Page 19 of The Seventh Circle (The Lost Cantos #1)
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I kept my arms around him, unwilling to let go. The sunlight streaming through the broken ceiling bathed his face in gold, illuminating flecks of amber in his brown eyes I'd never noticed before.
"We need a system," I said, suddenly practical despite the desire coursing through me. "A way to communicate, to coordinate without raising suspicion."
Antonio nodded, his mind shifting to strategy even as his hands remained on my hips. "If I need to see you urgently, I'll mention books during collections. Ask if you've read something specific."
"Meditations," I suggested, remembering the Marcus Aurelius he treasured.
He nodded against my chest. "And if you need to see me?"
I considered. "I'll ask about your brother. How Enzo is doing in school."
"Simple enough to seem casual," he agreed. "And for our next meeting—what time?"
"Tomorrow after collections," I said. "I'll have news from the Vitelli meeting by then, and perhaps a clearer plan."
Antonio's expression grew serious. "Lorenzo, if we're really doing this—if we're really going to disappear together—there's something I need to know."
"Anything," I promised.
"Are you certain?" His eyes searched mine. "Not just about leaving your family, but about choosing a life with me. A man. With all that means."
I understood his fear. In our world, what we felt for each other was more than forbidden—it was unthinkable. But in that moment, standing in the filtered sunlight of our crumbling sanctuary, I had never been more certain of anything.
"I've never been sure of my place in this world," I told him, cupping his face in my hands. "Until you. You are my certainty, Antonio. The only truth I've ever known."
His eyes, always so guarded, filled with a vulnerability that made my chest ache. "I love you," he said simply, the words both a confession and a pledge.
"And I love you," I answered, feeling the words unlock something final inside me—the last door closing on the life I'd been born to, and opening to the one I was choosing.
The decision made, we surrendered to the desire that had been building between us since I'd walked through the door.
I kissed him again, but this was no gentle expression.
It was a raw, bruising conquest of his mouth, a desperate attempt to say everything with my body that my voice could not.
His teeth scraped my lip, and I welcomed the sting.
His tongue plunged, hot and demanding, and I met it with a hunger that bordered on violence.
I tasted him—sweat, salt, the faint metallic tang of a life lived by the blade—and it was the most honest flavour I had ever known.
His arms were iron shackles around me, crushing me against the solid wall of his chest until the frantic beat of my heart was indistinguishable from the thunder of his.
On our makeshift bed of blankets, the last barriers fell away.
His scarred palms, which could wield a knife with such deadly precision, explored me with a jarring reverence.
They traced the dip of my spine, the curve of my waist, then gripped my hips, pulling me tight against him.
I felt the tell-tale hardness of his desire pressing into my stomach, and a guttural groan escaped my lips.
He lowered his head, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of my neck, and I arched into him, my fingers tangling in his dark, dishevelled hair.
He nudged my legs apart with his knee, positioning himself between my thighs.
For a moment, he paused, reaching for the small pot of Vaseline in his trouser pocket.
There was a quiet efficiency in the way he prepared me, his touch slick and cool against my skin—a practical necessity before the storm.
He settled over me again, his brown eyes, so often warm, now dark with an intensity that held me captive.
I gasped as he entered me, a slow, deliberate pressure that was a sharp union of pain and profound pleasure.
For a moment, the world narrowed to that single point of connection—the feeling of him filling me, stretching me, claiming a part of me very few had touched before.
Then the rhythm began. There was no practised grace, only the brutal, honest tempo of our mutual desperation.
He drove into me with a force that knocked the breath from my lungs, and I met his every thrust, my hips rising from the dusty blankets to meet his.
Our bodies, slick with sweat, slammed together, the sound echoing in the ruined villa.
It was a sacrament and a sin, a violent prayer offered up in the half-light.
I bit down on his shoulder to stifle a cry, tasting the salt of his skin, my nails digging into the hard muscle of his back.
The pressure built in my gut, a tight, hot coil of feeling that was about to break.
I felt his pace quicken, his breathing become a series of ragged pants against my ear.
"Lorenzo," he gasped, the word both a plea and a curse.
That was all it took. My climax tore through me, a raw, shuddering release that ripped a shout from my throat.
His name was a ragged prayer on my lips as I stiffened in his arms. He followed a moment later, his own release announced with a deep groan as he collapsed against me, his body trembling.
Afterward, we lay tangled in sweat-dampened limbs, the scent of sex and dust thick in the air.
Antonio's head rested on my chest, the heavy, comforting weight of him an anchor in the chaos.
The afternoon sun slanted through the broken slats of the roof, striping his back with bars of light and shadow, making him look like a captured saint.
"Two weeks," Antonio murmured against my chest. "Two weeks and we'll be free."
I tightened my arms around him, not voicing the fear that whispered at the edges of my mind—that my father would never truly let me go, that the price of our freedom might be higher than we could imagine.
For now, in this sanctuary of broken stone and stolen time, I allowed myself to believe in the future we'd pledged to build. A future where Antonio was my truth, my home, my deliverance from the blood-soaked legacy of my name.
"Two weeks," I agreed, pressing a kiss to his temple. "And then a lifetime."
At the door, I caught his hand one last time. "Meditations," I said softly. "Remember."
He squeezed my hand, his eyes holding mine. "Tomorrow after collections?"
I nodded. "Tomorrow."
He slipped away through the gap in the villa's wall, and I watched until he disappeared from sight. Only then did I allow the weight of our reality to settle back onto my shoulders.
I had a meeting with the Vitellis to endure. A performance to give. A future to pretend I wanted while secretly plotting another.
But for the first time, I had something worth fighting for beyond mere survival. I had Antonio. I had love. I had truth.
And I would burn down my father's empire before I let anyone take that from me.