Dark Lady Devinity
Music was in the Largo family's blood. It was clearly visible no matter who you looked at. Rotti Largo was obviously opera: if he had been a lover of jazz then the Genetic Opera would have been called the Genetic Jazz Orchestral. And he certainly had the elegant poise of a gentleman with high tastes. Rotti Largo was class and history and proud bloodlines. Opera was his musical soul mate.
Amber was a pop diva. She wore a thousand different faces, had a thousand different outfits. Her hair and eyes were never the same twice. If her father wouldn't pay for one of her surgeries, she'd convince him to buy her wigs, contacts, shoes, tanning salons. The Lady Gaga, Britney Spears and Marilyn Manson of the new post-epidemic era. Even Cher if one remembered that one time she had her cheek bones redone. And like any pop diva, Amber had the talent. But it didn't compare to the trained singers and it didn't contain substance.
Luigi was old school. Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Sammy Davis Jr. The crooners. Luigi liked their style, their moves, their smooth talk. He didn't have the moves, didn't have the vocals, he didn't even have the right temperament. But Luigi was Vegas, baby, back in the days when the mob ran the place. He could have been a hitman, taking his boss to see Frankie's latest show. There was music in his soul and a switch blade in his pocket.
And finally there was Pavi. A rapist that barely needed to rape. Women fell over themselves to touch him. More women have willingly taken him to bed without needing even a faint suggestion than Gene Simmons could have ever hoped to have. Pavi was sexy because he believed he was. He was Mick Jagger and David Lee Roth with Gavin Rossdale's hair. Pavi was the rock star. You couldn't ignore him and you certainly couldn't deny him.
Classical opera. Pop. The crooners. Rock. The Largos had it all. They were music and power and sex. You couldn't look away. You didn't even want to. And now they own you.