Rainy

Assisting ol br 29.7.2025 VIP 29.7.2025

Turf 28.7.2025 Turf 28.7.2025 Turf 29.7.2025 Turf 29.7.2025 Turf 29.7.2025 Turf 29.7.2025 Turf 29.7.2025 Turf 30.7.2025 Turf 30.7.2025 Turf 31.7.2025 Turf 31.7.2025

Turf 25.7.2025 Turf 26.7.2025 Turf 26.7.2025 Turf 26.7.2025 Turf 27.7.2025 Turf 27.7.2025 Turf 27.7.2025 Turf 27.7.2025 Turf 27.7.2025 Turf 28.7.2025 Turf 28.7.2025

Bank Robbery Blueberry

Turf 25.7.2025 Turf 25.7.2025 Turf 25.7.2025

Date: 24/07/2025 Event Type : Rhino fight Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Gaywitz Screenshots: Date: 24/07/2025 Event Type : LMS deagle only Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Gaywitz Screenshots: Date: 24/07/2025 Event Type : Swimming race Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Skinner Screenshots: Date: 25/07/2025 Event Type : LMS at Graveyard Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Glas Screenshots: Date: 25/07/2025 Event Type : LMS deagle only Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Glas Screenshots: Date: 25/07/2025 Event Type : Knock me off from my nrg Prize: 1.500.000 $ (500.000$ per winner) Winner(s): Skinner, Hrizen, Mootje Screenshots: Date: 25/07/2025 Event Type : Chicken Kicker Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Drogado Screenshots:

Assisting R BR BC bank 23.7.2025

Turf 23.7.2025 Turf 23.7.2025 Turf 23.7.2025 Turf 24.7.2025 Turf 24.7.2025 Turf 24.7.2025 Turf 24.7.2025

Date: 24/07/2025 Event Type : Land on my dft Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): each Screenshots: Date: 24/07/2025 Event Type : Knock me off NRG Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Rooster Screenshots: Date: 24/07/2025 Event Type : Kill LWS Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Soulfly Screenshots: Date: 24/07/2025 Event Type : Lucky tube Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Mannan Screenshots: Date: 23/07/2025 Event Type : 1v1 Grenade tennis Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Colobria Screenshots: Date: 23/07/2025 Event Type : Starwarz Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Randy Screenshots: Date: 23/07/2025 Event Type : Starwarz event Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Darkghost Screenshots: Date: 23/07/2025 Event Type : LMS Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Koko Screenshots: Date: 24/07/2025 Event Type : Headshot event Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Selmy Screenshots: Date: 24/07/2025 Event Type : Starwars event Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Adam Screenshots: Date: 24/07/2025 Event Type : Fallout event Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Selmy Screenshots: Date: 24/07/2025 Event Type : First to warp Prize: 1.000.000 $ Winner(s): Beauty Screenshots:

Cubans Delivery The mob had good relations with the cuban representatives in the country. Their business were going from way before, they kept it ongoing when the mob had to move back to Italy for a short time, then settle back in U.S. Both groups were benefical to eachother. Cubans were very helpful when the mob needed to export stuff. The italians contacted cubans once again for the same type of assistance. They had to export stuff to a south american country, but things were hot in their turfs, they were concentrated on keeping things under control in the city. The cubans immediately agreed to help the italians, they met at shores nearby Santucci's farm where they brought the stuff from, packed it into the plane and started moving towards the direction. Screenshots:

Strengthening Bikes Santucci Mob were involved in almost every illegal activity inside the country now. They recently started to host illegal races, mostly across the three big cities. They hosted betting services on them too, which was paying well as planned. Ofcourse the winners would have prizes too, therefore some of racers would be their own men, and some other well known bikers around the cities. To avoid paying stranger winners of races, they made sure the racers that are inside the mob gets the best performing bikes, so they organized a meeting with an old biker group named Rebels MC. Aside from driving bikes, they were repairing/upgrading them too. The mob have contacted the biker group and wanted them to assist with their bike upgrades, made sure they get the best ones. As expected, it helped the racers inside the mob a lot and has increased their winning chances by 25%. This was a good number, the mob will be saving a lot of money in long-term. Screenshots:

Construction Business One of capo's were appointed to deal with recently started construction work in San Fierro. The mob were expanding more and more, they wanted a pie of this too. Owner company of this construction was weak, it seemed to be an easy takeover of the entire construction by the mob. Owners were unhappy about this situation but they knew they had to give a cut to mob if they wanted their project to stay alive. They would see members of the mob hanging around the construction area, bullying the workers, making it harder for them. The leader of this construction work was unhappy and had enough, he decided to warn the members of the mob, telling them to stay out of area so they can do their work in peace. You don't go opposite with them, mafioso's decided to make it harder, damaged the vehicles that belonged to construction company, as the order was given by their capo. Screenshots:

Fire in the Papers Whispers begin to circle about an investigative journalist digging into San Fierro’s underworld. Word is, he’s been meeting with ex-cops, asking the wrong questions, and getting too close to names that should never be printed. The Santucci Mob doesn’t wait for headlines, they send a message. It starts civil. The crew sets up a casual meeting in the lobby of a city office building, where the journalist has been spotted holding interviews. A Capo and a Soldier approach him politely, all smiles and smooth voices. They say they just want to talk, maybe clear up a few “misunderstandings.” He agrees, a little too confident. As they step outside, a black SUV pulls up in the side alley. Before he can react, he’s pushed inside — not violently, but firmly. The doors lock. The smiles are gone. Inside the vehicle, the tone changes. The Capo leans in close. “You're playing with fire. You think you're safe because you hold a pen?” The Soldier next to him lifts a folder inside, photos of the journalist’s home, his partner, his usual café. No punches are thrown, no blood is spilled. But the message is loud and clear: “You keep writing, you disappear.” They drop him off unharmed, shaken, pale, and with a story he’ll never publish. The SUV fades back into the city. Sometimes, silence is the loudest threat. Screenshots:

The End of Salvatore The back of Salvatore's Bar. Rain taps on the hood of a black Hudson parked in the alley. Giovanni steps out, coat collar up, revolver tucked inside. Lights a cigarette, looks around, voice calm and low. Vincenzo inside the warehouse. Said he had business with Morello. I say we end that business—permanently. Giovanni checks his pistol, eager. About time. That rat’s been sellin’ our routes to the feds. Franceso wants him gone. Loud or quiet? (Flicks the cigarette away) Quiet. No mess. In, out. Just another ghost in this city. Shadows stretch across crates and flickering lamps. Salvatore is counting money, humming a jazz tune. (Steps from the shadows, gun drawn) Evenin’, Salvatore. (Spins around, panicked) “Giovanni?! Wait! I was gonna come clean! I swear, I—” (Coldly, no hesitation) Too late for prayers. (One clean shot. Salvatore slumps over. Giovanni walks up, grabs a ledger from the table.) Let’s get outta here. Francesco will sleep better tonight. Screenshots:

Emergency Call A drug deal gone wrong. Gunfire in the alley. One of the Santucci Mob’s soldiers takes a bullet to the stomach. The others drag him into the backseat of a car, blood soaking through his shirt, groaning with each bump in the road. There’s no time for a hospital, too many questions, too much heat. Instead, they rush him to an old, abandoned hospital on the outskirts of the city. It looks dead from the outside, but down in the basement, one room is lit: an underground clinic run by a doctor who doesn’t ask questions, so long as the cash is clean. They lay the soldier on a dusty table. He’s pale, barely conscious. One soldier keeps pressure on the wound. The Capo paces silently. The doctor arrives gloves on, no greetings and begins working fast. No anesthesia. Just grit and rage. Tension fills the air. No one speaks. Just the sound of metal tools, muffled groans, and heavy breathing. After what feels like an hour, the doctor finally nods. “He’ll live… if he stays quiet.” They leave the hospital the same way they came in silence. One less body to bury. One more scar for the crew. Screenshots:

Blackmail Material The Santucci Mob has come into possession of something valuable. Not money, not drugs, but information. A city councilman, long thought to be clean, was caught slipping. Compromising photos. The kind that end careers and ruin families. Rather than go public, the crew plans a more profitable route. A meeting is arranged in the lower levels of a shadowy parking garage. No security, no staff just concrete walls and cold silence. The councilman arrives nervous, escorted by one assistant. Waiting for him: a Capo, two Soldiers, and an envelope on the hood of a matte-black Sentinel. He opens it. Silence. Then panic. The choice is made clear: cooperate. Push the zoning permits. Overlook our operations. Offer protection where it’s needed. Or tomorrow morning… these photos hit every front page in Los Santos. He doesn’t argue. Just nods, sweat on his brow. The crew doesn’t threaten him with bullets. They don’t need to. Power like this doesn’t make noise — it whispers. Screenshots:

Clean Work After a recent hit, the scene is still hot and dirty. Blood on the floor, a spent casing under the table, and a trail of trouble waiting to be found. The crew can’t afford loose ends. A trusted cleaner is called in. Dressed in plain clothes, gloves on, and a duffle full of supplies bleach, rags, plastic sheets, and fuel. No talking. Just work. The crew stands watch as the cleaner wipes every surface, scrubs blood from the floorboards, and stuffs burned clothing into garbage bags. Ashes are poured into a barrel and lit up. The smell of bleach hangs heavy. What was once a crime scene becomes just another forgotten corner of the city. No prints. No traces. Just silence. The message is clear: they make messes… and they clean them too. Screenshots:

Blood and Business A small corner store owner decides to stop paying his weekly protection fee, thinking he can slide under the radar. Word gets back to the crew. A meeting is arranged in the basement of a local butcher shop, private, cold, and unforgiving. He shows up expecting to talk business. Instead, he’s forced into a chair, zip-tied, and surrounded by the Capo and two Soldiers. They don’t shout. They don’t ask twice. After a short “conversation,” they make their point — not with bullets, but with precision. The tip of his pinky finger is sliced off cleanly. It’s not personal. It’s a message. He’s bandaged and released, pale and shaking. From that day on, his payments arrive early — every single week. The crew doesn’t need to ask twice again. Screenshots:

Shadow Over the City The word had gone out days in advance, but no one knew exactly when he would show. Just that when he did, they’d better be ready. The rooftop bar of the sprawling hilltop mansion in Los Santos was glowing with soft amber lights. A cold breeze whispered off the ocean, carrying the scent of expensive whiskey, cologne, and fresh cigars. Suits, silk shirts, polished shoes — not a weapon in sight, yet every man on that roof could end a conversation with a single glance. This wasn’t a party. It was presence. A reminder. The Don arrived just after sunset, stepping out from the shadows of the private elevator flanked by two quiet men — soldiers whose faces never left his side. The music didn’t stop. No one stood. But when he passed, everyone made room. A secluded corner of the rooftop had been prepared — tall marble tables, plush seats, and a panoramic view of the entire city skyline below. That's where the crew gathered, lit by warm lanterns and the occasional flare of a lighter. Tonight was celebration. But not for the sake of it. The Don didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. He spoke softly, with intent praising Capos who had stayed loyal through the rough months, giving subtle nods to Underbosses who had made smart calls when tempers were flaring. He handed out promotions with a word and a touch to the shoulder. And with every word came something deeper a chill that crept through the warm night air. Because between the lines, he wasn’t just giving praise. He was giving warning. There was talk of a rival crew, small, loud, and moving fast. Too fast. The Don didn’t name them. He didn’t have to. “Storms start small,” he said, lifting his glass. “But we don’t wait for thunder to build a roof.” No threats. No orders. Just understanding. The meeting ended as it began calm, clean, and without a single drop of blood. But the city below felt different as they left, like something had shifted. The Don had spoken. And when the Don speaks, the streets listen. Screenshots:

Message to the Rivals The streets had been quieter than usual — too quiet. Word reached the Santucci Mob through one of their trusted eyes on the docks: a rival gang had been using an old, half-forgotten warehouse on the edge of San Fierro to move counterfeit liquor. Not just any knockoff — this was low-grade poison, dressed up with stolen labels, being pushed through Santucci territory without permission, without tribute. It wasn’t about the booze. It was about disrespect. The crew scouted the location days ahead — old security systems, a rotating schedule of two guards, and no cameras. That was enough. Robbing the place would've been easy. But robbing doesn’t send a message. Burning it down? That gets remembered. Late at night, two cars roll up just down the street. The Capo, an Underboss, and a pair of trusted Soldiers step out — one holding a duffel with a small explosive rig (fully RP’d, no actual detonation). Inside, the warehouse is quiet, stacked with crates of fake spirits and forged stamps. It reeks of cheap alcohol and cheaper ambition. The crew splits up, one tags the outer wall with a symbol of the Santucci name, something unmistakable. Another plants the charge in a weak spot under the main support beam, played for realism. No one rushes. No one speaks more than needed. Once it's set, they back off to a nearby vantage point. A flick of a lighter, a slow nod and smoke soon begins to rise. There’s no loud bang. Just a rolling column of dark air and a dull thump from inside as crates collapse and heat licks the rafters. They don’t wait to admire it. The job isn’t about fire it’s about reputation. The message is simple: You move product through Santucci turf without respect? It turns to ash. As the crew walks away under the orange glow of the burning night, there’s no laughter. Just silence, and the smell of power reclaimed.

Crossed Lines Whispers had started circling about a low-level associate doing business on the side, small-time deals with a rival gang in exchange for pocket cash. At first, the crew didn’t take it seriously. But when the rival crew started moving in on Santucci territory with oddly specific timing, the puzzle pieces clicked. A decision was made. A trap set. The associate is lured to a stripclub under the pretense of a sit-down. Something about a new job, a quick buck just enough bait to reel him in. The Capo, Underboss, and two Soldiers are already seated in the dimly lit back room, poker chips scattered on the table, a bottle of bourbon between them. It looks casual. It’s anything but. The moment he walks in, the door shuts behind him. He’s asked questions. Too many pauses. Too much sweat. His answers don’t match. Loyalty isn’t just expected, it’s demanded. And when trust cracks, the punishment follows. They beat him senseless. Not to kill, just enough to remind him who he belongs to. Broken ribs, swollen jaw, blood on the linoleum floor. Later that night, the crew drives him out to the desert. Still breathing, barely moving. They dump him on the cold sand, strip him of his shoes and jacket, and leave him with a warning carved into his soul: “Talk to anyone else again… next time, you don’t wake up.” No forgiveness. Just one last chance. Screenshots:

Dirt in the Water An informant in the crew slipped, leaking names to a city inspector in exchange for immunity. He thought he could play both sides, but the Mob doesn’t tolerate cracks in the foundation. Once the leak was confirmed, the order came down without hesitation: cut him out, clean and quiet. In the dead of night, the crew gathers at an abandoned warehouse deep in the forest of Whetstone. No witnesses, no noise. His body, wrapped tight in a tarp, is loaded into the trunk of a black Admiral. No words are exchanged, only looks. Everyone knows what’s being done, and why. This isn’t about revenge. It’s about preserving the code. The drive to the Los Santos docks is slow and deliberate. One car, no headlights, ghosting down the highway. At the dock, the silence is broken only by the soft lapping of the water. The body is hauled out, weighted down, and pushed into the bay with a final splash. No names are mentioned. No prayers are said. Just one less problem, and a message sent without a sound. Screenshots:

Silent Acquisition (Taking over a failing illegal business under pressure.) After recent heat in San Fierro, the Mob is looking to expand lowkey influence in Los Santos. A failing horse betting shop in Central LS owes the Mob money. The owner hasn’t paid tribute and is weeks behind. Rather than break legs, the Santucci way is simple: take control quietly. The RP starts at the dealership where the Capo talks to the soldiers before departure. They drive in convoy to the LS bet shop (use /f chat to stay IC on the way), where the owner is nervously waiting. The crew walks in, calmly. This isn’t a request — it’s an offer. They’ll wipe the debt if the shop is now a Santucci front. The owner resists but folds when the crew shows what not folding looks like (a muffler dent in a betting machine, subtle violence). No bodies, no mess. Just new management. Screenshots:

Tying Loose Ends: Word spreads fast in San Fierro and the store owner’s nephew isn’t just angry, he’s been running his mouth all over the streets. After his uncle got laid out in front of customers for snitching, the kid’s been acting like he inherited the beef. Talking tough on street corners, posting threats online, and flashing around like he’s untouchable. But in this business, noise is dangerous. The mob doesn't do second warnings, they do decisions. The Capo and his men set up a quiet meet, tucked in a dark alley far from curious eyes. They didn’t come to negotiate. They came to offer the kid one final choice: shut your mouth and walk away… or end up where your uncle should’ve been. He shows up tense, fists clenched, trying to prove he’s got a spine. But the moment he sees who’s waiting and how calm they are, it hits him: this isn’t a fight. It’s a moment of mercy... or a mistake he won't survive. In the end, he’s lucky. The crew lets him walk this time. But everyone in that alley knows: the next time they meet, it won’t be to talk.

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