Page 26 of The Seventh Circle (The Lost Cantos #1)

Instead, I would dismantle their plans piece by piece. Create obstacles they couldn't anticipate. Ensure their escape route vanished before they could take it. Monitor their communications, track their movements, intercept any arrangements they attempted to make.

Then, when Lorenzo was properly isolated, I would present Uncle Salvatore with options for containing the damage.

After all, I'd spent my life protecting the Benedetto family from threats. If that threat now came from within, my duty remained unchanged.

Lorenzo had made his choice. Now he would face the consequences.

LORENZO

I approached the bank on Via dei Condotti, straightening my tie as the doorman bowed in recognition. The marble floors gleamed beneath my polished shoes, a testament to respectability that had once felt suffocating but now represented a vital resource for our escape.

"Signor Benedetto, welcome." The bank manager, Signor Alberti, emerged from his office with the practiced deference he reserved for our family. "How may I assist you today?"

"I've come about the transfer we discussed last week," I said quietly. "To the northern branch."

His smile faltered slightly. "Ah, yes. If you would step into my office..."

Something in his manner set alarm bells ringing. I followed him into the wood-paneled room, waiting until he closed the door before speaking.

"Is there a problem with the arrangement?"

Alberti shifted uncomfortably. "There seems to have been some... confusion. We received a letter yesterday, on Benedetto family letterhead, instructing us to halt all transfers pending review."

My heart stuttered. "What letter? From whom?"

"It was signed by your cousin, Paolo Benedetto." He produced the document from his desk drawer. "He indicated he was acting on your father's authority."

I scanned the paper, recognizing Paolo's handwriting. The letterhead was genuine—which meant he'd used Father's private stationery.

"This is a misunderstanding," I said, fighting to keep my voice level. "My cousin has overstepped."

"Nevertheless, Signor Benedetto, we cannot proceed without clarity. The letter specifically mentions potential... irregularities in your recent banking activities."

The implied accusation hung in the air between us. I understood immediately what Paolo had done. By suggesting impropriety, he'd ensured the bank would freeze everything until the matter was resolved—a process that would take weeks, if not months.

"I see." I folded the letter carefully, tucking it into my pocket. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"Of course, if your father were to visit personally—"

"That won't be necessary," I cut him off. "I'll handle this within the family."

Outside, I leaned against the stone facade, struggling to regain my composure. Paolo had moved faster than I'd anticipated. The bank transfer was crucial to our plan—without those funds, we'd be starting in Milano with almost nothing.

I stopped at a café to collect my thoughts, ordering espresso I had no intention of drinking. As I stared at the bitter black liquid, a shadow fell across my table.

"Cousin." Paolo's voice carried that peculiar mix of warmth and steel that had always characterized our relationship. "What a pleasant surprise."

He sat without waiting for an invitation, signaling the waiter for coffee.

"I've just come from the bank," I said, watching his face for any reaction.

"Banking matters on such a beautiful morning?" He smiled blandly. "Your dedication to family business continues to impress Uncle Salvatore."

"Cut the performance, Paolo. I know what you did."

His expression didn't change, but something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "I've done many things lately, cousin. You'll need to be more specific."

"The letter to Alberti. Freezing my accounts."

Paolo accepted his coffee from the waiter before responding. "Ah, that. Simply a precautionary measure. Father mentioned you seemed distracted lately—worried you might be making impulsive decisions. I thought it prudent to ensure family assets remain properly managed."

"Those are my personal accounts."

"Are they?" He raised an eyebrow. "The properties were purchased with Benedetto family money. The monthly stipend that fills those accounts comes from family businesses." He leaned forward. "What exactly do you own that wasn't provided by Uncle Salvatore, Lorenzo?"

The question struck deeper than he knew. What did I possess that wasn't ultimately controlled by my father? Even my mother's villa, my one independent claim, existed because Father had permitted it.

"This isn't about money," Paolo continued, his voice deceptively gentle. "It's about responsibility. You've been... distracted. Making unusual inquiries. Disappearing for hours without explanation." He stirred his coffee methodically. "People are beginning to notice."

"What people?"

"The wrong ones." He sipped his coffee. "Luckily, I've been able to provide reasonable explanations. Pre-wedding nerves. Preparations for your increased role in the family. But eventually, Lorenzo, questions will require answers."

I studied my cousin's face, searching for what he truly knew. Paolo had always been difficult to read—his calculating mind hidden behind affable charm.

"The Vitelli girl is quite taken with you," he said, changing direction abruptly. "Don Vitelli mentioned her enthusiasm to Father just yesterday. They're hosting a family dinner this weekend and have specifically requested your presence."

"I have prior commitments."

"You'll need to reschedule them. Your Father has already accepted on your behalf."

I felt the walls closing in. "I don't recall giving Father authority over my social calendar."

"Don't be naive, Lorenzo. This engagement represents the future of our family's expansion. The Vitellis control shipping routes we need." His voice hardened slightly. "Your presence isn't optional."

I recognized the trap forming around me. Each social obligation with Sophia would create another, and another—a chain that would bind me to this life with increasing strength.

"I should go," I said, rising from the table. "Apparently I have a dinner to prepare for."

Paolo caught my wrist as I turned to leave. His grip was firm, his smile unchanged, but his eyes had gone cold.

"One more thing, cousin. Your friend Romano has been reassigned."

My blood froze. "What do you mean, reassigned?"

"Father feels his talents are wasted on simple collections. He'll be working with me on more... specialized matters."

The implication was clear. Antonio would be pulled into Paolo's direct authority—placed in increasingly dangerous and compromising positions.

"Romano works for me," I said, struggling to keep panic from my voice.

"He works for the family," Paolo corrected mildly. "As do we all."

He released my wrist, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'll see you at the Vitelli dinner, Lorenzo. Wear the navy suit—Sophia mentioned it brings out your eyes."

Three days later, I stood in the Vitelli courtyard watching Sophia play the violin, surrounded by admiring guests. Her talent was genuine, her concentration absolute as she moved through a complex Vivaldi piece. In another life, I might have appreciated the artistry of her performance.

Instead, I was counting the hours until I could escape to meet Antonio at our villa.

Paolo had been relentless since our café conversation.

My schedule suddenly overflowed with appointments, meetings, and social obligations—all arranged by Father or Paolo, all impossible to decline without raising suspicion.

Antonio had been sent to Ostia on a collection mission that should have taken a day but had somehow stretched to three.

Every avenue of our escape was being systematically blocked, though Paolo never once indicated he knew our actual plan.

"She's quite extraordinary," Father said, appearing beside me as Sophia's performance concluded to enthusiastic applause. "The Vitellis have ensured she's accomplished in all the social graces. She'll make an excellent hostess for family gatherings."

"Yes," I agreed mechanically.

"Don Vitelli has suggested moving the wedding date forward," he continued, watching my face carefully. "He sees no reason for an extended engagement."

I maintained my neutral expression through years of practice. "What did you tell him?"

"That I would discuss it with you." He sipped his wine. "Though I'm inclined to agree. June seems unnecessarily distant."

Another trap. "The original timeline was your suggestion, Father."

"Circumstances change. The Borghese family has been making overtures to the Vitellis. I'd prefer to secure our alliance before they offer something more tempting."

Sophia approached, slightly flushed from her performance. "Was it tolerable, Signor Benedetto?" she asked my father.

"More than tolerable, my dear. You play with remarkable passion."

She turned to me, and I recognized the intelligence behind her carefully composed expression. "And you, Lorenzo? Did you enjoy it?"

"It was beautiful," I said truthfully. "You have a rare gift."

Her smile warmed slightly at the genuine compliment. "Perhaps you'll play for me sometime. Your father mentions you're quite accomplished at the piano."

"Lorenzo hasn't touched the piano in years," Father said dismissively. "Though perhaps he should resume his practice. It would be pleasant to have music in the house again."

I recognized the command disguised as suggestion. Another obligation, another chain.

"If you'll excuse me," I said, bowing slightly. "I should congratulate Don Vitelli on his daughter's accomplishments."

I moved through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and accepting congratulations on my engagement. Paolo watched from across the room, never approaching but always visible, a constant reminder of his surveillance.

As the evening progressed, I found myself repeatedly positioned beside Sophia for photographs, introductions, and conversations about our future. Each moment was another public commitment, another witness to our engagement, another obstacle to disappearing quietly.

Near midnight, as guests began departing, I finally managed to slip away to the garden. The night air was cool against my face, the distant sound of crickets a blessed relief from social chatter.

"Hiding?" Sophia's voice came from the shadows.

I turned to find her seated on a stone bench, her violin case beside her.

"Taking air," I corrected, moving to join her. "You played beautifully tonight."

"Thank you." She studied me in the moonlight. "You're a convincing performer yourself."

I stiffened. "I don't know what you mean."

"Please, Lorenzo." She sighed. "You've smiled at precisely the right moments, said all the appropriate things, and looked at me with perfect affection whenever someone important was watching. Yet the moment their attention shifts, something in you... withdraws."

Her perception was disarming. "I apologize if I've been distant."

"I don't want your apology. I want honesty." She smoothed her skirt, a nervous gesture at odds with her direct words. "This marriage is happening whether we desire it or not. I'd prefer we at least begin with truth between us."

I considered my response carefully. "What truth are you seeking, Sophia?"

"For one, I'd like to know if there's someone else." Her voice remained calm, matter-of-fact. "Someone you would rather be with."

The question hit dangerously close to home. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I recognize reluctance when I see it. And because your cousin Paolo suggested as much to my father."

My blood turned to ice. "Paolo said what, exactly?"

"That you might have formed an... inappropriate attachment. That it was nothing serious, merely a youthful indiscretion you were struggling to end properly." She looked directly at me. "He assured my father it would be resolved before the wedding."

Paolo's strategy became crystal clear. He was simultaneously forcing me deeper into the engagement while planting seeds about my relationship with Antonio—creating a situation where any attempt to flee would confirm the rumors he'd already started.

"Your cousin seems very involved in our engagement," Sophia observed when I didn't respond.

"Paolo has always been... protective of family interests."

"Is it true?" she asked quietly. "Is there someone else?"

I looked at this intelligent, perceptive woman who deserved better than to be a pawn in my family's ambitions or Paolo's manipulations.

"Sophia, I—"

"There you are!" Paolo's voice boomed across the garden as he approached with Don Vitelli. "We've been looking everywhere for you two."

Don Vitelli beamed at the sight of us sitting together. "Ah, young love seeking privacy. I remember those days."

Paolo's smile never reached his eyes. "Your father is preparing to leave, Lorenzo. He asked that you join him to bid farewell to our hosts."

"Of course." I stood, offering Sophia my hand. "Shall we?"

As we walked back toward the villa, Paolo fell into step beside me, leaning close enough to whisper.

"Family dinner tomorrow night at home. Father insists you bring Sophia—he's eager to discuss new wedding dates." His voice dropped further. "Oh, and Romano has returned from Ostia. He seems... troubled. Perhaps you should check on your loyal soldier."

He moved ahead to open the door for us, playing the attentive cousin perfectly. I watched him chatting with Don Vitelli, laughing at the appropriate moments, every inch the respectable family representative.

All while systematically destroying any chance Antonio and I had for escape.