Page 15 of The Seventh Circle
"Then I'll walk with you part way."
I shook my head firmly. "Bad idea. The heir shouldn't be seen in Trastevere at night."And I need distance from you right now, I didn't add.
Lorenzo studied me for a moment, then removed his scarf—fine wool that probably cost more than my month's pay—and handed it to me. "It's cold tonight."
The gesture was so unexpected I took it automatically. The fabric carried his scent—cologne, wine, something uniquely him.
"I can't accept this," I said.
"Consider it practical. You're more valuable to the family healthy than with pneumonia." His smile softened the formal justification.
I should have returned it. Instead, I wrapped it around my neck, the warmth of it immediate. "Thank you."
"Until tomorrow, Romano." He extended his hand.
I took it, our grasp lingering a moment too long. His skin was smooth against my callused palm, his grip firm but not dominating.
"Antonio," I said impulsively. "When we're not on business, you can call me Antonio."
Something shifted in his expression—surprise, followed by pleasure. "Antonio, then." He released my hand. "And you might try 'Lorenzo' occasionally. When we're not on business."
He turned and walked toward the waiting Benedetto car,leaving me with the ghost of his touch and the warmth of his scarf.
I took the long route home, checking repeatedly for followers, my mind replaying our conversation. The way his eyes had held mine. The casual touches that seemed accidental but left my skin burning.
I wasn't a fool. I recognized attraction—I'd felt it before, for other men, though I'd buried those feelings deep. But this was worse than desire for some anonymous dockworker or soldier. This was Lorenzo Benedetto. The heir. My boss.
Even if by some miracle he shared such forbidden inclinations—and I had no evidence beyond wishful thinking—nothing could ever come of it. The Benedetto heir didn't consort with male enforcers from Trastevere. He married eligible daughters from allied families and produced heirs of his own.
Near my building, I paused to remove the scarf, tucking it into my jacket. My family couldn't see this expensive gift. They'd ask questions I couldn't answer.
I climbed the stairs to our apartment, forcing Lorenzo from my thoughts. Tomorrow I would be professional again. The enforcer, nothing more. I would return the scarf with polite thanks. Maintain proper distance.
But alone in my narrow bed that night, his scent still clinging to my skin, I dreamed of different possibilities. Of hands that wrote elegant figures in ledgers tangled with my scarred ones. Of conversations that never ended. Of a world where Lorenzo wasn't the heir and I wasn't his soldier.
Dangerous dreams that could get us both killed.
LORENZO
The car rolled through the night, wheels clattering over cobblestones as Rome's ancient walls loomed silent witness to my weakness. I loosened my collar, still warm despite the missing scarf, and closed my eyes.
Fool. Absolute fool.
I'd gone too far with Antonio—allowing that easy familiarity, sharing personal desires, practically offering him a partnership. The wine had loosened my tongue, but it was no excuse. Father would have me flogged if he knew I'd revealed such vulnerability to an enforcer.
An enforcer you've now invited to use your given name.
The memory of his voice saying "Lorenzo" hadn't even happened yet, but I could already imagine how it would sound in his deep, careful tenor. Antonio Romano—not Romano, not anymore—with his scarred hands and thoughtful eyes that missed nothing.
Antonio, who'd looked at my offered scarf with such transparent confusion before wrapping it around his neck.
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching moonlight slide across the Tiber. The water looked black as ink, swallowing reflections whole. My heart raced with a feeling I recognized but had spent years denying. It wasn't mere attraction anymore, but something deeper taking root.
This wasn't the first time I'd felt drawn to a man, but it was the first time since taking my place as heir apparent that I'd allowed myself to act on it, even in these small ways. I'd been careful since Father had caught me at seventeen with the gardener's son—a mistake that had cost the boy's entire family their positions and home.
You're the heir. The future of our family. This weakness stops now.
Father's words had been carved into me that night with his belt, alongside the understanding that any man I desired would ultimately pay the price for my sin.
