Page 12 of The Seventh Circle (The Lost Cantos #1)

"Some businesses have struggled with the dry summer. The Moretti bakery lost inventory to mold, and Salvini's wife has been ill—"

"I'm not interested in their excuses," Father interrupted, moving to his desk with deliberate steps. "And neither should you be."

He picked up a ledger—one of mine—and opened it to a marked page. His fingers traced the careful numbers I'd recorded. "Three months ago, the eastern collections brought in seventeen percent more. What changed?"

"Nothing changed," I said. "Business fluctuates."

"No." He closed the ledger with a snap. "What changed is your approach. Paolo tells me you've been lenient. Making exceptions. Accepting partial payments with promises of the remainder."

Paolo. Of course. My cousin had always positioned himself as the true son my father deserved—one without my inconvenient conscience.

"I've been building relationships," I said carefully. "These people work hard. When we accommodate temporary setbacks, they remain loyal."

Father laughed, a short, sharp sound devoid of humor.

"Loyalty? They aren't loyal, Lorenzo. They're afraid.

The moment they sense weakness, they'll exploit it.

" He rounded the desk, standing close enough that I could smell the expensive cologne he favored.

"Your grandfather understood this. I understand this.

Why do you struggle with such a simple concept? "

I met his gaze. "Because I believe fear only works until someone offers a better alternative."

"And what alternative do you offer? Kindness?" He practically spat the word. "Kindness is a luxury for those who don't have empires to maintain."

I felt the familiar tightening in my chest—the constriction of expectations, of a life predetermined from my first breath. "The Benedetto name could mean more than just fear."

"It means respect," he corrected. "Respect earned through generations of strength. Your philosophical notions have no place in our world."

He moved to the sideboard, pouring himself a small measure of brandy though it wasn't yet noon. The familiar ritual meant he was settling in for a lecture.

"The cobbler on Via Merulana," he said, swirling the amber liquid. "His payment was half what it should have been."

"His wife has consumption. The medicine—"

"Is not our concern." Father's voice cut like a blade. "Do you think the Torrinos care about a cobbler's dying wife? They would take his entire shop and throw him into the street."

"Which is precisely why we're different," I countered.

"We're different because we're stronger, more disciplined." He set his glass down with precise control. "Not because we're softer."

I recognized the folly of arguing further. Twenty-six years had taught me when to bend.

"You're right, Father. I'll ensure the full amounts are collected going forward."

He studied me, assessing the sincerity of my capitulation. "Good. The world sees what we allow it to see, Lorenzo. Show weakness to our enemies, and they'll destroy everything we've built."

I nodded, thinking of Antonio waiting at the gate, of the confession I'd made to Father Giuseppe, of the feelings I could barely admit to myself. If Father knew what truly lived in my heart, what would he see? Weakness? Betrayal?

"There's another matter," I said, redirecting my thoughts. "Antonio Romano's family is being watched by Torrino's men. It appears Vito is planning retaliation for our market intervention."

Father's expression sharpened with interest. "The younger Romano. Your new favourite."

I kept my face carefully neutral. "He's proven valuable. His intelligence and restraint set him apart from our usual muscle."

"Paolo thinks you're overly invested in this soldier's welfare."

Of course he did. I maintained my composure despite the spike of panic. "Paolo should focus on his own responsibilities rather than monitoring mine. Romano is an asset worth protecting. Losing him to Torrino's vendetta would be wasteful."

Father considered this, sipping his brandy. "What do you propose?"

"A direct approach. Antonio and I will finish today's collections, then pay Vito and his ilk a visit. A final warning."

"Just the two of you?"

"A show of force would escalate matters unnecessarily. This requires finesse."

"Take Paolo with you," Father said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "He's been asking for more responsibility. Besides, three Benedetto men send a clearer message than one with his favourite soldier."

I kept my face carefully neutral despite the complication. Paolo would be watching my every move, cataloguing every interaction with Antonio.

"As you wish, Father."

His lips curved in what might have been approval. "And if Vito doesn't respond to finesse?"

I met his gaze evenly. "Then we demonstrate why crossing the Benedettos is unwise."

He nodded slowly. "Very well. Handle it as you see fit." He set his glass down, signaling our conversation was ending. "But Lorenzo—"

"Yes, Father?"

"Don't mistake my permission for leniency. I expect full collections and a permanent resolution to this Torrino situation. Am I understood?"

"Perfectly."

"Good. The Vitelli dinner is next week. Sophia's father is eager to discuss their daughter's future prospects."

The abrupt shift to my father's matchmaking landed like a physical blow. I managed a tight nod. "I'll be prepared."

"See that you are. Our alliance with the Vitellis secures our southern territory. The dinner is an opportunity to strengthen that connection." He levelled his gaze at me. "Sophia is from good stock. Beautiful, well-bred. You could do far worse."

"I understand the importance of the Vitelli relationship," I said carefully.

"Your personal preferences are irrelevant when it comes to family alliances, Lorenzo. Remember that."

I bowed my head slightly—deferential, dutiful. The perfect son. "Family first, Father. Always."

He seemed satisfied with my performance. "Go. Deal with Torrino. Show him what happens when he threatens what belongs to us."

I left without another word, moving through the house with measured steps despite the urge to run. Only when I reached the courtyard did I allow myself a deep breath, filling lungs that felt starved for air.

Antonio stood by the gate, his posture alert but relaxed, a cigarette burning between his fingers. The morning light caught the angles of his face, the strong line of his jaw. Just the sight of him centered something in me—a compass finding north.

"Everything all right?" he asked as I approached, dropping the cigarette and crushing it beneath his boot.

"Yes," I lied, pushing Father's words from my mind. "We should get started on collections. The eastern quarter won't wait."

Antonio studied my face, his eyes catching something in my expression that others would miss. He didn't press, though—another quality that set him apart. The man knew when silence was a kindness.

"Father's given us permission to handle the Vito situation," I continued, lowering my voice as we walked toward the gate. "After collections, we pay the Torrinos a visit. Make it clear that watching your family crosses a line no one should approach."

Antonio nodded, his shoulders loosening slightly with relief. "Thank you."

"There's one complication," I added. "Paolo will be joining us."

His expression didn't change, but I caught the slight tightening around his eyes.

"Your father doesn't trust us to handle it alone?"

"He believes three Benedetto men send a clearer message than one with his favourite soldier." I repeated Father's words without the underlying implication.

Antonio absorbed this, his mind working behind those thoughtful eyes. "Paolo watches you closely."

It wasn't a question.

"He does," I agreed, not elaborating on what Paolo might be watching for. "But this is about your family's safety. We'll manage the rest."