Sleuth Home - Detective Luca Brasi

Director - Clueless & Associates

Title:		Sleuth
Experience:		12800
Archetype:		Very Tough
Age:		2 days
Gender:		male
Sleuth Theme:		Shady Character
Last Login:		Jul-15-2025
Account Status:		Active
Subscription Status:		Subscribed
Community:		Post History

Equipment

Completed Missions

• Packages Delivered: 0
• Overdue Books Returned: 0
• Nemeses Captured: 0
• Secret Plans Revealed: 0
• Artifacts Unearthed: 0
• Journal Pages Found: 0
• Brass Rings Won: 0

Detective Biography

Luca Brasi was born in the shadows of Mulberry Street, back when the air smelled like espresso, sweat, and cheap aftershave, and every corner had a guy who knew a guy. Son of a dockworker with hands like bricks and a mother who could silence a room with one look, Luca came outta the womb growling. By sixteen, he was already six-foot-five and broad enough to make grown men cross the street just to avoid the shape of him.

He wasn’t a talker. Never was. Didn't need to be. His eyes did the talking — eyes that could strip your lies down to the bone and leave your soul twitching on the floor. The nuns at St. Dominic’s called him a “slow-burning storm.” The priests called him “unholy strong.” Luca just called himself a guy who knew how to take a punch — and give one back with interest.

The streets taught him everything the textbooks didn’t — how to read a man, how to smell fear, how to find the crack in someone’s story and pry it open with nothing but a stare and a low, steady voice. He did a stint in the Marines — six years of sand, blood, and orders barked loud. But the war didn’t teach him much he hadn’t already learned in Hell’s Kitchen.

When he got back, he tried the badge for a while — NYPD Homicide — but he didn’t like the red tape, didn’t like the brass telling him when to talk and when to shut up. So he turned in the badge, kept the instincts, and went private. Brasi Investigations. One man. One desk. One rule: murder only. If it bleeds, if it screams, if it leaves a body in an alley — then you come to Luca.

He wears the uniform of his trade like armor — long charcoal trench coat that flares like a shadow behind him, fedora low over his brow, cigarette always lit but rarely smoked, clenched between fingers the size of hammers. His face? Granite. No smile lines. Just trenches carved by years of seeing the worst of what humanity has to offer. That jaw could break through a bank vault if you gave it a reason. His voice comes out low, like gravel in a whiskey glass.

Luca doesn’t ask twice. He walks into a room and the walls get nervous. Suspects go quiet. Witnesses forget how to lie. He doesn’t rough people up unless he has to — but when he has to, it’s fast, ugly, and final. He breaks bones like promises.

He’s got no wife, no kids, no dog. His only companions are bourbon, midnight rain, and the ghosts of cases that never quite got put to bed. He doesn’t chase money. He chases justice — or revenge. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.

But if you got blood on your hands and a body in the ground, Luca Brasi will find you.
And when he does, you’ll talk. One way or another.

Politics

Contacts

None

Arch Villains

None Caught

Books Collected

None

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