. It worked out in her favor, after all, that she had been Omar's protege and not just his daughter, for he had showed her enough weaknesses that his ego never allowed him to see as just that. "Next time we meet, I say we do it at a restaurant - with a rooftop." Mostly because she needed to smoke after the amount of papers that she was signing and reading over. Even if she trusted the lawyer, any lawyer, Lottie still read everything. She shifted in her seat when she picked up another folder. "How do you not lose your mind everyday, Jamie?"
Asset reconfiguration was light work, backdating the transfer of ownership even more mundane. He could have rewritten the nomenclature in his sleep at this point, a decade of contract litigation for the mob made him a practical expert on the subject. "Oh, sure, twist my arm." Of course they both understood why this meeting had to remain indoors within the sanctity of his home office, where prying eyes and ears didn't run the risk of becoming loose ends off to blab at the nearest police or news station. Even if he rented the entire place out, staff and security cameras still lingered. Not worth it. "I had its management outsourced to my own protégé," wouldn't Gianna love to hear the signifier that he specifically used whenever she wasn't in the room, "she only gives it back to me on odd days of the month." Collecting one document before handing her another, he never paused when asking the obvious, "Where's this Amelia?"
"You mean I don't give off trust fund, ivy league blood or criminally insane vibes?" there were a great many more cliches he could list off that were often linked back to the hamptons but, as one of his closest friends... James was undoubtedly correct. "It's a curse to be one of the others, at least you'll never have to suffer with us. But hey, I tried." Not really. Unfortunately he just had one of those faces - he could blend into a crowd as best as possible, but a former lifetime of cage fights and brawls meant it showed. "clearly you haven't seen Dom yet..." though he wasnt specifically there as a retainer of extra muscle... Luca knew where he'd be if and when shit hit the fan. "might not scale a Pillar but he's been eyeing off the ocean like there's a fucking siren calling his name so."
"Ivy League trust fund baby? No. Criminally insane? Eh." Only a partial joke, there were times he simply didn't know when it came to the mob's enforcer, long standing friendship or not. Anyone with the stomach for that role had to be in search of a few missing screws by his standards. "You know what the color white looks like, I'll give you that." A sharp exhale before Jamie brought the drink back to his lips and took a measured swig. "No, I saw him. Somehow he's going to do all of the above while simultaneously closing a twenty million dollar brand partnership. And I'll be clocking in on Sunday to legitimize the contract paperwork for him." Living the dream. The sarcasm trickled out just enough to make his point. "You bring anybody?"
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" and this is for you , " he said placing the shot in front of the man. " because i am thirty -- thur --- tee , " he said slowly so the other could understand him perfectly well. " or are you like here in a lawyerly capacity ? " he questioned unsure when the other ever stopped working , he was unsure if he ever saw the other in a casual setting. " you wanna know what's crazy ? other than everyone wearing the most unflattering color known to man kind --- is , " he paused not finding his sentence. " i'm hungry --- you think i can doordash some little caesars oh or taco bell. "
His gaze flickered from the shot to Francis, gauging whether his odds were favorable on the other not having spat in it. "Thirteen, I knew it." Jamie heard him perfectly well, but the ongoing bit continued to amuse him so he pressed forward. "Oh, yeah, I was just asking Judge Connors for a temporary injunction—" Head canting to the side, he dropped the agreeable retort and answered with only a moderate amount of snarky disbelief, "No. Does it look like I'm here in a work capacity?" Of course he could be, if Celestina suddenly required input that the rest of her moronic legal counsel were unable to provide. "There is literally an entire restaurant on site. If you order Dominoes, I'm going to have Charlie return you to the kennel."
"I will say that there is nothing better than a nice cocktail and a little ocean breeze." Rachel admits aloud as she finds herself in a little spot where the back of the hotel overlooks the beach. It was a beautiful venue and she could feel the sun soaking feel of the early evening. "Although with everyone wearing white, everyone has to be careful of each other with their drinks." She gives him a small smirk as she can only imagine how disastrous it would be if someone spilled anything. Of course in her mind if it were to happen, it would be to her.
"God, that is so sweet. You sound like a Hallmark card." He'd never bought one, but rumor had it they were sentimental as all get out and people gushed over the simple prose. In truth, Jamie isn't razzing her for the observation, finding the spot rather picturesque himself. "Are you planning to spill red wine on me, Rachel? Be honest." It wouldn't matter even if she had some grand diabolical plot afoot, he always kept an identical backup with him for all eventualities.
"Oh my god, you're so underdressed." Sarcasm laced her words as she approached Jamie, two champagne flutes in hand and one extending forth towards him. "You're not even wearing a tie." Which was extremely uncharacteristic of him and the general of attorneys, Troy Windsor, for the record. "No pocket square either." Both brows raised in dramatic faux shock. "Are you feeling alright? Feverish? The helicopter blow your hankie away?" In the next moment, she'd erupted into laughter, an upbeat lilt carrying her humour.
"Please don't get me started. I can't discuss some of these outfits tonight," he accepted the flute with eager thanks. "The theme was white, not golf course catalog." For all of the wonders of the universe that money could afford the wealthy elite of New York, it simply couldn't buy personal style. His eyes were long suffering victims of the fashion epidemic. "Where's the other half of your dress?" From the sharp grin that caught the edge of his lips just before he sipped, it was beyond obvious that Jamie merely teased his friend. She looked spectacular, but then again so did all of the people he kept close. "I think the Windsors are wearing the same outfit. We can't tell Troy though, he'll spiral into another crashout era and I have to be in bed by midnight before the fairy godmother spell wears off."
"Don't act like I twisted your arm." He's teasing Elena, of course. Making light of the less than subtle way in which he requested they attend this party together in solidarity, as dearly beloved friends of almost twenty years or whatever. Had it actually been that long? Who could say really. Jamie simply enjoyed waving an abstract number in her face at every opportunity when she dared to not include him. Next week it would be thirty years. "Who, pray tell, would you have brought if not me? How long is that contact list? I'll wait."
"Color me surprised, I didn't think this was your scene." Not that Jamie made it his business to run a deep dive on what, precisely, the enforcer's preferred extracurriculars were outside of work. It just seemed an odd sight to find Luca there amongst the extravagant partygoers; a plethora of actors and business owners and old money heiresses. Not quite sticking out in any obvious manner, but a peculiar addition that caught his eye nonetheless. "Or does one of them have you on retainer as extra muscle in case somebody tries to scale a pillar?"
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❧ @rossijames // some place those two would meet like a restaurant or something
Being the assistant came, at times, with the job of running all over the place with sealed envelopes with, files inside or whatever else needed transporting. Rüya took her job seriously, found herself caring that things got done well and proper. The brunette had just been checking the time when spotting the other. With a discrete motion of her hand she tried to get his attention.
"I don't know about you but I plan on having lunch after we're done here. You're welcome to join me if you'd like." She rarely got a chance to eat out unless pre-planned in advance.
Truthfully, he didn't envy Rüya's position in the least. At no point in his life did he ever aspire to be somebody's gofer, not even for the Don of New York's most powerful criminal enterprise. Work for the man? Sure, and he far preferred Nico over his predecessor, but he'd leave the errands to his colleague as it were. "If you wanted to hang out and get lunch, you just needed to say so on the phone. I would've cleared the afternoon." He nodded to her purse. "Any presents for me or is this actually a social call?"
"What if he asks you to go suit shopping with him?" The playfulness that lived within her voice survived even her gloomier moods, apparently. A small mercy, both for her own benefit and, conveniently, for Jamie's caseload as one less issue to manage, though she held full awareness he'd never label her as such. Not for favouritsm, but because she personally wouldn't allow herself to reach such a demise. "And he claims to require your expert guidance?" A private thought formed beneath the jest that the next time she encountered Joey, perhaps she'd plant that exact suggestion in his head purely for watching James' reaction when it materialized as an actual proposal.
The lifeline on that thought doesn't exist for longer than a few moments, however, with the man before her suddenly standing and prompting her to do the same. Which in turn, received an instant rise from her own chair despite the bout of confusion that ran through her. In spite of that, there would never be a time that she questioned him - for reasons unbeknownst to even herself, Gianna followed Jamie with something close to blind trust. "Is this the part where you show me another fashion abomination you hope to get rid of," she said, falling into step, "and then we make a plan to set fire to all polyester?"
The expression he shot Gianna was aghast but not venomous, cloaked in pure disbelief that he looked like someone who took on charity cases. Or perhaps that she thought he passed for a salesman at Macy's, enough to coach someone on their unbearably wayward fashion sense. Not his rodeo, not his clown. As they stepped into the elevator, Jamie finally responded to her query with a half-smirk. "Not quite." Although he could've spent the day pointing out various lost causes throughout the office to her, the advanced version of people watching where the pair of them sat like animals in the aquarium that was his office.
He hits the button for the highest floor, then leads her down a narrow corridor to the stairwell. Like divulging a secret treehouse, they head up the final flight to the access point on the roof where he opened the door to reveal a large faux green complete with a putting course. "I had this installed five years ago." Mostly for leisure and the sanctity of alone time to think. "You know how I tell Harding that I'm taking space to review my caseload once per week?" He gave her a pointed look followed by a nod which indicated his actual location during those supposed heads down hours. "Here." Plucking a driver out of the spare bag he kept up top, Jamie handed it over without hesitation. If she broke it, he'd simply buy a new one. "I've found that words usually don't help and sometimes you just need to whack something." One palm gestured to the myriad of golf balls strewn about. "Swing away. Get it out. Hit the building next door, I don't care."
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"Please, allow me to finish my alcoholic beveragino before we speak of this." She shuts her eyes for a moment as she focuses on sipping the espresso martini and finding good headspace. "I was told a wholeass month after my brother proposed to her, so unfortunately you probably learned like a few hours after I learned and I was still processing how my brother made my tragedy about life being too short." Nan rolled her eyes towards Jamie, hoping he'd understand how men suck. "Hey, no! Don't do that." She pouted, hoping her eyelash batting and cuteness would allow for a decision change. "That's really mean of you and I don't deserve it and you don't want to make me cry." She felt like this was a very solid argument.
Surprise colored his features and he made no effort to conceal that. "A month? Wow, he hates you." Said only in jest really, the ins and outs of the Schaefer siblings' relationship wasn't top of mind or priority, and frankly he didn't have his own to compare against. It seemed a strange thing to hide, however. "Fine, but now you're my eyes and ears at the wedding. Unless he elopes and doesn't tell you until they're pregnant." Finishing his own drink, Jamie sauntered to the built-in bar to begin remaking another bourbon for himself and a backup espresso martini for whenever Nan finished. "So you found out about five minutes ago. Thoughts?"
the excuse he gave hr for a couple of days only truly worked because they liked him --- sick of everything and everyone wasn't exactly viable to be used for sick time but they knew about his affiliation with romeo so they let it slide. the invite from the other hadn't been fully surprising but his words were. his brow furrowed as he looked around them , but the room was empty except for them. " as flattered as i am -- how old do you think i am ? " it did nothing but raise his ego in the best way possible. eyes fell to the ring , before moving to grab the bottle and popping it open , " i am officially betrothed , hers is much nicer. this is just a place holder. "
"Not old enough." Whether Francis was eighteen or twenty-eight hardly mattered, in Jamie's eyes he was practically somebody's adopted kid brother. Charlie's, or maybe even Alix's if she was feeling charitable that week. "Betrothed? I must have missed the memo about you combining lands and kingdoms." He set two crystal glasses out on the table in front of them. "Didn't realize you were seeing someone that seriously," not that it was any of his business, but he liked to be nosy, "congratulations." That, at least, was earnest. Weddings usually were something to celebrate, or at the very least attend as a spectator to calamity. "So, what's her name?"
