Chapter 1
SAINT CHARLES AFTER MIDNIGHT ⚜️Chapter One — Ashley ♈The FoolRune: FehuPendulum Swing: Fast ClockwiseCannabis Strain: Green CrackAppetizer: Spicy Buffalo Cauliflower BitesBiblical Scripture“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”— Proverbs 4:23
Rainwater slid down the Saint Charles mansion windows in crooked silver lines while LSU highlights flickered silently across the television in the next room.
The house never really slept.
Not with Belluccia cousins stomping through hallways at three in the morning.
Not with printers humming behind locked doors.
Not with somebody always cooking.
Not with somebody always owing money.
The mansion smelled like cigarette smoke, garlic butter, scanner ink, and rain.
Valeri sat cross-legged at the long dining table beneath a brass chandelier wearing an oversized Loyola sweatshirt while stacks of research papers surrounded her like battlefield debris. Half the students at Tulane and Loyola were too drunk, lazy, rich, stupid, or hungover to write their own assignments, and tonight alone she had already written:
two sociology essays,
one business law outline,
and a philosophy paper some frat boy was paying triple for because he forgot midterms existed.
Across from her, Zero Fico adjusted a scanner beneath dim desk light without looking up.
“You’re typing too loud,” he muttered.
Valeri rolled her eyes.
“You’re breathing too loud.”
Zero ignored her.
That was his gift.
He wore black designer glasses despite having perfect eyesight, expensive Italian loafers despite sitting indoors all night, and spoke like every sentence cost money. Computer screens reflected blue across his face while rows of Louisiana IDs glowed beneath the scanner bed.
Clean.
Precise.
Dangerous.
The fake licenses looked real enough to survive confession.
In the kitchen, somebody cursed loudly as grease snapped from a skillet.
“Vinny burned the damn sausage again,” one cousin yelled.
“I did not burn it,” Vinny answered calmly.
Smoke immediately poured into the hallway.
Valeri laughed quietly into her coffee.
A few seconds later Vinny Belluccia appeared carrying a black skillet full of darkened andouille while two cousins behind him argued about whether the rice was ruined too.
He looked exhausted.
Dark curls messy.
Gold chain loose around his throat.
Sleeves pushed up.
Printer ink still faintly smudged across one hand.
And somehow he still looked completely in control.
“That smells illegal,” Valeri said.
Vinny set the skillet down beside her.
“You still gonna eat it.”
“Yes.”
“Thought so.”
He reached over automatically, brushing his thumb beneath her eye where mascara had smudged from exhaustion.
Small gesture.
Quick.
Natural.
But the room noticed anyway.
The Belluccia cousins exchanged silent looks before returning to counting cash near the kitchen counter.
Nobody said anything.
Nobody ever did.
Zero slid another ID beneath the scanner.
Ashley from Lafayette.
Fake age:
twenty-three.
New Orleans did not care who you really were.
Only whether you looked like you belonged there.
“Her nose ring’s throwing the shadow off,” Zero muttered.
Vinny leaned over him.
“Fix it.”
“I am fixing it.”
“You’re bitching more than fixing.”
“I can do both.”
The front door burst open before anybody could answer.
Ashley stumbled inside soaked from the rain wearing a tiny silver top beneath a wet denim jacket.
“They threw me out,” she snapped immediately.
Vinny didn’t even blink.
“Which bar?”
“Tropical Isle.”
One cousin started laughing instantly.
Ashley pointed at him.
“Shut up.”
“What happened?” Valeri asked.
Ashley slammed the fake ID onto the table.
“That stupid asshole at the door kept staring at it.”
Zero grabbed the card fast.
“He bend-tested it?”
“No.”
“Blacklight?”
“No.”
Vinny folded his arms.
“Then what.”
Ashley glared.
“He said I looked nervous.”
Silence.
Then all three Belluccia cousins burst out laughing at once.
Ashley looked horrified.
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” Vinny admitted.
She threw her purse at him.
“You told me act natural.”
“You walked into Tropical Isle shaking like the FBI was behind you.”
“I thought he knew!”
“He didn’t know,” Zero said calmly while examining the card beneath the desk lamp. “You told on yourself before he even touched the ID.”
Ashley collapsed dramatically into a dining chair.
“I hate Bourbon Street.”
“No you don’t,” Valeri said while sliding her a plate of buffalo cauliflower bites. “You love Bourbon Street.”
Ashley grabbed one immediately.
“…yeah.”
Rain thundered harder outside.
Somewhere upstairs, somebody started blasting Cash Money through cheap speakers.
The mansion vibrated with bass.
Vinny moved around the room collecting IDs from the table one by one while Zero adjusted scanner settings again.
Operation Tre Quarti.
That’s what the cousins jokingly called it now.
Fake IDs.
Paid papers.
Rolled joints.
Bourbon access.
A college hustle growing teeth.
Valeri watched Vinny quietly from across the table while he organized stacks of fake licenses with calm mechanical precision.
That was the dangerous thing about him.
Not violence.
Not shouting.
The calm.
Like somewhere deep down he already understood systems.
Territory.
Pressure.
People.
Ashley pointed toward the IDs.
“So what now?”
Vinny slid her card back across the table.
“Now you go back tomorrow.”
She blinked.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“What if he remembers me?”
Vinny smirked faintly.
“Then walk in like you own Bourbon Street this time.”
