Chapter 30 You Deserve Every Good Thing
"Then we'll go to bed early."
They climbed the stairs together, hand in hand, and Cedric tried not to think about how domestic it felt. How right. How much he'd started looking forward to these moments at the end of each day, when the masks came off and they were just two people trying to find comfort in each other. The mansion was quiet around them, the usual bustle of staff and associates having faded with the evening. Only their footsteps echoed softly on the polished wood, a rhythm that felt almost like a heartbeat.
Cedric's thumb traced absent circles on the back of Falcone's hand. It was such a small gesture, something he did without thinking now, and that thoughtlessness scared him more than he wanted to admit. When had this become natural? When had holding this man's hand stopped feeling like a betrayal of everything he'd once believed about himself?
When they reached Cedric's bedroom door~he still slept in his own room most nights, clinging to that last shred of independence even though he ended up in Falcone's bed more often than not~Falcone paused. The hallway light cast shadows across his face, softening the hard edges that made him so formidable during the day. In these quiet moments, Cedric could almost forget who they both were. Almost.
"Saturday will be fine," Falcone said, his voice low and reassuring. "Your mother will see that you're happy. That you're safe. That's all she really wants to know."
Cedric leaned against the doorframe, suddenly exhausted by the weight of it all. "What if I'm not sure I deserve to be happy?"
The words hung between them, raw and exposed. He hadn't meant to say them aloud, but lately the boundaries between his thoughts and his words had grown dangerously thin around Falcone. It was another symptom of how far he'd fallen, how completely this man had gotten under his skin.
"Then I'll spend however long it takes convincing you otherwise." Falcone cupped his face, thumbs stroking along his cheekbones with a tenderness that made Cedric's chest ache. "You deserve every good thing, Cedric Santos. Every single one. And I'm selfish enough to want to be the one who gives them to you."
Cedric's breath caught. He wanted to believe it~God, how he wanted to believe it. But belief required trust, and trust required forgetting all the reasons this should never have happened. Forgetting that Falcone had blood on his hands. Forgetting that Cedric himself had crossed lines he'd once thought were uncrossable. Forgetting that happy endings weren't meant for people like them.
"You make it sound so simple," Cedric whispered.
"It is simple." Falcone's hands slid down to rest on Cedric's shoulders, grounding him. "You're making it complicated because you think you need to be punished for wanting something that feels good. But you don't, Cedric. You're allowed to want this. You're allowed to have it."
"Am I?" The question came out broken, desperate. "Am I really?"
Instead of answering, Falcone kissed him.
They kissed goodnight in the hallway, soft and sweet and full of promises neither of them had quite figured out how to keep yet. Cedric melted into it, letting himself have this moment of uncomplicated want. Falcone tasted like the wine they'd shared at dinner and something darker, something indefinably him. When they finally pulled apart, Cedric felt lightheaded, drunk on affection he didn't know how to accept gracefully.
"Get some sleep," Falcone murmured against his temple. "Tomorrow we'll start planning what to tell your mother. Together."
Together. The word shouldn't have meant so much, but it did.
When Cedric finally closed his bedroom door and collapsed onto his too-comfortable bed, he felt wrung out and overfull at the same time. The room was decorated in shades of gray and navy, masculine and tasteful, like everything else in the mansion. It should have felt like a prison, but instead it felt like sanctuary. That worried him too.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He reached for it reflexively, seeing his mother's name on the screen. Another text: Can't wait for Saturday. Love you, baby.
The words blurred as he stared at them. His mother, who'd worked double shifts at the diner to keep him fed. Who'd saved every penny to help with his college applications. Who'd cried with pride when he got his acceptance letter. Who'd told him over and over that education was the way out, that he could be better than their neighborhood, better than the cycle of poverty and violence that had claimed so many of their neighbors.
What would she think if she knew the truth? Not just about Falcone, but about everything. About the choices Cedric had made, the things he'd done to survive in this world he'd stumbled into. About how much of himself he'd compromised along the way.
Cedric typed back quickly: Love you too, Ma. It's going to be fine. I promise.
The lie sat heavy on his conscience, but what else could he say? He hoped he was right. He hoped he wasn't leading her into something that would make her look at him differently, that would crack the unconditional love she'd always shown him. That love was the one pure thing left in his life, untainted by all the moral complexity that surrounded him now. If he lost it~if he saw disappointment or disgust in her eyes~he wasn't sure what would be left of him.
He hoped that whatever happened on Saturday, they'd all survive it intact.
But hope, he was learning, was a dangerous thing to carry. It made you vulnerable. Made you want things you knew you shouldn't. Made you believe in futures that might not exist outside your own desperate imagination. Hope was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place~hope that he could navigate Falcone's world without losing himself, hope that what they had could be more than just physical, hope that maybe, somehow, he could reconcile the person he was becoming with the person he'd been raised to be.
Cedric turned off the light and lay in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the mansion settling around him. The old building creaked and groaned like something alive, full of secrets and stories he'd never fully know. Somewhere down the hall, Falcone was probably still awake, working in his office or reading in his bedroom or doing whatever crime lords did when the day was done and they were alone with their thoughts.
Did he think about Cedric the way Cedric thought about him? Did he lie awake wondering if this thing between them was real or just convenient? Did he worry about Saturday, about meeting the mother of the man who'd somehow become more than just an arrangement?
Probably not. Falcone was too controlled for that kind of spiraling anxiety. It was one of the things Cedric both admired and envied about him~that ability to make decisions and live with them, to want something and simply take it without drowning in self-recrimination.
Tomorrow he'd call his mother back and confirm Saturday. Tomorrow he'd start preparing himself for the inevitable questions and complications. Tomorrow he'd figure out how to introduce the man he loved to the mother who'd sacrificed everything for him.
The man he loved.
When had that happened? When had Falcone stopped being just the dangerous stranger who'd pulled him into this world and become someone Cedric couldn't imagine his life without?
Tomorrow.
But tonight, he let himself drift into sleep with the memory of Falcone's arms around him, the taste of his kiss still on his lips, and his mother's words echoing in his mind: You're a good man, Cedric. Don't forget that.
He was trying not to.
God, he was trying.
Trying to be good while doing bad things. Trying to deserve happiness while living a life built on compromises and moral gray areas. Trying to believe that love could exist in the shadows, that tenderness could survive in a world defined by violence and power.
Trying to hold on to himself even as he changed into someone he barely recognized.
Trying.