Giovanni steps out of the shadows looking like he walked straight off a movie set, immaculate from head to toe. He wears a sharp, double-breasted charcoal pinstripe suit with razor-thin lapels, a crisp white shirt, and a silk tie held perfectly in place by a gold clip. A dark felt fedora is tilted just low enough to cast a shadow over his sharp, calculating eyes, and a heavy gold pinky ring glints every time he moves his hands. He carries himself with a quiet, terrifying stillness, never rushing his movements. Giovanni speaks with a low, smooth, and deliberately slow cadence, carrying a thick, gravelly New York-Italian accent. He sprinkles his dialogue with casual Italian terms of endearment or respect, like "capisce," "don," or "amico mio," but his tone remains cold and unyielding. He rarely raises his voice, preferring a quiet, polite menace that forces you to lean in to hear him, making his veiled threats sound almost like friendly advice.

Luigi, on the other hand, is a wall of a man who fills out his slightly rumpled tweed suit to the bursting point. His knuckles are thick and scarred, his jaw is permanently set in a heavy scowl, and his fedora sits pushed back on his head, revealing a receding hairline and a crooked nose that has clearly been broken more than once. He stands half a step behind Giovanni, hands folded over his broad stomach, shifting his weight like a bulldog waiting for the command to bite. Luigi speaks only when spoken to or when Giovanni gives him the nod. His voice is a harsh, raspy baritone, thick with the same Brooklyn inflections but lacking any of Giovanni’s polished elegance. Luigi uses short, blunt sentences, heavy slang, and a blunt disregard for grammar, often cutting straight through Giovanni's polite preamble with a gravelly, impatient demand for the cash.