Page 28 of The Seventh Circle (The Lost Cantos #1)

Father's jaw tightened. I could see the calculations running behind his eyes—not about Paolo's guilt, but about the power dynamics suddenly shifting in his study.

"These matters could have been discussed privately," Paolo said, attempting to regain ground. "Bringing them before Don Salvatore now, just before an important dinner—"

"Is exactly what should happen," I countered. "Because I am the heir to this family, not you. Because decisions about my accounts, my men, and my engagement are mine to make, with Father's guidance—not yours to manipulate behind closed doors."

I turned back to Father, meeting his gaze directly. "I've tolerated Paolo's interference out of respect for his service to our family. But his recent actions suggest he's forgotten his place. He is not the heir. He does not speak for you. And he does not control me."

The silence that followed was absolute. Father leaned back in his chair, studying me with new intensity. I recognized the look—satisfaction mingled with calculation. I had surprised him, and in our family, surprises were rarely welcome.

"You've been unusually passive these past weeks, Lorenzo," he finally said. "I was beginning to wonder if you still wanted your birthright."

"My commitment to this family has never wavered," I replied. "But neither have I forgotten who leads it, and who will lead it after you. It isn't Paolo."

Father turned to Paolo, whose face had become carefully neutral. "You overreached, nephew. Using my letterhead without permission is a serious breach of trust."

"Uncle, I—"

Father raised a hand, silencing him instantly. "Your loyalty is commendable. Your methods are not. The heir speaks with my voice when I permit it. You do not."

Paolo bowed his head slightly. "I apologize for any overreach. My concerns about Lorenzo's focus remain, but I should have brought them directly to you."

I recognized the tactical retreat. Paolo wasn't beaten—merely regrouping. But for now, I had regained the upper hand.

"The accounts will be unfrozen immediately," Father declared.

"There will be no more discussions with the Vitellis about family matters without my explicit approval.

Romano, however, will remain under Paolo.

It's good that he gets exposed to different leadership within the family," He looked at Paolo. "Is that clear?"

"Perfectly, Uncle."

Father turned back to me, his eyes calculating. "As for your focus, Lorenzo—I expect tonight's dinner with the Vitellis to demonstrate your full commitment to this alliance. Don Vitelli is pushing for an earlier wedding date. I'm inclined to agree."

My stomach clenched, but I kept my expression neutral. "I'll speak with Sophia about her preferences. It's her wedding too."

Father's lips quirked in what might have been approval. "Diplomatic. Good. The girl seems intelligent—her input on timing may be valuable." He glanced at his watch. "We leave in thirty minutes. Both of you, dress appropriately."

Paolo and I exited the study together, the tension between us palpable. In the hallway, he paused, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear.

"Well played, cousin. I underestimated you."

"A mistake you won't make again, I'm sure."

His smile was cold. "We're merely postponing our conversation, Lorenzo. Not concluding it."

"When we have that conversation, Paolo, remember today. Remember who Father listened to. Remember who the heir is."

I left him there, walking with deliberate confidence toward my rooms. Only when my door closed behind me did I allow myself to exhale shakily.

The confrontation had gone better than I'd dared hope, but Paolo wasn't defeated.

He would be watching more carefully now, gathering evidence rather than simply acting on suspicion.

I had bought us time, nothing more. But time was what we needed most.

The Vitelli estate glowed with lanterns as our car approached. Father sat beside me, unusually thoughtful.

"You surprised me today," he said abruptly.

"How so?"

"I've been concerned about your readiness to lead. Your reluctance with necessary violence, your philosophical tendencies..." He adjusted his cufflinks. "But today you demonstrated authority. Decisiveness."

"Paolo forced my hand."

"Perhaps that was useful." Father studied me. "You've always been your mother's son, Lorenzo. Thoughtful. Considerate. These are not weaknesses in themselves, but they can become weaknesses if they prevent necessary action."

I absorbed this rare moment of paternal insight. "And today?"

"Today you were my son." The words carried more weight than any praise he'd ever given me. "Remember how that felt. The family needs both aspects of your nature—your mother's heart and my will."

We sat in silence as the car stopped before the Vitelli mansion. Servants opened our doors, and Don Vitelli himself emerged to greet us.

"Salvatore! Lorenzo! Welcome, welcome." His effusive greeting carried across the manicured grounds. "Sophia has been anticipating your arrival all day."

Father clasped Don Vitelli's hand warmly. "Giovanni, you're too generous with your hospitality. We're honored to be here."

I scanned the entrance, noting Paolo's absence. "Will Paolo be joining us?" I asked casually.

"He had some business to conclude," Father replied. "He'll arrive later."

Sophia appeared in the doorway, resplendent in deep blue silk. Her smile was practiced but her eyes remained watchful as I approached and kissed her hand.

"You look beautiful," I said.

"And you look triumphant," she murmured, taking my arm as we entered the house. "Something has changed since yesterday."

Her perception was unsettling. "Family matters resolved favourably."

"I see." She guided me toward the salon where aperitifs awaited. "And does this resolution affect our arrangement?"

I chose my words carefully, aware of ears everywhere. "It reaffirms my commitment to family obligations."

She studied me for a long moment, then nodded almost imperceptibly. "I understand completely."

As we joined the gathering, I caught Father watching us with approval.

I had reasserted my position as heir, temporarily neutralized Paolo's interference, and presented the perfect image of an engaged man.

Father was satisfied. The path ahead remained treacherous, but at least now Antonio and I had room to maneuver.

I accepted a glass of prosecco, smiling at Sophia with practiced charm. For tonight, I would play my role perfectly. Tomorrow, Antonio and I would begin plotting our true escape—more carefully this time, with the knowledge that Paolo's eyes were everywhere.

For now, I had won a battle. But the war for our freedom had only just begun.