Chapter 10 A Night With The Mafia Boss
Cedric gasped against his lips, shocked by the intensity and how his body responded instantly, as if it had been waiting for this, and Falcone swallowed the sound. His tongue swept into Cedric's mouth, claiming and possessive, tasting like expensive whiskey and something darker, more addictive.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was six years of want compressed into a single, searing moment that made Cedric's knees weak and his head spin.
When Falcone finally pulled back, Cedric's lips were swollen, and his breathing was ragged. He could see himself in the mirrors, face flushed, disheveled, thoroughly kissed, and something about seeing it reflected back at him made it more real.
"You taste like whiskey and bad decisions," Falcone murmured against his mouth, close enough that their lips brushed with each word. "It's absolutely perfect."
"That's…..that's not a compliment," Cedric managed, but his voice came out breathy and wrecked.
"Wasn't meant to be." Falcone's thumb traced Cedric's swollen bottom lip. "It's just the truth. You're a terrible idea, Cedric Santos. The worst decision I could possibly make. And I've never wanted anything more in my entire life."
The elevator dinged, the sound obscenely loud in the charged silence.
The doors opened onto what was clearly a penthouse apartment. Falcone's private space above the club. It was massive, all floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering New York skyline, modern furniture that probably cost more than most people's houses, and an open floor plan that screamed wealth and taste.
"Welcome home, Cedric."
Home. The word settled over Cedric like a weight, like a collar, like a promise he wasn't sure he was ready to keep.
And that's when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
The sound was jarring, pulling Cedric back to reality with the subtlety of a bucket of ice water. He fumbled for it with shaking hands, Falcone watching him with those dark, knowing eyes.
The screen lit up with a text from Marcus: Where are you? The wire went dead. Extraction team ready if you need out. Just say the word.
Cedric stared at the screen, the words blurring slightly. This was it. His last chance. His last exit before he committed to something he couldn't take back.
He could text back right now. Could tell Marcus he needed extraction. Could have a team of cops swarming this building in minutes, could go back to his shitty apartment and his shitty life and at least he'd still have his freedom, whatever the fuck that was worth.
Falcone hadn't moved. Hadn't tried to grab the phone or stop him. Just stood there, patient and predatory, like he already knew what choice Cedric would make.
And maybe he did. Maybe he'd known from the beginning, from the moment he orchestrated this entire fucked up situation, that Cedric would choose this. Choose him.
Cedric's thumb hovered over the keyboard. Then, slowly, deliberately, he typed: False alarm. Equipment malfunction. Everything's fine. Will check in tomorrow.
He hit send.
Then he opened his contacts, scrolled to Marcus's name, and his finger hovered over the delete button.
"You don't have to do that," Falcone said quietly. "I'm not going to tell you to cut off contact with him. That's your choice."
"Yeah?" Cedric looked up. "And what happens if I keep his number? If I keep that door open?"
"Then you keep it open." Falcone shrugged, the movement elegant and unconcerned. "I'm not threatened by Marcus Chen. He had six years to make a move and didn't. He had you walking into his office today and barely looked at you like you were anything more than a useful tool." His expression hardened slightly. "I'm not worried about competition from a man who doesn't even know what he wants."
Cedric should feel relieved. Should appreciate the freedom Falcone was offering. Instead, it made him angry, made something reckless flare up in his chest.
"You're so fucking sure of yourself, aren't you?"
"Yes." No hesitation. "Because I know what I want, and I know how to get it. And right now, what I want is standing in my apartment holding a phone like it's a lifeline when we both know there's no going back."
"Fuck you," Cedric said, but there was no heat in it.
He deleted Marcus's number.
He deleted the whole conversation thread.
Then he threw the phone on the floor, watched it skitter across the expensive hardwood.
When he looked up at Falcone, something had shifted. Some last wall had crumbled, leaving Cedric feeling raw and exposed and strangely free.
"Show me," Cedric said, his voice steady now. Certain. "Show me what I've been missing."
Falcone's answering smile was pure sin, dark and delicious and dangerous. He closed the distance between them in two strides, backing Cedric up toward what had to be the bedroom.
"Oh, Ceddy," he purred, the nickname from high school sounding obscene in that voice. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. By the time I'm done with you, you won't even remember Marcus's name. You won't remember anyone but me."
"That's a big promise."
"I don't make promises I can't keep." Falcone's hand slid up Cedric's chest, fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. "And I always, always deliver."
The back of Cedric's legs hit the bed. He let himself fall backward, let Falcone follow him down, their bodies pressed together in a way that made it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
"Last chance," Falcone murmured against Cedric's neck, his teeth grazing sensitive skin. "Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you don't want this and I'll call you a car, send you home, and you'll never hear from me again."
It was a lie. They both knew it was a lie. After everything Falcone had done, all the manipulation and orchestration, there was no way he'd just let Cedric walk away.
But it was a pretty lie. A comforting one.
"I'm never going to tell you to stop," Cedric let out a shaky breath, his hands finding Falcone's hair, pulling him closer. "I'm going to tell you to hurry the fuck up before I change my mind."
Falcone laughed, low and dark and full of promise.
“Ti rovinerò stanotte~I'll ruin you tonight."