Page 27 of The Seventh Circle (The Lost Cantos #1)

LORENZO

Iarrived at Villa San Michele well before our agreed time, pacing the cracked marble floors of what had once been the grand entrance hall.

Each footstep echoed through the empty space like a clock counting down the moments we had left.

The afternoon light slanted through broken windows, illuminating dust motes that swirled in my wake.

Paolo knew. Perhaps not everything, but enough.

When I heard Antonio's footsteps approaching, my heart leapt into my throat—a mix of fear and desperate relief. He appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the setting sun. One look at his face and I knew something was wrong.

"Tonio," I whispered, closing the distance between us.

He came to me without hesitation, his embrace fierce. "They're watching my family's building," he murmured against my neck. "Two men I've never seen before. Not Torrino's."

"Paolo's," I confirmed, pulling back to look at him. "He knows about us. Not everything perhaps, but he suspects enough. He's talked to my father about my 'distraction,' frozen my accounts at the bank, and dropped hints to the Vitellis about my 'inappropriate attachment.'"

Antonio's face hardened. "He approached me three days ago, asking where my loyalties lay—with you or with the family."

"As if those were different things," I said bitterly.

"To him, they are." Antonio moved deeper into the villa, his restless energy matching my own. "You already know he reassigned me to work with him directly. Says he needs someone with my particular skills for special work in Ostia."

"To separate us." I ran a hand through my hair. "My father insists I bring Sophia to dinner tomorrow night. He wants to move the wedding date forward."

Antonio stopped his pacing. "How soon?"

"I don't know yet. Soon enough that we need to change our plans, now that our escape route is blocked off."

The silence between us was heavy with understanding. Our carefully constructed escape—the workshop in Milano, the apartment for Antonio's family, the train tickets and new identities—all of it was being systematically dismantled by Paolo.

"Your family," I said suddenly. "The men watching them—have they approached Enzo or your parents?"

"Not yet. But it's only a matter of time." Antonio leaned against a marble column. "Papa still doesn't want to leave Roma. He says his doctor is here, his friends, the church they've attended for decades..."

"We need to get them out now," I insisted.

"And go where? Without your money—"

"I have cash," I interrupted. "Not as much as we planned, but enough to get your family to Milano and established there. I've kept it hidden in books in my room, small amounts that wouldn't be missed. Old habit from childhood."

Antonio shook his head. "And what about us? Paolo will never let you simply disappear. The moment you fail to appear at dinner tomorrow night, he'll tell your father everything."

"Let him," I said, the words surprising even me.

Antonio stared at me. "You can't mean that."

"Why not? What's the worst that could happen? My father disowns me? Cuts me off? Paolo's already ensured that." I approached him, taking his hands in mine. "If we can't escape quietly, perhaps we escape boldly."

"Your father would hunt us down," Antonio countered. "The Benedetto reach extends far beyond Roma. We'd never be safe."

"Then we go further than we planned. Not Milano—Venice, then a ship. America, perhaps."

"With what money? On what papers?" Antonio's voice was gentle but firm. "Lorenzo, your father could have us killed for this. You know that."

I did know it. The knowledge sat like lead in my stomach. I'd seen what happened to those who betrayed the family, who threatened its reputation or standing. My own father had ordered such deaths, and I had witnessed enough to know they were never clean or quick.

"We could go to the police," I suggested without conviction.

Antonio laughed bitterly. "The police your father pays? The commissioner who dines at your table?"

I slumped against the wall, the weight of our situation crushing down on me. "I won't lose you, Tonio. I can't."

His expression softened as he moved toward me, cupping my face in his calloused hands. "You won't. But we need to be smarter than Paolo."

I leaned into his touch. "He's three steps ahead of us."

"Then we change the game." Antonio's eyes darkened with resolve. "Your father values strength above all else, yes? He respects power and decisive action."

"Yes, but—"

"Then we confront him directly."

I pulled back, stunned. "You can't be serious."

"I am. Not about us—not yet. But about Paolo's interference." Antonio began pacing again, his mind working. "Paolo is undermining you, the heir. That weakens the family in the eyes of others. Your father may not care about your happiness, but he cares about the family's strength and reputation."

"You're suggesting I challenge Paolo's actions before my father?"

"I'm suggesting you assert yourself as the heir. Make it clear that Paolo is acting against the family's interests by undermining you."

It was risky—dangerously so. But there was a certain logic to it. My father prized strength and decisiveness, qualities I'd been deliberately showing less of as I planned our escape. Perhaps it was time to remind him—and Paolo—exactly who was heir.

"It would buy us time," I said slowly. "If I appear to recommit to the family, to the marriage..."

"While we find another way out," Antonio finished.

I studied his face in the fading light. "It would mean I'd have to continue with Sophia, attend dinners, plan a wedding I have no intention of going through with. Our timeline will have to be extended."

"And I'd have to work with Paolo, pretend I know nothing of his suspicions." His jaw tightened. "But it would keep us both close to home, able to plan properly."

"What about your family?"

"I'll convince them to visit my mother's cousin in Firenze—tell them it's a matter of Benedetto business, not personal safety. Just for a few weeks."

I nodded, trying to imagine a path through the tangled web Paolo had woven around us. "We'd need to meet in secret, find a way to communicate..."

"Father Giuseppe," Antonio suggested. "He already knows about us, and Paolo would never suspect a priest of aiding us."

It wasn't a perfect plan—far from it. But it might give us the breathing room we needed to find a more permanent solution.

"So we stay," I said, the words tasting bitter. "We play our roles, bide our time, and look for another way out."

Antonio pulled me close, his forehead resting against mine. "For now. Just for now."

As the last light faded from the villa's broken windows, we held each other in the growing darkness, both knowing that the game we were playing had just become infinitely more dangerous—and that the stakes were our very lives.

LORENZO

I stood outside Father's study, my heart hammering against my ribs. Antonio's words echoed in my mind: Your father values strength above all else. He respects power and decisive action. I adjusted my cuffs, took a deep breath, and knocked firmly on the heavy wooden door.

"Enter."

Father sat behind his massive desk, glasses perched on his nose as he reviewed ledgers. Paolo stood at his shoulder, pointing to something on the page. The perfect image of trusted advisor and heir apparent—a position that was rightfully mine.

"Lorenzo," Father acknowledged without looking up. "We're reviewing the shipping manifests before dinner with the Vitellis. Is something urgent?"

"Yes," I said, closing the door behind me with deliberate finality. "Something that can't wait."

Paolo straightened, a flicker of wariness crossing his features. Good. He should be wary.

"I've discovered some concerning irregularities that require immediate attention," I continued, moving toward the desk with measured steps. "Actions taken without proper authorization that compromise our family's standing."

Father removed his glasses, giving me his full attention. "Explain."

"Paolo has been undermining my position as heir." I kept my voice even, controlled. "He's frozen my personal accounts without consultation, made unauthorized changes to staffing assignments, and spoken to the Vitellis about private family matters."

Paolo's expression hardened. "I've acted in the family's best interest—"

"You've acted to undermine me," I cut in sharply. "Which undermines the family by extension."

I turned to Father. "He approached Signor Alberti with a forged letter on your letterhead, suggesting financial improprieties on my part.

He reassigned Romano without consulting me, despite knowing Romano's effectiveness in eastern collections.

And most seriously, he's spoken to Don Vitelli about personal matters, jeopardizing our alliance. "

Father's gaze shifted between us, his expression unreadable. "Paolo?"

"Lorenzo has been distracted lately," Paolo replied smoothly. "I've merely taken precautions to ensure family interests remain protected during his... adjustment period."

I laughed, the sound cold and sharp. "And who determined I needed management, cousin? Who appointed you my keeper?"

"I've observed—"

"You've overstepped," I interrupted, allowing steel to enter my voice. "You've made decisions that weren't yours to make. You've spoken on matters that weren't yours to discuss. And you've used Father's authority without his knowledge to do so."

The last accusation landed precisely as intended. Father's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Is this true, Paolo? You used my letterhead without consultation?"

Paolo shifted slightly. "A minor administrative oversight in service of family protection—"

"It was forgery," I stated flatly. "And it calls into question every other action he's taken. Was reassigning Romano your decision, Father? Was discussing my personal life with the Vitellis your directive?"