Chapter 21 First Night Back
The club looked different when you arrived in a Mercedes with armed security.
Cedric pressed his forehead against the car window, watching Elysium's neon sign flicker to life as dusk settled over the city. It was only 8pm, an hour before his shift started, but falcone had insisted on the early arrival.
"Marco will stay with you," falcone had said over breakfast that morning, gesturing to one of the men who'd been standing silently by the door. "He goes where you go. Non-negotiable."
Marco was built like a tank~broad shoulders, thick neck, the kind of body that came from years of violence and protein shakes. He had a scar running from his left ear to his jawline and eyes that tracked everything with the cold efficiency of a predator.
He also, apparently, didn't speak much.
"Mr. Santos," Marco said now, his voice surprisingly soft for someone his size. "We should go in through the back. Mr. Falcone's orders."
"Of course he does," Cedric muttered, but he followed Marco out of the car and around to the service entrance.
The back hallway of Elysium was as industrial and unglamorous as every other club's back hallway~concrete floors, exposed pipes, the smell of cleaning chemicals and stale beer. But even here, there was an undercurrent of something else. The security cameras were newer, more sophisticated. The locks on the doors were commercial grade. And every person they passed~kitchen staff, cleaners, other security~gave Marco a wide berth and a respectful nod.
They knew who he worked for.
Which meant they knew who Cedric was.
Alessandro, the floor manager, was in his office going over the night's reservations when Cedric knocked. He looked up, his expression shifting from annoyance to something more complicated when he saw who it was.
"Cedric." Alessandro stood, smoothing his already-immaculate vest. "Welcome back. Mr. Falcone informed me you'd be working tonight."
"Yeah. Three nights a week, he said."
"Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday." Alessandro gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Those are your nights. You'll work the third floor exclusively. VIP service only."
Cedric sat, acutely aware of Marco taking up position by the door like a silent sentinel. "That's... fewer tables than before."
"Mr. Falcone wants you to have a more... manageable workload." Alessandro's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "And to minimize your exposure to certain clientele."
Translation: falcone didn't want random drunk assholes hitting on him.
"Right. Makes sense." Cedric shifted in his chair. "Same pay structure as before?"
"Better." Alessandro slid a piece of paper across the desk. "Your base pay has tripled. Plus tips, of course. And you'll receive a discretionary bonus at the end of each month based on customer satisfaction scores."
Cedric stared at the number. It was more than he'd made in three months at his old job. For three nights of work.
"This is too much."
"Mr. Falcone values quality service." Alessandro stood, clearly done with the conversation. "Your uniform is in locker 12. Marco will show you to the staff room. We open in fifty minutes. Don't be late."
The locker room was empty when they arrived, which Cedric suspected was by design. His uniform was hanging inside locker 12~the same crisp white shirt and black slacks as before, but these actually fit. Tailored to his measurements, probably by the same people who'd measured him at Castellano's.
Of course they were.
"I'll wait outside," Marco said, his tone making it clear this wasn't up for debate.
Cedric changed quickly, hyperaware of the cameras in the corners of the room. Were they watching? Was falcone watching? The thought sent an uncomfortable thrill down his spine that he absolutely did not want to examine.
His reflection in the small mirror above the sinks looked different than it had three weeks ago. The dark circles under his eyes were fading. His skin looked healthier. Even his hair seemed shinier, probably because he was using whatever expensive shampoo stocked the guest bathroom instead of whatever dollar-store brand he used to buy.
He looked like someone who belonged here.
That was the most unsettling part.
The third floor of Elysium was already filling up when Cedric emerged at 9pm sharp. The Tuesday night crowd was different from opening night~less celebrities and socialites, more wealthy businessmen and their mistresses, couples looking for discretion, and the occasional group of trust fund kids pretending their parents' money was their own.
"Table seven," Alessandro said, materializing beside him with a tray. "Couple. Anniversary. The man asked specifically for attentive service. Be charming."
"When am I not charming?" Cedric muttered, but he took the tray~champagne, two glasses, a small plate of chocolate-covered strawberries~and made his way across the floor.
Marco followed three steps behind, close enough to intervene but far enough to maintain the illusion that Cedric wasn't under armed guard.
Table seven was occupied by a couple in their forties~the man in an expensive suit that didn't quite fit his expanding waistline, the woman in a cocktail dress that showed off her recent plastic surgery. They looked up when Cedric arrived, the man's eyes tracking over him with the kind of assessment Cedric knew all too well.
"Good evening," Cedric said, setting the tray down with practiced ease. "Congratulations on your anniversary. Mr. Falcone sends his regards and hopes you enjoy tonight's celebration."
The mention of falcones name did what it was supposed to~the man's expression shifted from predatory interest to careful respect. "Please thank Mr. Falcone for us. This is very thoughtful."
Cedric poured their champagne with the flourish he'd perfected over months of bottle service, making it look effortless even though his hands wanted to shake. "Will you be ordering from the kitchen, or would you prefer I bring the tasting menu?"
"Tasting menu," the woman said, her voice warm. She was kinder than her husband, Cedric could tell. Her eyes didn't linger. "And could we get the sommelier's pairing? My husband has been working so hard lately. He deserves a nice night."
"Of course. I'll have that arranged immediately." Cedric smiled, the professional mask sliding into place as naturally as breathing. "If you need anything at all, I'm Cedric. I'll be taking care of you tonight."
He retreated before the husband could say something that would make Marco's presence necessary, weaving between tables toward the service station.
The night fell into a rhythm after that. Pour drinks. Take orders. Navigate the careful dance of attentive service without being too friendly, professional without being cold. It was a tightrope walk he'd done a thousand times before, but now with the added weight of knowing that everyone in this room knew exactly who he belonged to.
Because that's what the looks meant. The careful distance other staff kept. The way male customers checked their words before speaking to him. The knowing smiles from the few women who met his eyes.
They all knew he was Falcone's kept boy.
"Cedric, right?"
He turned to find one of the other bottle service workers~a girl named Natasha with box-braids and a smile that could sell anything~holding out a tray of top-shelf vodka.
"Table twelve is asking for you specifically," she said, her expression carefully neutral. "They're friends of the boss. I'd be... careful."
"Careful how?"