Page 18 of The Seventh Circle (The Lost Cantos #1)

LORENZO

Islipped out of the house before dawn, unable to bear another minute under that roof.

The satisfaction in my father's eyes last night as he'd spoken of the "effective message" we'd sent to Torrino still turned my stomach.

Even more unbearable was the knowledge that today I would sit across from Sophia Vitelli's father and discuss our future together as if I had every intention of honouring such an arrangement.

The streets were quiet, just beginning to stir with early market vendors and laborers heading to their posts.

I kept my head down, cap pulled low. Being recognized as a Benedetto would defeat the purpose of this escape.

The purpose—if I was honest with myself—was to reach the only place where I could breathe freely.

Villa San Michele.

I walked quickly through the awakening city, past shuttered cafés and sleeping tenements.

The heavy weight that had settled on my chest since witnessing yesterday’s butchery eased slightly with each step that took me farther from the Benedetto compound.

By the time the crumbling walls of the villa came into view, silhouetted against the pale morning sky, something inside me had loosened enough to allow a full breath.

I approached cautiously, scanning the area for any sign of watchers or trespassers. Finding none, I slipped through the gap in the wall and made my way across the overgrown garden.

I was halfway to the villa's entrance when I noticed the door was slightly ajar.

My hand went instinctively to the knife in my coat pocket as I approached. Then I caught a glimpse of movement through the gap—a familiar silhouette moving inside.

Antonio.

Relief flooded through me. I pushed the door open wider, and there he was, standing in the dusty entrance hall, looking as startled to see me as I was to see him.

"Lorenzo," he said, my name a breath of surprise. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Nor I you," I admitted, closing the door behind me. "I couldn't face them this morning—not with that meeting looming over me."

Antonio nodded, understanding without explanation. "I left a note for my mother saying I had early collections."

We stood there, uncertain, the air between us still charged despite our conversation on the rooftop. He looked tired, shadows beneath his eyes suggesting he'd slept no better than I had.

"I spent all night thinking about what we said," I began, moving past Antonio into the main room. Sunlight streamed through the broken roof, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. "About finding another way."

"And?" Antonio followed, keeping a careful distance.

I turned to face him. "My father called me into his study after you left. Paolo had already reported to him about our... discomfort... during the Torrino business."

Antonio's expression darkened. "What did your father say?"

"He's accelerated the timeline with the Vitellis." I watched Antonio's face carefully as I delivered the news. "The meeting today isn't just preliminary discussions anymore. He expects me to formalize an engagement by the end of the week."

Antonio inhaled sharply. "So soon?"

"He thinks I need to be anchored more firmly to the family. To our traditions." I couldn't keep the bitterness from my voice. "Apparently, my sensitivity, as he calls it, concerns him."

"This changes things," Antonio said quietly, his practical mind already working through the implications.

"It does." I ran a hand through my hair, frustration building. "I thought we'd have more time to figure something out, but now..."

"Now we need to decide," Antonio finished for me, stepping closer. "Today. Not someday."

The certainty in his voice made my heart race. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that last night, after I left you, I went home and looked at my family—really looked at them.

" His eyes held mine, intense and resolute.

"My father's back is getting worse. The dock work is killing him.

Enzo needs schooling I can't afford on honest wages.

And my mother..." He shook his head. "She's aged ten years in the last two, worrying about me. "

"Antonio—"

"Let me finish," he said, holding up a hand. "I realized something. I joined the Benedettos to protect them, to provide for them. But the longer I stay in this life, the more danger I bring to their door. Those men watching our building? That's just the beginning."

I felt something shift in the air between us, a current of possibility I hardly dared acknowledge.

"There's a cousin of my mother's," Antonio continued, his voice low and urgent now. "In Milano. I've never met him, but she corresponds with his wife. They own a small bookshop. No children of their own."

My breath caught. "Antonio, what are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that maybe there's another way to protect my family. To get them out of Rome, away from the Benedettos and Torrinos and all of it." His eyes never left mine. "My mother mentioned once that her cousin always wanted Enzo to come apprentice with him when he was older."

"You would send them away?" I asked, trying to understand where this was leading.

"I would send them to safety," he corrected. "And then..." He hesitated, as if gathering courage. "And then I would be free to make a different choice."

The implication hung in the air between us, too fragile to name directly.

"What about you?" I asked. "You'd stay here? In danger?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I know I can't keep doing this—living divided between my family and my heart.

" He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Last night on that roof, we talked about finding another path.

This morning, I'm asking if you meant it. "

Did I mean it? The question cut through all my carefully constructed rationalizations, my lifetime of compromise and obligation. I thought of the meeting with Vitelli waiting for me, of my father's expectations, of the blood-soaked legacy I was meant to inherit.

"I meant it," I said, the words both terrifying and liberating. "But Antonio, what you're suggesting—it's not simple. My father wouldn't just let me walk away. And your family—they'd need money, protection—"

"I have some savings," he said. "Not much, but enough to get them to Milano, to help them settle. As for protection..." His expression hardened. "Once they're gone, there's no leverage against me. Against us."

The thought of Antonio standing against my family, against Paolo, made my blood run cold. "You can't fight them alone."

"I won't be alone," he said simply, his eyes holding mine. "Will I?"

The question contained multitudes—a challenge, a plea, a declaration of faith. I felt something crack inside my chest, a fissure in the careful facade I'd maintained my entire life.

"No," I said, the word feeling like a vow.

"You won't be alone." I reached for his hand, twining our fingers together.

"I have access to money—my mother's inheritance.

It's in a separate account my father doesn't control.

Not a fortune, but enough to help your family start over.

Enough for us to..." I couldn't finish the thought, the possibility still too fragile to voice.

"Enough for us to disappear?" Antonio suggested, his voice barely above a whisper.

The world seemed to hold its breath around us. Disappear. The word held danger and promise in equal measure.

"It wouldn't be easy," I cautioned. "My father would look for me. His reach is long."

"But not endless," Antonio countered. "There are places even the Benedettos don't control."

"You've thought about this," I realized.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Since the moment you kissed me."

I reached out, my hand hovering just short of touching his face, as if asking permission. He leaned into my touch, his cheek warm against my palm.

"I've been fighting this for so long," I whispered. "Trying to be what they need me to be. The perfect son. The worthy heir." I let out a bitter laugh. "And for what? To inherit an empire built on fear and blood? To continue a cycle that destroys everything it touches?"

"You're more than your name," Antonio said fiercely, covering my hand with his own. "You always have been."

"Because you see me," I said, the realization striking me with sudden clarity. "You're the only one who ever has."

Antonio's expression softened. "And you see me. Not just the soldier. Not just the poor boy from the streets. You see all of me."

I stepped closer, eliminating the last distance between us. "If we do this—if we really do this—there's no going back. We'd need to plan carefully. Your family first, getting them safely away."

"And the Vitelli meeting?" Antonio asked, his tone carefully neutral though I could see the tension in his jaw.

"I'll go," I said. "I'll be the dutiful son one last time. Keep up appearances while we make arrangements."

"How long would we need?"

I considered. "A week. Maybe two. To secure the money, to arrange safe passage for your family." I hesitated. "And to create a diversion big enough to cover our tracks."

Antonio's eyes widened slightly. "What kind of diversion?"

"I'm not sure yet," I admitted. "But my father's enemies are numerous. It wouldn't be difficult to create confusion, to direct attention elsewhere while we slip away."

"This is really happening, isn't it?" Antonio said, wonder and fear mingling in his voice.

In answer, I closed the final distance between us, capturing his lips with mine.

Unlike our first kiss, frantic with newfound discovery, this one carried the weight of decision, of commitment. My hands found his waist, pulling him against me as his fingers tangled in my hair. He tasted of coffee and something uniquely him, a flavor I was already becoming addicted to.