Some wrestlers arrive in NXT with indie cred and a chip on their shoulder. Others stroll in with model contracts, all cheekbones and Instagram followers. Then there’s Adriana Rizzo—born Anna Jade Keefer—who came in with a blown-out Achilles tendon, five NCAA All-American honors, and enough pent-up velocity to snap the ropes clean off the turnbuckles.
Rizzo is a different kind of animal. Raised in St. Michael Albertville, Minnesota, she cut her teeth on cold air and competition. The kind of place where winter doesn’t just chill your bones—it tests your will. She ran track at the University of North Carolina like she was late for a fire, blowing past competitors in a blur of muscle and quiet fury. Keefer was a five-time All-American, which in that world means you’re not just good—you’re elite. But the kind of elite that doesn’t come with TV cameras or fireworks. It’s earned in the dead heat of June on a sunbaked oval track, where no one gives a damn unless you’re first across the line.
So how does a track star become a mobster’s consigliere in a gold chain and ring gear?
In late 2022, WWE signed her into the Performance Center with its fall rookie class. And then—before the ink dried on the welcome letter—her Achilles betrayed her. That’s the cruel poetry of wrestling. Your body is your résumé, your instrument, your meal ticket—and it can fail you faster than the crowd turns on a babyface. For almost a year, she sat on the shelf, healing in the shadows. No entrance music. No pops. Just the grind. Just rehab and the creeping doubt that maybe the track had already ended before she ever reached the ring.
But Keefer came back on October 27, 2023. Not to fanfare or fanboys. She entered a battle royal at an NXT live event, quietly. No fanfare, just fury. That’s the kind of return you don’t read about in flashy press releases. That’s Bukowski stuff—the limping artist trying to get back in the ring after the world gave her a beating and a cold sandwich.
And then something changed.
WWE, in all its mafioso melodrama wisdom, handed her a role that made strange sense: a supporting soldier in Tony D’Angelo’s fictional Italian-American crime syndicate—The D’Angelo Family. Picture this: Rizzo in leather pants, arms crossed, flanked by a couple of wise guys playing mob enforcers with gym memberships. On the surface, it sounds absurd, like a Sopranos cosplay convention sponsored by GNC. But somehow it clicked.
She adopted the ring name Adriana Rizzo—equal parts smirk and switchblade. She wasn’t there to flirt or flip. She was there to handle business, hand out receipts, and act like the sharpest tool in a very flashy shed. There’s something almost punk rock about her in that role—like the band geek who picked up a switchblade and decided to rewrite the song.
Her televised in-ring debut came in an NXT Women’s Championship #1 Contender’s Battle Royal. She didn’t win. Roxanne Perez did. But Rizzo made noise—thudding forearms, hard boots, and that glint in the eye that says: I don’t care who wins, I’m here to hurt someone.
Then came the feud with OTM—a crew that sounds like they rolled straight out of a mixtape. Rizzo, Tony D, and Stacks went to war with SCRYPTS, Bronco Nima, Lucien Price, and Jaida Parker. It was all urban warfare, steel chain aesthetics, and slow-burn aggression. At NXT Vengeance Day, The D’Angelo Family walked away with the W. And if you were watching closely, Rizzo wasn’t some valet pretending to throw hands. She earned her seat at the table.
But the road in NXT is paved with shattered momentum and forgotten pushes. On the February 13 episode of NXT, Jaida Parker put Rizzo down in her first televised singles match, ending the feud and planting the first seeds of doubt. One moment you’re riding shotgun in the Family, the next, you’re kissing canvas while the cameras look for the next blonde with a backstory.
But Rizzo didn’t fade. On August 20, 2025, she entered a six-woman gauntlet match to determine the No. 1 contender for Roxanne Perez’s NXT Women’s Championship at No Mercy. Again, she didn’t win. She was eliminated by Sol Ruca—another face with fan buzz and a YouTube-friendly finisher. But Adriana Rizzo’s game isn’t Instagram likes or aerial ballet. She brings bruises, not beauty contests.
The truth is, she’s still being written. She’s not a finished product. She’s a first draft scrawled in caffeine and gym sweat. She’s not your next Women’s Champion—yet. But she’s a wild card in a brand that too often feels cookie-cutter.
In a world full of bubblegum babyfaces and Botox heels, Adriana Rizzo is something else. She’s unfinished steel. She’s a track star with a limp and a vendetta. She’s the enforcer in a pin-up’s body, a former All-American with a black book of names and grudges.
And if the future plays out right, she won’t just be part of the D’Angelo Family—she’ll run it.
Until then, she’ll keep tightening the laces, taking the losses on the chin, and hitting like she’s still chasing finish lines that don’t exist.
Because Adriana Rizzo doesn’t run from the pain. She runs toward it.