Page 22 of The Seventh Circle
I slipped into a pew and knelt, not praying so much as thinking. Antonio had been here. Had confessed the same struggle. The knowledge was like a flame kindled in my chest—dangerous, yes, but also warming, illuminating.
I wasn't alone in this.
Father Giuseppe's words echoed in my mind. "Discretion is wisdom, not cowardice." Was he actually suggesting that Antonio and I might find a way? The thought was so unexpected, so contrary to everything I'd been raised to believe, that I almost laughed aloud in the quiet church.
Yet I couldn't dismiss it. If Antonio felt as I did—and the priest's words suggested he might—then perhaps there was a path forward. A dangerous, narrow path, yes. One that would require constant vigilance and care. But a path nonetheless.
My father's voice intruded: "Weakness is death in our world." He'd say this feeling was weakness, vulnerability that enemies could exploit.
But perhaps there was strength in it too. The strength to reach for happiness despite the risks. The courage to be fully alive, not just a hollow vessel for the Benedetto legacy.
I rose from the pew, nodding respectfully toward the altar before turning to leave. Outside, the morning had brightened, the streets now bustling with activity. I would need to returnhome soon, resume my duties, maintain the façade of the dutiful heir.
But something had changed. A decision had crystallized within me, not fully formed but growing stronger with each breath.
I would see Antonio today. We would collect payments together, as had become our routine. And somehow, I would find a way to speak to him alone. To discover if what I sensed between us was real, if he felt it too.
The risk was enormous. One wrong word, one misinterpreted glance, and everything could collapse. My family would disown me at best, kill us both at worst. We would need to be careful, patient, strategic.
But for the first time since these feelings had awakened in me, I allowed myself to consider that they might not be my damnation.
They might, against all odds, be my salvation.
I walked more quickly now, purpose in my stride. There would be no grand declarations, no reckless actions. Just a careful testing of the waters, a subtle signal that I was open to... something. If Antonio responded in kind, we would proceed with caution. If not, I would retreat, protecting us both from any fallout.
The thought of seeing him again sent a flutter through my chest that was equal parts terror and anticipation, leaving me lightheaded.
Was this what it felt like to choose one's own path? This dizzying mixture of fear and exhilaration?
As I approached the Benedetto estate, I composed my features into the mask of the dutiful son. No one could suspect the rebellion brewing beneath my skin, the possibility I now dared to consider.
Antonio would arrive soon for our day's work. And I wouldtake the first small, terrifying step toward claiming something for myself, something not dictated by my father or our family's bloody history.
For once in my life, I would risk not for the Benedetto name, but for Lorenzo—the man I might become if I dared to love and be loved in return.
6
ANTONIO
The church bells rang out noon as I stepped into the sunlight, blinking against its sudden brightness. The weight of my confession still lingered, but differently now—no longer crushing my chest but sitting alongside me like an unexpected companion. Father Giuseppe's words echoed in my mind."Love itself is not the sin."Could that be true? Or was it merely what I desperately wanted to believe?
I walked through the market, barely registering the vendors calling their wares. The scarf Lorenzo had given me was tucked inside my jacket, close to my skin. A dangerous token, perhaps, but I couldn't bear to leave it behind.
A familiar voice jolted me from my thoughts. "Romano! Tonio Romano!"
I turned to see Matteo Russo, whose fruit stand sat at the corner of our street. He hurried toward me, wiping his hands on his apron.
"Been looking for you," he said, glancing nervously over hisshoulder. "Those men came back this morning. Three of them this time."
My stomach tightened. "What men?"
"The ones asking questions." He lowered his voice. "About you and your family. One had a scar across his jaw—"
"Vito," I muttered.
"They were watching your building. Said they were friends of yours, but the way they watched..." Matteo shook his head. "My Lucia heard them asking the Widow Moretti which window was yours, which room your brother sleeps in."
Ice flooded my veins. "When?"
