Frank Rizzoli was an all-around good guy. He had been self sufficient since he had turned sixteen, and his father had lost his job. After school, he would work as a trainee plumber with one of his fathers' friends. The extra work landed him a part-time job which helped to pay the bills. After he had graduated, he had decided to take on plumbing as a full-time career, finding it to be a lucrative market. People always needed their plumbing fixed, right?

He had met Angela Bagneschi when he had been called out to her parents' house. The washers on their kitchen faucet had worn down and it was a simple five-minute job. Crouched under the sink, he was checking the copper piping on their basin mixer when he first heard her raspy voice. She was talking to her parents about a after-school job interview she'd been for. Her mother was much like herself, Frank would come to learn, and she would have none of it. She insisted that Angela concentrated on her schoolwork and finding herself a suitable Italian husband before starting a family. Oh, how she longed for those future 'grandbabies'.

As Frank stood up, and wiped his greasy hands on the bottom of his vest, he found it hard to tear his eyes away from the mousy-haired Italian stood before him. He watched her move, her arms accentuating her words as she spoke to her mother. It was only when he caught the corner of her eye and she stopped speaking, that his mind crashed back to reality. Announcing he had finished the job, he quickly packed up his things, accepted the money from her mother as payment, and left.

It wasn't until he bumped into Angela on the street one day that he actually plucked up the courage to say something to her. She was on her way home from high school; she was two years his junior and was finishing her senior year. Attempting to be chivalrous, he carried her books home for her, and did so every night for the next couple of weeks, trying to get her number.

They dated for fourteen months before Frank decided to pop the question. He knew she was the one, and had done since they had started dating, but he was afraid of losing her if he asked her too prematurely. Raised in a strict, traditional family, Frank had asked her father for permission a week earlier; and was granted it happily. He had booked a table at their favourite restaurant, and gone all out. Dressed in a suit he had borrowed from his fathers' closet, Frank had saved for months to buy Angela a half-decent ring. Although he was working full-time, the money that was left at the end of the month was barely enough to afford food for Frank and his parents.

Less than a year later, they were married. Two sets of Italian parents, or specifically, two Italian mothers meant it was a lavish ceremony, with over a hundred guests and enough food to feed a football stadium full of people. For the first year of their marriage, they couldn't afford to buy their own placed. Angela moved in with Frank and his parents until they scraped together enough money to rent an apartment in South Boston.

His parents were buried on a Thursday afternoon. It rainy and dark; and during the wake that Angela received a phone call from her doctors' office. It was confirmed, she was pregnant. Eight weeks, to be exact. At twenty-five weeks, they found out they were having a girl. They were overjoyed; the doctor had been trying to tell the sex of their baby for weeks, but she kept facing the wrong way. Stubbornness was the trait they'd come to know all too often as Jane Rizzoli grew up.

The day Frank found out Angela was expecting a boy; he went out and bought what seemed to be the entire range of merchandise for the Red Sox team. He had wanted to do the same before Jane was born, but Angela won the fight and her nursery was decorated with pink hearts and bright flowers. However, once the nursery was decorated in blue, white and red; they found a three-year old Jane spending most of her time in there, rather than in her room with her dollies. Angela was not happy, and tried to bribe her daughter with whatever she could. Still, Jane would rather cling onto her baseball than her Barbie.

When Frankie was three, and Jane was six, they were incredibly jealous of each other. They started to wrestle and tousle around in the back yard; much to Angela's displeasure. Secretly, Frank loved it. He wasn't much into all of the girly dolls and games Angela so wanted Jane to love. He spent most of his days off teaching them how to play baseball and football; and taking them to Fenway park whenever the Red Sox were playing.

Angela and Frank had been trying to conceive for a further four years until they discovered she was pregnant with Thomas. Everything was going smoothly with the pregnancy until her thirty-second week. Angela's blood pressure had rocketed, and she was confined to bed. A few weeks later she was rushed into hospital with pre-eclampsia and baby Tommy was delivered by caesarean section six weeks early.

Jane and Frankie collectively hated Tommy when they first brought him home. Angela fussed over him more than she had with Jane or Frankie, and the problem was compounded by the fact he was born early. Frank fussed over Angela just as much, ensuring she was cared for and aided in her recovery from surgery. It eased over time, and they both grew to accept their baby brother.

As the kids grew up, Frank changed his business name to 'Rizzoli and sons.' The plan was the boys would take over the business, and Jane would go off to college. It was one of the only things that Frank and Angela agreed on with their upbringing. Frank was out more often as they moved into central Boston, and into the house they currently lived in. He was often on-call and out at various hours of the early morning. Angela spent her days trying to manage three raucous children, schoolwork and housework; as well as trying to keep her sanity although she wouldn't change a thing. Angela decided that she wanted to try for another child, but that was the last thing on Frank's mind. He had already nearly lost his wife once, and he wasn't willing to risk her life again.

This was a popular topic of debate in their household. Restricted to late at night when their three kids were tucked up and asleep in bed, they often argued about it. Usually it was never resolved, Frank's pager would go off and alert him to some plumbing emergency, or one of the kids would have a nightmare and would require a cuddle and a kiss from their ma to settle them back to sleep.

This constant routine grew tiresome, and Frank would take to 'finding' jobs to ensure he wouldn't have to explain why he didn't want to get his wife pregnant for the fourth time. He would always ensure he was home for when the kids woke up and when they returned home from school so they wouldn't know something was wrong.

When the kids were in high school, he and Angela were still having the same old fight. She had grown up with the idea of having a huge Italian family, and wanted at least five kids. She argued that medicine had advanced a lot since she had given birth to Tommy, and Frank finally agreed that they could try again. So they did, to no avail. Time had passed, and it seemed that so had Angela's biological clock. They tried for a number of years, and this put even more of a strain on their marriage than when Frank had outwardly argued against another pregnancy. This time though, the tension in the household was noticeable. Jane, Frankie and Tommy were old enough to understand their parent's fights, and tried to pretend like nothing was wrong.

Time passed and the kids all grew up; graduated high school and went on to the professional lives. Still, Angela and Frank were still arguing. Less about pregnancies, of course; they were getting older now, but the habit of arguing seemed to be instilled in both of them. They'd forgotten what it was they fundamentally loved about each other, and always nitpicked instead.

Then business began to deplete, rapidly. More plumbers were being established in the city and Frank was receiving fewer calls for jobs. He found himself at home more often, and was always there when the postman brought more bills to the door. Angela was always commenting about how he was lazing around the house, and how he ought to get another job; and he searched the papers valiantly looking for another source of employment. There was nothing available for Frank, though. A man of his age, and no college degree meant he was only good for menial jobs; and often he was too 'over qualified' for those, or so he was told when he attended interview after interview.

The subject of their arguments turned to Frank's unemployment, and the debt collectors calling at their door every other day. Frank and Angela decided not to tell their kids about their financial issues, they didn't want to burden them. One day, Frank decided to take the matter into his own hands. He took the little savings they had in their account – less than $200 – and headed down to the track. He bet it all on the favourite for the race, and nearly doubled it. He immediately felt a weight lift off his shoulders, and he returned to the booth and bet it all again on the next race. Again, he doubled the amount. This was how Frank Rizzoli became addicted to gambling.

He returned to the track the next three nights, and became friendly with a few people there. A group of men in particular, noticed Frank's gambling habits and began to keep a close eye on him. 'Beginners luck,' the employee behind the counter warned Frank as he pushed a wad of twenty dollar bills under the glass partition. 'Be careful.'

Clouded by his winning streak, he shrugged it off. 'It's a sure fire bet. This one's a winner.' The employee rolled his eyes and handed Frank his ticket stub, and watched as he headed over to the track. Sure of himself, he stood confidently as the dogs ran quickly around the lap, but stood up as he noticed his bet falling behind the pack. When the dog didn't place, Frank nearly passed out. He sat on the bench against the wall, leaning forward with his head in his hands. He ran his hands up over his face and his head, sighing heavily. What was he going to do now? With no money in the bank and his marriage on the rocks, his life was imploding and crashing around himself.

Frank didn't notice the young man approaching him, until he felt the bench shift as he sat down. Sitting up straight, he cleared his throat and stood up to leave.

"Bad race, huh?" The younger man spoke up, looking directly at Frank.

Frank stopped and turned around, "You could say that again."

"Bad race, huh?" The guy asked, a comical tone to his voice.

Frank scoffed and sighed. "Look, no offence... but I'm not in the mood to talk."

"Not even to someone who can help you?" The guy asked, standing up. He was taller than Frank, and he looked at him sceptically.

"Unless you're actually Jesus, and you've come to convince my wife to not kill me, then you can't help me." Frank shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, and shifted his weight.

"Well, I can't pretend to be a religious figure, but I can definitely offer you a solution to the latter problem."

Frank looked the guy up and down, his eyebrow raised in suspicion. "Oh yeah?"

The younger guy nodded, and looked over to a group of men stood at the bar. "Follow me, I'd like to introduce you to some friends of mine."

Shrugging, Frank nodded and relented. "Can't hurt."

The guy smirked and nodded, "Good. The name is Sam." He extended his hand to Frank, which Frank took and shook with a smile. "I'm Frank."