Chapter 24 The Confrontation About Marcus 2

Chapter 24 The Confrontation About Marcus 2
Cedric’s  jaw clenched. "That's not fair."
"No, it's not. But it's true." Falcone turned to face him, and the firelight cast his face in sharp relief, all harsh angles and dangerous shadows. "I'm not a good man, Cedric. I've never claimed to be. But I've done more for you and your family in three weeks than Marcus has done in six years. So maybe the question isn't what you're getting from him. Maybe it's what you're trying to prove by keeping him around."
"I'm not trying to prove anything." But even as Cedric said it, he knew how weak it sounded. How defensive.
"Aren't you?" Falcone moved closer, each step measured and deliberate, like a predator circling prey. "You keep him as a backup plan. An escape route. Because admitting that you want to stay here, that you're choosing this~choosing me~would mean facing some uncomfortable truths about yourself."
"What truths?" Cedric stood too, refusing to be loomed over. His chair scraped against the floor, too loud in the quiet study. They were close now, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in Falcone's dark eyes, could feel the heat radiating off him like a furnace. Close enough to be dangerous.
"That maybe you don't want to be saved," Falcone said softly, his voice dropping to something almost intimate. "That maybe you like belonging to someone. Being wanted so much that they'd destroy the world to keep you. That maybe the cage I built isn't the prison you're afraid of~it's the one place you've ever felt safe."
The words hit like a physical blow, stealing Cedric's breath. His chest tightened, and for a moment he couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stand there and feel the truth of it wash over him. Because they were true. At least partly. And that truth was more terrifying than any threat Falcone could make.
"You don't know what I want," Cedric said, but his voice lacked conviction. Even he could hear it~the tremor, the uncertainty.
"Don't I?" Falcone's hand came up to cup his jaw, thumb brushing across his cheekbone with devastating gentleness. The touch was electric, sending shivers down Cedric's spine. "You're here, aren't you? You came back tonight even though you knew I'd confront you about Marcus. You sleep in my house, wear the clothes I buy you, let me touch you in ways no one else gets to. If that's not choosing, Cedric, then what is?"
Cedric wanted to pull away. Wanted to deny it. Wanted to do anything except stand there feeling the truth of those words settle into his bones like they'd been waiting there all along, just beneath the surface, waiting for someone to finally name them.
"I hate you," he whispered. It was the only defense he had left.
"I know." Falcone's thumb traced his bottom lip, the touch feather-light but somehow burning. "But you're still here."
"I have nowhere else to go." The excuse was old, worn thin from overuse. It had stopped being true somewhere along the way, but Cedric clung to it anyway because the alternative was too terrifying to consider.
"You have Marcus. You have your family's place. You have a whole city full of options." Falcone leaned in closer, his breath warm against Cedric's face, smelling faintly of whiskey and something darker, something uniquely him. "But you're here. In my house. Letting me touch you. So tell me, Cedric: are you really staying because you have no choice? Or are you staying because choosing me is easier than admitting what you actually want?"
The question hung between them, heavy and inescapable. Cedric's hands came up to Falcone's chest~not to push him away, but to ground himself. To feel something solid and real beneath his palms. His heart was hammering so hard he could feel it in his throat, in his wrists, in every pulse point on his body.
"What do I want?" His voice came out rough, barely audible.
"I think you want someone to take the choice away from you," Falcone said quietly, his eyes never leaving Cedric's face. "Someone to want you so completely that you don't have to feel guilty for wanting it back. Someone who sees every broken, desperate, beautiful part of you and claims it anyway." His other hand slid to Cedric's waist, pulling him closer, eliminating what little space remained between them. "I think you want exactly what I'm offering. You're just terrified to admit it."
"And what are you offering?" Cedric's voice was barely audible now, almost swallowed by the crackling of the fire and the thundering of his own heartbeat.
"Everything." Falcone's forehead rested against his, and the contact felt impossibly intimate, more so somehow than a kiss. "My world. My protection. My obsession. Every dark, twisted, possessive piece of me that wants to keep you so thoroughly that you forget anyone else exists." His grip tightened, fingers digging into Cedric's waist with just enough pressure to remind him of their strength. "But I need you to choose it. Not because you're scared or trapped or desperate. Because you want it as much as I do."
Cedric's breath came in short, uneven gasps. His fingers curled into Falcone's shirt, silk expensive and smooth under his touch. "And Marcus?"
"Is a question you need to answer for yourself." Falcone pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. The gold flecks in his irises caught the firelight, making them glow like embers. "Go to that meeting on Wednesday. See what he offers. Hear him out. And then decide: do you want the life he's promising, or do you want this one?"
"What if I choose him?" The question was barely more than a breath, but it felt huge, dangerous. Like standing at the edge of a cliff and asking what would happen if he jumped.
Something dark and dangerous flickered across Falcone's face. His jaw tightened, and for a moment Cedric saw past the careful control to the violence underneath, the possessive fury that Falcone kept leashed but never truly contained. "Then I'll let you walk out that door with him. And I'll spend the rest of my life hunting you down and bringing you home." His smile was sharp, predatory, all teeth and threat. "But at least you'll have chosen something."
"You're insane." But there was no heat in it. Just a kind of weary recognition, an acknowledgment of a truth they both already knew.
"We've established that." Falcone's mouth was so close now that Cedric could feel the words against his lips, could taste them in the air between them. "The question is: are you brave enough to be insane with me?"
Cedric should pull away. Should storm out of this study and call Marcus right now and beg for extraction. Should do anything except what he did next, which was close the distance between them and kiss Falcone like it was the only true thing in a world full of lies.
The kiss was desperate and angry and full of everything Cedric couldn't say. All his fear and desire and fury compressed into the press of lips and teeth and tongue. Falcone kissed him back with equal intensity, one hand fisting in his hair, the other pulling him so close there was no space left between their bodies. It was bruising, consuming, the kind of kiss that felt like drowning and breathing at the same time.
Cedric gasped against Falcone's mouth, and the sound was swallowed immediately, turned into something else entirely. His hands slid from Falcone's chest to his shoulders, holding on like he might fly apart otherwise. And maybe he would. Maybe this was what falling apart felt like~not a collapse but a combustion, burning from the inside out.
Falcone's teeth caught his bottom lip, not quite gentle, and Cedric made a sound he'd deny later, something between a gasp and a moan. His back hit the desk~he didn't remember moving~and then Falcone was pressed against him, solid and overwhelming and exactly what Cedric hadn't known he needed until this moment.
"Tell me to stop," Falcone murmured against his mouth, his voice rough and ragged. "Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop."
But Cedric couldn't. The words wouldn't come. Because he did want this, God help him. Wanted it with a desperation that terrified him, that made him question everything he thought he knew about himself.
Instead of answering, he pulled Falcone closer, kissed him harder, poured everything he couldn't say into the contact. It was answer enough.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Cedric rested his forehead against Falcone's shoulder. His legs felt weak, his mind spinning. The room smelled like smoke and whiskey and expensive cologne, and Cedric wanted to bottle it, to keep it somewhere safe so he'd never forget this moment.
"I hate that you make me feel this way," he whispered into the fabric of Falcone's shirt.
"I know." Falcone's hand stroked through his hair, gentle now, almost tender. The contrast was dizzying. "But you feel it anyway."
"What if that's not enough?" It was the question that kept Cedric up at night, staring at the ceiling of his too-comfortable bedroom, wondering how he'd ended up here. Wondering if wanting something was the same as choosing it.
"Then it's not. But at least it's real." Falcone tilted Cedric's face up, forcing eye contact. His expression was serious now, stripped of its usual careful neutrality. "No more lies between us. You want to see Marcus? See him. You want to keep your escape route open? Keep it. But I need you to be honest with me~and with yourself~about what you're doing and why."
Cedric searched his face for the trap, the angle, the inevitable moment when this would all turn into another form of control. But all he saw was raw honesty. Which was somehow more terrifying than any manipulation would have been.
"Okay," he said finally, his voice hoarse. "No more lies."
"Good." Falcone pressed a kiss to his forehead, the gesture so unexpectedly sweet that Cedric's chest ached. "Now go to bed. You look exhausted."
"I am." Cedric pulled away reluctantly, immediately missing the warmth, the solid presence of Falcone's body against his. His lips felt swollen, his hair was a mess, and he probably looked exactly like what he was~someone who'd just been thoroughly kissed and left reeling from it. "Are we... are we okay?"
"We're something," Falcone said with a faint smile, and there was something almost fond in his expression now. "I'm not sure 'okay' is the right word for it."
Cedric laughed despite himself, the sound rough and surprised. It felt good, like releasing pressure from a valve that had been closed too long. "Yeah. Something."
He made it to the door before Falcone's voice stopped him one more time.
"Cedric?"
He turned back, one hand on the doorknob. "Yeah?"
"When you see Marcus on Wednesday?" Falcone's expression was unreadable in the firelight, shadows playing across his features. "Ask him why he rejected you in high school. Ask him what changed between then and now. And then ask yourself if you believe his answer."
The words settled into Cedric's chest like stones, heavy and cold. He wanted to ask what Falcone meant, what he knew, but he was also suddenly afraid of the answer. So instead he just nodded, opened the door, and stepped out into the hallway.
The door closed behind Cedric with a soft click, leaving him alone in the darkened hallway with a racing heart and more questions than answers. The house was quiet around him, just the distant hum of heating and the creak of old wood settling. His footsteps were muffled by thick carpet as he made his way toward the stairs.
He paused at the bottom, one hand on the bannister, and looked back toward the study. Light still spilled from beneath the door, and he could imagine Falcone in there, probably pouring another whiskey, standing by the fire like some kind of gothic villain from a novel Cedric had read in college.
Except Falcone wasn't a villain. Or maybe he was, but he was also so much more than that. More complicated, more human, more real than Cedric wanted him to be.
He climbed the stairs slowly, his mind replaying the conversation, the kiss, the way Falcone had looked at him like Cedric was the only thing in the world that mattered. It was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure.
His bedroom was at the end of the hall, door slightly ajar the way he always left it. He pushed it open and stepped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click. The room was dark except for the city lights filtering through the windows, painting everything in shades of amber and blue.
Cedric made his way to the bed, stripped out of his work clothes~button-down shirt that probably cost more than his old laptop, slacks that fit perfectly because Falcone had insisted on having them tailored~and collapsed onto the too-soft mattress. The sheets were cool against his skin, expensive Egyptian cotton that felt like water.
His phone was on the nightstand, screen dark, full of messages he'd have to delete in the morning. Marcus had sent three more since dinner, each one increasingly worried. Are you okay? Did something happen? Please just let me know you're safe.
Cedric's thumb hovered over the screen, but he didn't unlock it. Couldn't. Not yet. Not when his lips still tingled from Falcone's kiss, when he could still feel the imprint of those hands on his waist.
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The plaster was smooth, painted a soft gray that looked almost silver in the dim light. He'd spent a lot of nights staring at this ceiling, trying to figure out how he'd ended up here, in this room, in this house, in this life that felt both like a cage and a sanctuary.
The truth was, Falcone was right about almost everything. Cedric did feel safe here, safer than he'd felt anywhere else in years. He liked being wanted, liked the intensity of Falcone's attention, the way those dark eyes tracked his every movement like Cedric was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.
But he also hated it. Hated how easily he'd fallen into this, how quickly he'd grown accustomed to the luxury and the protection and the casual possessiveness. Hated that part of him didn't want to leave, didn't want to go back to his cramped apartment and his barely-there job and his life of careful mediocrity.
Marcus represented everything Cedric had wanted back in high school~safety, normalcy, the promise of something uncomplicated. But that ship had sailed years ago, hadn't it? Marcus had made his choice back then, and it hadn't been Cedric.
So what had changed? That was the question that gnawed at him, the one Falcone had planted in his mind like a seed. Why now? Why come back after all this time with promises of rescue and redemption?
Cedric's eyes burned, and he realized he was on the verge of tears. Frustration, mostly. Exhaustion. The weight of too many questions and not enough answers.
He let them fall, just a few, tracking hot down his temples into his hair. Let himself be weak for a moment, alone in the dark where no one could see.
Eventually, his breathing evened out. His body relaxed into the mattress, heavy with the kind of exhaustion that came from emotional upheaval rather than physical exertion. His last thought before sleep claimed him was of Falcone's hand in his hair, gentle and possessive at once.
In his dreams, he stood at a crossroads. Marcus on one side, Falcone on the other, both reaching for him. Marcus looked the way he had in high school~young, uncertain, full of promise. Falcone looked exactly as he did now~dangerous and beautiful and utterly certain.
"Choose," they said in unison, and their voices echoed in the empty space around him.
Cedric looked between them, his heart pounding. He opened his mouth to answer, to make some kind of decision, but the words wouldn't come. His voice was gone, stolen by the dream, and all he could do was stand there, frozen, while they waited.
He woke up before he had to choose, gasping slightly, disoriented. The room was still dark, but lighter now~pre-dawn gray rather than full night. His phone showed 5:47 AM, too early to get up but too late to fall back asleep properly.
Cedric lay there, staring at the ceiling again, and let himself acknowledge the truth he'd been avoiding: he didn't want to choose. He wanted someone else to make the decision for him, to take the responsibility and the guilt and leave him blameless.
But that wasn't how life worked. Eventually, Wednesday would come. He'd meet Marcus, hear whatever he had to say, and then he'd have to make a choice.
And he knew, deep down, that whichever path he chose, he'd spend the rest of his life wondering about the other.
Outside his window, the city was starting to wake up. He could hear the distant sound of traffic, the first birds singing their morning chorus. The world was moving on, indifferent to his crisis, and there was something almost comforting in that.
Cedric closed his eyes and tried to sleep again, but the dreams didn't return. Instead, he drifted in that half-conscious state between sleeping and waking, his mind turning over everything Falcone had said, everything he'd felt, everything he still had to figure out.
Wednesday was coming.
And with it, a decision he couldn't avoid forever.