Chapter 11 The Things We Do For Money
Cedric's heart was hammering so hard he could hear it in his ears, drowning out the muffled bass from the club below. He stood in the middle of the elegant space, trying to look casual, trying to look like he wasn't absolutely terrified and turned on in equal measure.
Gianni hadn't moved from the door. Just stood there, arms crossed, watching Cedric with those dark eyes that seemed to see everything.
"So," Cedric said, because silence made him nervous and his mouth always ran when he was nervous. "Nice place. Very private."
"Sit down."
"I'm good standing, thanks."
Gianni's expression didn't change, but something shifted in the air. A subtle tension that made the hair on the back of Cedric's neck stand up.
"That wasn't a request."
"Yeah, I got that. Still not sitting."
For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Cedric's pulse was racing, every instinct screaming at him to just do what Gianni said, but that stubborn part of him, the part that had gotten him in trouble his whole life, refused to back down.
Then Gianni moved.
One second Gianni was by the door, the next he was right in front of Cedric, his hand fisting in Cedric's hair and yanking his head back hard enough to make him gasp.
"Let me explain something to you," Gianni said softly, his voice still calm, still controlled, but with an edge underneath that made Cedric's stomach drop. "When I tell you to do something, you do it. Not because I'm asking nicely. Not because we're old classmates. But because in this room, in my club, in my city, I own everything. Including you."
Cedric's scalp burned where Gianni's fingers twisted in his hair, but his cock was getting hard despite—or maybe because of—the pain.
"You don't own shit," Cedric managed to say through gritted teeth. "I'm not..."
Gianni's free hand wrapped around Cedric's throat. Not squeezing, not cutting off air, just holding. A reminder of how easy it would be.
"Still lying," Gianni murmured, his thumb pressing against Cedric's pulse point. "Still running that mouth. Still pretending you're in control here." He leaned in closer, until his lips were almost brushing Cedric's ear. "Let me show you what happens when you test my patience."
He released Cedric's hair and throat simultaneously, stepping back, and Cedric stumbled slightly, catching himself against the back of the leather couch.
"Take off your shirt."
Cedric's brain stuttered. "What?"
"Your shirt. Take it off. Now."
"You can't be serious."
"Every time you disobey me," Gianni interrupted, his voice still that same dangerous calm, "I'm going to take something from you. Right now, it's your shirt. Keep defying me, and we'll see what else you lose tonight." His eyes were dark, predatory. "Your choice, Cedric. But choose quickly, because my patience has limits."
Cedric's hands were shaking as he reached for the buttons of his shirt. This was insane. He should run. He should fight back. He should do literally anything except stand here unbuttoning his shirt for a man who'd just threatened him.
But his fingers kept working, popping buttons one by one, and he couldn't tell if it was fear or arousal making his movements clumsy.
The shirt fell open, and Gianni's eyes tracked down Cedric's chest, taking in the tattoos that covered his skin—black ink that told stories Cedric never spoke out loud. The Celtic knot over his heart for his father. The constellation on his ribs for Lily. The mess of geometric patterns covering old scars and older mistakes.
"Off," Gianni said. "Completely."
Cedric shrugged the shirt off, letting it fall to the floor, and he stood there half-naked, exposed, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with the lack of clothing.
Gianni moved closer again, slow this time, deliberate, and Cedric forced himself not to back away. Forced himself to meet those dark eyes even though everything in him was screaming danger.
"Better," Gianni murmured. His hand came up to trace one of the tattoos on Cedric's chest, and the touch was gentle, almost reverent, which somehow made it worse. Made it more confusing. "But you're still not listening. Still trying to maintain control of a situation where you have none."
His fingers trailed lower, across Cedric's stomach, and Cedric's breath hitched.
"I asked you a question before we came in here," Gianni continued, his hand still moving, exploring, claiming. "I told you to tell me what you really need. And you've been standing here for five minutes, running your mouth about everything except an answer." His hand stopped at Cedric's waistband. "So let me make this simpler for you."
He stepped back again, and Cedric almost whimpered at the loss of contact.
"You came to my club tonight for a reason," Gianni said. "You took a risk walking in here, took an even bigger risk taking off whatever recording device you were wearing. That kind of desperation doesn't come from nowhere." He tilted his head. "So tell me. What do you need badly enough to gamble with your life?"
Cedric's jaw clenched. "I don't..."
Gianni's hand shot out, fisting in Cedric's hair again, and this time he yanked hard enough to make Cedric cry out. He forced Cedric to his knees, and suddenly Cedric was looking up at him, at the cold fury in those beautiful eyes.
"Wrong answer," Gianni said softly. "Try again."
Cedric's knees hit the plush carpet hard. He was eye-level with Gianni's belt, with the expensive fabric of his pants, and his brain was screaming at him that he was in serious danger but his body was responding to the dominance, to the control, to being forced down.
"I need money," Cedric said, the words coming out rough. "Is that what you want to hear? I need money and I'm desperate and I made a stupid fucking choice coming here."
"Better." Gianni's grip in his hair loosened slightly. "But still not the truth. Not all of it." His other hand came up to cup Cedric's jaw, thumb stroking across his cheekbone in a gesture that was almost tender. "How much money, Cedric? What's the number that brings a boy like you to his knees in front of a man like me?"
The juxtaposition was maddening—the gentle touch, the harsh grip in his hair, the dangerous softness of Gianni's voice.
"A lot," Cedric managed. "More than I can make serving drinks."
"How much?" Gianni's thumb pressed against Cedric's bottom lip. "Give me a number."
Cedric's mind was spinning. He couldn't tell Gianni about the debt, if Gianni knew he owed money to someone, it would raise too many questions. But he needed to give him something, some truth that would satisfy this interrogation.
"Fifty thousand," Cedric said finally. "I need fifty thousand dollars."
It wasn't a lie, exactly. That was what Marcus had promised. What he'd already lost by throwing away the wire.
Gianni's smile was slow, predatory. "Fifty thousand. And you thought you'd earn that serving bottles in my club?" He laughed, and the sound was dark, amused. "Oh, Cedric. That would take you years. So either you're incredibly stupid, or you had a different plan entirely."
His grip tightened again. "Which is it? Are you stupid, or are you a spy?"
Cedric's breath caught. This was it. The moment where he either committed to the lie or...
"I'm stupid," he said, forcing himself to meet Gianni's eyes. "I'm desperate and stupid and I thought maybe if I worked here, if I impressed the right people, if I..." He broke off, shaking his head. "I don't know what I thought. That someone would take pity on me? That I'd find some rich asshole who'd want a kept boy? I don't fucking know."
The words were tumbling out now, and some of them were even true. The desperation was real. The stupidity was real. The hope that someone, anyone, would save him, that was painfully real.
Gianni studied him for a long moment, and Cedric couldn't read his expression at all.
Then, slowly, Gianni released his hair. His hand moved to stroke Cedric's face instead, gentle now, the anger seeming to drain away.
"There it is," he murmured. "Finally. A piece of truth." He crouched down, bringing himself to eye level with Cedric, and his hand slid to cup the back of Cedric's neck. "I can give you fifty thousand dollars, Cedric. I can give you more than that if you need it. But nothing in this life is free."
His thumb stroked the sensitive skin behind Cedric's ear. "So here's how this works. You stop lying to me. You stop playing games. And you let me decide what you're worth." His eyes were intense, burning. "Can you do that? Can you be good for me?"
Cedric's mouth was dry. Every survival instinct he had was screaming at him to run, but he was on his knees in front of the most dangerous man in New York, and running wasn't an option anymore.
"Yes," he heard himself whisper.
Gianni's smile was beautiful and terrible. "Good boy. Now let's discuss exactly what I'm going to do with you."