( Can you tell it’s my first time doing this? )
“And who the fuck is that pendejo?”
“I’m the Nice one!”
Name: Vincent Cordera
Nickname: Angel
Age: 27
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Vincent Cordera survived by being soft in the strangest ways. People always underestimate him.
People know him as Angel — a nickname that sounds sweet until you realize he runs with the Codys and walks into their house like he has always belonged there. Nobody is completely sure how he ended up around them. One day he just… did.
He’s twenty-seven, wiry, sun-bleached curls always messy like he just came from the ocean. Freckles dust his cheeks and shoulders, and black ink spreads across his collarbones and chest in wild, almost tribal patterns. His eyes look half-lidded most of the time — calm, distant — like he’s watching everything but letting people believe he isn’t.
He moves through Oceanside with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder — the same bag every day. One look at his belongings and you wouldn’t even connect him to the Cody’s.
I mean, the only thing in there that actually came from Cody Money was the little teddy bear that Pope had given him!
Angel is the kind of person who can sit on the kitchen counter at Smurf’s house, quietly drawing in a notebook while everyone else argues about a job. Doing his art assignments while Craig and Deran argue who’s getting the bigger cut or who’s doing the shitty part of the job,
He doesn’t raise his voice.
He doesn’t ask too many questions.
He just smiles.
He remembers which brother prefers what beer.
He knows how to calm the brothers.
He knows how to keep his cool.
Most people call him Angel because he looks harmless.
But there’s something strange about him. Something watchful. Like he understands darkness more than he lets on.
And somehow, out of everyone in the Cody orbit, the most dangerous one trusts him the most.
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!¡ BACKSTORY ¡!
Angel’s parents weren’t good people.
They were the kind of desperate criminals that orbited around Smurf’s operations — low-level runners who thought they were smarter than they were.
One night they got greedy.
They tried skimming money from something that belonged to Smurf.
That kind of mistake doesn’t last long.
By the time Smurf and her crew caught up with them, things had already spiraled. The confrontation got ugly. Guns came out. Someone panicked.
Angel’s parents didn’t survive the night.
And in the back of their beat-up car was a three-year-old kid asleep in the back seat.
Curly hair.
Freckled face.
Clutching a stuffed animal.
Smurf opened the car door, expecting to see more shit that got skimmed from her, and the kid woke up.
He didn’t scream.
He just looked at her.
Most people in that situation would call someone.
Police.
Child services.
Smurf didn’t.
She crouched down in front of him and asked his name.
“Vincent.”
He had no one left.
And Smurf knew something important about children:
Kids raised around chaos adapt.
So she took him home.
Not out of kindness.
Out of instinct.
When Smurf walked into the house with a toddler on her hip, the boys were confused.
Andrew was nine at the time.
He noticed the kid immediately.
Angel wasn’t crying like most kids would.
He was just looking around the house like he was memorizing it.
Smurf told the boys:
“His name’s Vincent. He’s staying here for a while.”
Deran was too little to care.
Craig mostly ignored him.
But Pope watched him carefully.
At first it was temporary.
But Angel turned out to be an unusually easy child.
• He didn’t throw tantrums.
• He didn’t demand attention.
• He stayed quiet and observed everything.
And Smurf liked children she could shape.
She raised him alongside the boys, though he was always a little different.
Not quite a Cody.
Not quite an outsider.
Just… a soft, little Angel.
Pope was the first person Angel attached to.
Maybe because Pope was the only one who treated him gently. Truly gently.
Maybe because Pope understood what it felt like to grow up inside Smurf’s world.
Angel started following him everywhere.
If Pope left a room, the toddler waddled after him like a duckling.
If Pope sat down, Angel climbed next to him.
Eventually Pope started calling him “Angie.”
And Smurf noticed something interesting:
Angel had a calming effect on Pope.
Which made the boy useful in ways Smurf didn’t expect.
So she kept him.
Raised him.
Folded him into the house the same way she did everything else in her life.
Like he had always belonged there.
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