Page 29 of The Seventh Circle (The Lost Cantos #1)

LORENZO

The Vitelli dinner concluded with the clink of crystal and a pronouncement that struck like a funeral bell.

"A toast," Father declared, raising his glass. "To the formal celebration of Lorenzo and Sophia's engagement, to be held at our estate in three days' time."

Three days. Not the weeks or months I'd expected.

My smile remained fixed as glasses rose around me. Sophia's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on my arm, her face a perfect mask of demure pleasure that revealed nothing of her thoughts.

"We're honoured by your enthusiasm, Salvatore," Don Vitelli responded, his pleasure evident. "Such a swift celebration speaks to the importance of this union."

"When something is right, why delay?" Father's gaze settled on me with unmistakable meaning. "Lorenzo agrees, don't you, son?"

I lifted my glass. "To new beginnings," I said, the words tasting like ash. Sophia's eyes found mine for a fleeting moment before she sipped her champagne, her expression unreadable.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of congratulations and plans. Don Vitelli spoke of business opportunities while his wife discussed guest lists with Father. I played my part mechanically, aware that with each passing minute, the noose around my neck tightened.

Later, as we departed, Father clasped my shoulder with rare affection. "You've made me proud today, Lorenzo. This is the beginning of your true inheritance—family, respect, legacy."

I nodded, unable to form words around the knot in my throat.

In the car returning home, Father outlined his vision for the celebration, speaking of prominent families to invite and the message our union would send across all of Rome.

Paolo remained conspicuously absent, handling "business" that I knew with cold certainty involved Antonio.

Three days. Seventy-two hours to salvage what remained of our escape plans.

Morning found me at Santa Maria degli Angeli before the first mass. The church stood empty save for an elderly woman lighting candles at the Virgin's feet. I waited, watching dawn light filter through stained glass until Father Giuseppe emerged from the sacristy.

His eyes widened slightly at the sight of me, then narrowed with understanding. He approached, making the sign of the cross as though blessing a random parishioner.

"You look troubled, my son," he said, loud enough for the old woman to hear. Then, softer: "Follow me to the confession."

Inside the confessional's sheltering darkness, I wasted no time. "They've accelerated everything. The formal engagement celebration is in three days."

"I feared something like this might happen." His voice came calm through the screen. "Have you seen Antonio?"

"No. Paolo has him working in Ostia, kept deliberately away from me." The ache of Antonio's absence had become physical, a hollow pain beneath my ribs. "My accounts are accessible again, but I'm being watched too closely to withdraw significant funds."

"And your plans to leave?"

"In shambles. Without money or Antonio..." I pressed my palms against my eyes. "Father Giuseppe, I need your help. We both do."

A long silence followed, broken only by the distant sounds of the church coming to life. "What you ask could put me at considerable risk."

"I know. I wouldn't ask if—"

"I'll do what I can." His interruption surprised me. "Not just for you, Lorenzo. For what you and Antonio represent. Love in this brutal world of ours is too precious to surrender without a fight."

Relief washed through me. "Thank you."

"I can carry messages between you. Perhaps arrange a meeting. As for money..." He hesitated. "The church has emergency funds for those in dire need. It isn't much, but it might help you reach Milano."

"You would do that for us?"

"Christ himself protected the vulnerable and challenged the powerful." A hint of steel entered his voice. "I've heard too many confessions from men like your father not to recognize when true goodness presents itself."

We arranged a system: messages left beneath a loose stone in the church garden wall, a code to indicate urgency. Father Giuseppe would attempt to contact Antonio today.

"One last thing," I said before leaving. "If anything happens to me, please help Antonio and his family escape regardless. Promise me."

The silence stretched long enough that I wondered if he'd heard.

"I promise," he finally said. "But Lorenzo—be careful. Men like your father and Paolo... they don't lose gracefully."

I crossed myself mechanically. "Neither do I, Father. Not anymore."

By midday, preparations for the engagement celebration had transformed our estate into a hive of activity.

Servants scurried with lists and decorations while Father held court in his study, receiving reports from captains about security arrangements.

Uncle Federico supervised the wine selection with military precision.

I moved through it all like a ghost, playing my part while my mind raced through contingencies.

Each conversation became a performance, each smile a mask.

Father beamed with approval at my apparent enthusiasm, taking my requests to review guest lists and seating arrangements as signs of my commitment.

Paolo returned mid-afternoon, smelling of the sea and looking grimly satisfied. He found me in the library reviewing invitation cards.

"Cousin," he greeted, helping himself to a decanter of brandy. "Playing the dutiful heir-to-be-married, I see."

"And you've been enjoying the seaside?" I kept my tone neutral, though my heart hammered at the mention of Ostia where Antonio had been sent.

"Hardly enjoyable. Shipping concerns." His smile revealed nothing. "Your man Romano has proven quite useful, though. Thorough in his duties."

"Antonio has always been a valuable asset to the family." I met his gaze steadily. "Is he well?"

"Concerned about his family, naturally. Working hard to ensure their safety." The threat hung unspoken between us. "He asked after you, actually. Said something about unfinished accounts that needed your attention."

My breath caught. A message. "I'll need to review those with him soon."

"Of course. Family business comes first." Paolo sipped his brandy. "But perhaps after the celebration. No distractions until then, yes? Your father's orders."

He left me with the distinct impression that Antonio remained alive and unharmed—for now—but also that Paolo had no intention of allowing us to communicate before the engagement was formalized.

Evening descended with no word from Father Giuseppe. I found myself on the terrace overlooking the gardens, struggling against the crushing weight of helplessness. Below me, workers strung lanterns between trees, preparing for a celebration that felt increasingly like my execution.

"Brooding doesn't suit you."

I turned to find Sophia approaching, wrapped in a simple shawl against the evening chill. Her presence surprised me—I hadn't known she was visiting.

"Neither does artifice, yet here we are," I replied, too weary for pretense.

She joined me at the balustrade, her profile illuminated by the setting sun. "Your father invited us for dinner to discuss celebration details. I escaped while the men argue about music and politics." She studied me with that penetrating gaze. "You look terrible."

A surprised laugh escaped me. "Not what a man hopes to hear from his fiancée."

"I'm not your fiancée yet, Lorenzo. Not truly." She turned fully toward me. "And I don't think I ever will be, will I?"

The directness of her question stunned me into silence.

"Walk with me," she said, a command rather than request. "These walls have ears."

We descended to the garden, following gravel paths between cypress trees. Workers nodded respectfully as we passed, but Sophia led us beyond their presence to a small fountain partially hidden by hedges. The burble of water would mask our conversation.

"I'm not a fool, Lorenzo," she said when we were alone. "Something significant stands between us—something beyond the normal reluctance of an arranged marriage."

"Sophia—"

"No." She raised a hand. "I don't need details. In fact, I prefer not to have them. But I want you to understand something: I don't wish to chain myself to a man whose heart lives elsewhere."

I stared at her, this woman I'd underestimated so thoroughly. "What exactly do you know?"

"I know Paolo cornered me to suggest you have 'unnatural attachments.

' I know your cousin watches you like a predator.

" Her voice softened. "I know a trapped man when I see one, Lorenzo.

I've spent my life surrounded by women who married men who didn't love them.

I've watched their souls wither year by year. "

"You surprise me," I admitted.

"Good. Perhaps we might have been friends in another life." She glanced back toward the house, then lowered her voice further. "Listen carefully. There are always choices, even when it seems all doors have closed. Sometimes duty becomes its own prison."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that freedom takes many forms, and the bravest choice isn't always the most obvious one.

" Her eyes held mine. "My father has a shipping office in Genoa.

The manager there, Signor Belmonte, is a kind man who owes my father nothing but handles his accounts regardless.

If someone were to arrive with the right introduction, he might assist them. "

My heart pounded. "Why would you help me?"

"Because I want my own freedom too, Lorenzo." A sad smile crossed her lips. "An unwilling husband is as much my prison as an unwanted wife is yours."

"If I disappear, the alliance between our families—"

"Will continue without us. My younger sister Lucia is sixteen and much more biddable than I. My father will adjust his plans accordingly." She withdrew a folded paper from her sleeve. "This is a letter of introduction to Signor Belmonte. Do with it what you will."

I took the paper, speechless with gratitude and confusion.

"Whatever you choose, decide quickly," she added. "Three days is not much time, and my father plans to announce the wedding date at the celebration."

"Sophia, I don't know how to thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." She stepped back. "You still need to choose freedom over duty, and that's the hardest choice of all. Few men in your position have the courage for it."

"And what about you? What freedom do you seek?"

Her smile turned mysterious. "Perhaps a lengthy stay with my aunt in Florence, pursuing my interest in art. Perhaps something else entirely." She straightened her shawl. "We should return before we're missed."

As we walked back toward the house, I saw her differently—not as the burden my father had chosen for me, but as an ally I never expected.

"Whatever happens," I said quietly, "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"As do I, Lorenzo. For both of us."

In my room that night, I examined Sophia's letter. The introduction was genuine, requesting Signor Belmonte's assistance for "my dear friend" with arrangements for sea passage. No names were mentioned, allowing me to present it for myself or another. A significant risk for her to take.

I hid the letter in my copy of Dante, then paced my room, mind racing. Genoa made more sense than Milano—a port city with ships departing daily for France, Spain, even America. If we could reach it undetected...

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. Uncle Federico entered without waiting for response, closing the door silently behind him.

"Nephew," he said, eyes taking in my disheveled appearance. "Your father sent me to ensure you're preparing your speech for the celebration."

I forced a smile. "Of course. Just gathering my thoughts."

Federico watched me with the careful attention he usually reserved for business associates. "Three generations of Benedettos have married to strengthen the family, Lorenzo. Your grandmother, your father, and now you."

"I'm aware of my obligations."

"Are you?" He moved to the window, gazing out at the night. "Your father married your mother to secure the eastern territories. A practical arrangement that became something more. He doesn't speak of it, but her death nearly destroyed him."

I remained silent, uncertain where this unprecedented conversation was heading.

"The point, nephew, is that duty and happiness aren't always opposed." He turned back to me. "But sometimes they are. And when that happens, a man must decide what kind of life he wishes to lead."

My breath caught. "What are you saying, Uncle?"

"I'm saying I've watched you since you were a boy. You have your mother's heart—too gentle for the world we've built." A sadness crossed his face. "Your father believes he can shape you into his image through force of will. Paolo believes he can use your nature against you."

"And what do you believe?"

"I believe a trapped animal will eventually chew off its own leg to escape." He approached, lowering his voice. "Whatever you're planning, Lorenzo, do it before the celebration. Afterward will be too late."

I stared at him, stunned. "You know?"

"I know enough to recognize a man preparing to run." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "I won't help you—my loyalty to your father is absolute. But neither will I stop you, if you're clever about it."

"Why tell me this?"

"Because you remind me of your mother, and I couldn't save her from this life." His hand fell away. "Write your speech, nephew. Be prepared for either path you choose."

He left as silently as he'd arrived, leaving me breathless with the realization that I had more allies than I'd imagined—and that the window for action was closing faster than I'd feared.

The celebration was less than seventy-two hours away. By then, I needed to either secure my escape with Antonio or resign myself to the life my father had chosen for me.

Sophia's words echoed in my mind: Choose freedom over duty.

The hardest choice of all.