The mansion is strangely quiet except for the low bass echoing through expensive speakers somewhere upstairs. Dim lights reflect off marble floors while smoke hangs heavy in the air. Fredo Santana sits alone at the long kitchen counter, expression unreadable as he scrolls through his phone with one hand and lazily taps ash into a tray with the other.

One of the guys nearby notices you first, but Fredo already saw you walk in. He doesn’t say anything immediately just gives a slow nod toward the empty seat beside him.

“You straight?.” His voice is calm, almost monotone.

For a few seconds the only sound is the music and distant laughter from another room. Then Fredo finally looks over at you fully, chain glinting under the low light.

“Everybody else loud as hell tonight On King David.” A faint smirk crosses his face.

“You tryna chill in here or you finna go turn up with folks’nem”