There are wrestlers who scream for the spotlight—and then there’s Laura Di Matteo.
No pyro. No grand entrances. No overcooked catchphrases sold on T-shirts. She came into this world like a whisper—then hit like a freight train.
Born July 17, 1991, in Rome, Italy, Di Matteo came out of the boot-shaped country with fists clenched and dreams duct-taped together. Italy isn’t exactly a hotbed for pro wrestling exports, but Laura wasn’t following maps. She carved a trail through England’s smoky gymnasiums and beer-stained venues with nothing but heart, grit, and a face that always looked like it had seen one more thing than she’d ever say out loud.
Her story isn’t written in championships—it’s written in survival.
She trained under Jimmy Havoc, a man who bleeds for breakfast and breaks bones like promises. That sort of influence doesn’t lead to polite wristlocks and crowd-pleasing smiles. It teaches you to fight like life depends on it.
And that’s how Laura wrestled: like the rent was due and the mat was lava.
She debuted in 2015, not as a headliner, not even as herself. Just “Elizabeth”—a name borrowed from somewhere else, wrestling’s version of a blank check. Her first match was for Progress Wrestling, a company known more for steel and snarls than glitz and glamour. She tagged with Jinny, the future fashionista and her future nemesis, in a losing effort. But while the crowd went home chanting for others, backstage whispers began: Who’s the Italian kid with the quiet eyes and the thunderous suplex?
She wasn’t flashy. She was focused.
From that match, she began bleeding her way into the DNA of Progress Wrestling, eventually landing in their Natural Progression Series IV in 2017. She beat Chakara, outlasted Alex Windsor, and stood toe-to-toe with Toni Storm and Jinny in a triple-threat final for the inaugural Women’s Championship. She didn’t win. But she showed up, stole half the damn match, and left people asking why they weren’t already talking about her.
That’s the Laura Di Matteo story. Always the underdog. Never the afterthought.
In the carnival world of pro wrestling—where charisma is currency and noise is mistaken for substance—Di Matteo was the antithesis. A professional. A precision artist. She didn’t need to sell herself because she wasn’t for sale.
While others chased brands, Laura chased bruises.
She made the rounds through the European independent scene like a storm that refused to headline but always left damage. RevPro, Westside Xtreme Wrestling, Defiant, Bodyslam!, BEW—if there was a ring and a challenger, Laura was there, boots laced and gaze unwavering. She won some. Lost more. But in an era of padded records and performative invincibility, that made her more dangerous. She knew how to lose like a warrior—quietly, fiercely, and with an eye toward the next kill.
In 2017’s Femmes Fatales tournament, she beat Killer Kelly in the first round and only fell short to Viper in the semis. No pomp. No parade. Just fists, sweat, and silence.
Then came Pro-Wrestling: EVE.
It was here that Di Matteo forged her myth. The feminist punk rock haven of British wrestling gave her the space to stretch her soul. She beat Shanna in her debut, then went on to wage war in the SHE-1 tournament, tying with Jamie Hayter and Sammii Jayne in points. She lost the tiebreaker, but the message was clear—Laura Di Matteo belonged with the best.
She eventually won the EVE International Championship in 2022, beating Alex Windsor for the vacant belt at Slayers in Spandex 2. She held it with the same poise she wrestled with—like it was important, but not who she was.
Because she was always something deeper.
She won the EVE Tag Team Championships in 2023 with Rayne Leverkusen, calling themselves The Rock and Rome Express. It was a play on words. But there was truth in it. Laura was the “Rome”—solid, ancient, unbending. You could build a kingdom on her back. You just couldn’t break her.
Then came NXT UK, WWE’s too-polished stepchild.
In 2021, she stepped through the doors of sports entertainment’s steel-filtered machine and got exactly what most real fighters get there—booked to lose. She fell to Stevie Turner, Blair Davenport, and Nina Samuels in matches that were more TV time filler than actual storytelling.
But she didn’t complain. She didn’t quit.
She walked away on her own terms. That was Laura Di Matteo’s career in a nutshell: you can beat me, but you don’t get to own me.
In 2018, she came out publicly during Pride Month. It wasn’t a marketing gimmick. It wasn’t a brand pivot. It was just truth. Shared, plainly. As if to say: I’ve always been fighting. Now you know why.
She cited Io Shirai as a dream opponent in 2019, which makes sense. They’re both wrestlers who move like storms—terrifying, beautiful, precise. They don’t just wrestle. They devastate.
In 2025, she stepped away from the ring. No tearful speech. No farewell tour. Just a ghosting. The kind of exit only someone like Di Matteo could make feel like an exclamation mark.
And maybe that’s fitting.
Laura Di Matteo never wanted to be the face of the company. She wanted to be the spine. The thing that kept it all from collapsing. She was the undercurrent. The one you only noticed when the flash was gone and all that was left was the match—and she was still standing.
They’ll remember the loud ones. The flashy ones. The ones with pyro and Twitter followers.
But late at night, in quiet greenrooms and empty gyms, wrestlers will talk about Laura.
They’ll talk about the woman who came from Rome with nothing but fight in her heart and a jaw that never flinched.
The one who didn’t chase the spotlight.
She earned the shadows.