14. Hello Little Falco.

Castle.

It was a little past 3 p.m., and I was still buried in logistics.

Crates of imported rum from Havana were sitting in the lower lot, waiting to be cleared through customs—Tomas would handle that.

What I was dealing with was less volatile, but still more personal: expansion. The concept had been floating in my head for months now.

To turn part of Enchante’s exclusive VIP wing into something darker and more indulgent. A pleasure den for the city’s elite.

A controlled environment where sex and shadows could coexist—and be monetized with taste.

My financial advisor, Julian, was seated across from me, legs crossed, pen tapping against the leather-bound budget planner he brought with him like a lifeline.

“Look, Castle,” he said, adjusting his glasses, “the numbers check out. But if you’re looking to pivot the space into a private, members-only sex club, you need permits, discretion, and an architect who can build it like it was always meant to be hidden.”

Next to him, my architect, Lys—an ex-model turned designer—nodded.

“We’d reinforce the walls here,” she said, tapping a red nail on the blueprints between us. “Soundproof them. The lighting would be low and adaptive. Privacy is the currency in spaces like this. I’d redesign the hallway—hidden door, biometric lock. That way, there'll be no accidental walk-ins.”

I nodded slowly, eyes on the plans but only half-listening.

“I don’t want it to be sleazy,” I said. “No neon signs. No chains hanging from the ceiling. I want high-end indulgence, discretion and exclusivity.”

Julian whistled softly. “So basically, it's going to The Ritz, but for kinks?”

“Exactly.”

Lys gave a tight smile. “I can make it look like a sanctuary. A cathedral, even.”

I liked that.

I opened my mouth to reply, but something on the screen behind them caught my eye—and everything else melted into static.

My gaze snapped to the security feed in the corner of the room, and time seemed to slow down.

Because there he was.

Angel.

Striding into the club like he didn’t just throw my mind into chaos a week ago.

Julian was still talking, but I wasn’t hearing a damn word.

The camera angle caught Angel in profile. He was wearing dark slacks, an open collar, a gray shirt with the sleeves folded to the elbow.

His hair was slicked back, his jaw tight with focus. He wasn’t here for fun, I could see that. He was here on a mission.

To say I have been expecting him would be an understatement. I knew he would investigate the finger I sent to him. And without any lead, this club would be the first place he comes to.

My pulse ticked up and I could feel my body roaring in hunger.

“Castle?” Lys said, glancing over her shoulder. “Something wrong?”

I forced myself to stand, clearing my throat, eyes never leaving the screen.

“Wrap this up,” I said, already walking to the door. “Send me the finalized blueprint and projections by tonight.”

Julian frowned. “But we still haven’t discussed the luxury tax—”

“Julian,” I said, pausing at the doorway. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer it carefully.”

He blinked, clearly thrown off. “Okay…”

“If someone walked into your sanctuary uninvited, would you make them feel welcome… or remind them why it’s dangerous?”

He swallowed. “Depends who they are.”

I smirked. “Exactly.”

And with that, I walked out.

Because Angel was downstairs, and I didn’t know whether I wanted to fuck him without any mask between us this time. Or if I wanted to continue with my anonymity.

***

I was halfway down the stairs when I heard his voice.

“I want to speak to the owner,” Angel said, his voice sharp and commanding, making me freeze.

Not out of fear. But because the sound of his voice—gravel-slick and laced with that quiet authority he always had—made my cock twitch behind my slacks.

My hand instinctively dropped to the front of my pants, palming the hard-on already straining against my zipper.

I should’ve kept moving. I should’ve walked out and handled this like a man with self-control.

But the second Tomas stepped into view and calmly replied, “That would be me,” I saw red.

It wasn’t supposed to matter. This was the plan—Tomas would be the face, the decoy.

We had agreed that if anyone from law enforcement came sniffing around the club, he would play the role of the owner. It protected me and the operation.

But this wasn't just any law enforcement agent. This was my Angel.

And the idea of Tomas standing in front of him, receiving his full attention, listening to that voice—my voice—made my blood boil.

I pressed my back against the wall and tuned them out before I did something reckless. I needed to breathe and calm myself down.

Until I heard Angel again. “I’d like to take a look at your security footage. From last night.”

My eyes snapped open.

Tomas let out a soft, regretful hum. “Unfortunately, sir, we don’t release footage without proper legal process.”

There was a pause. Then I heard the rustle of a wallet being pulled and I'm sure Angel just pulled out his badge.

“Federal agent,” he said. “I’m not here to make trouble. I’m just trying to find someone who might not have made it out last night.”

I tried to calm my breathing. I knew he would come to search for Max but I was still jealous.

Tomas kept his voice steady. “I respect that. But even so, I’m going to need a warrant. It's protocol, I'm sorry.”

My lips turned up in a smirk. He handled it like we’d practiced. Polished and smooth.

But I could feel Angel’s frustration from around the corner.

“Fine,” Angel muttered. “Where’s your restroom?”

Tomas pointed toward the hallway on the left, where I was eavesdropping.

Angel didn’t wait for further directions. His footsteps echoed as he made his way down. I hid and when he passed, I followed—silent as a shadow.

I waited in the darkness, my back pressed to the wall between the manager’s office and the coat check closet.

The bathroom door clicked open and Angel stepped out, head bowed slightly as he adjusted his sleeve. He hadn’t even lifted his eyes before I moved.

I grabbed his wrist, spun him, and pinned him to the wall.

His body slammed gently into it, breath catching just as I leaned in, my body flush against his back.

He froze when I leaned down, lips grazing the soft skin behind his ear where his pulse jumped beneath my tongue.

His scent tickled my nose and I inhaled deeply. Not able to resist, I licked once—slow, deliberate—and felt the tremor run through him.

“Hello, Little Falco,” I whispered, my voice thick with amusement and heat.

His body shivered and I smiled. Because I knew then, that he still remembered me.