Page 24 of The Seventh Circle
I moved past him into the courtyard, refusing to rise to the bait. Paolo had never approved of Lorenzo's interest in me—professional or otherwise. He sensed something, perhaps, some shift in the dynamic between us that threatened the natural order of things.
The Benedetto home always felt like stepping into another world—marble floors, tapestries, spaces designed for comfort rather than mere survival. I moved through it like a ghost, aware of my ill-fitting presence.
I found Lorenzo in his father's study, bent over account books. He looked up as I entered, and something flashed across his face—relief? Pleasure? It was gonetoo quickly to read.
"Antonio," he said, standing. "I was beginning to worry."
"Had some matters to attend to," I replied, suddenly acutely aware of the distance between us, the careful positioning of furniture, the propriety of our greeting. Had Father Giuseppe spoken to him? Did he know I'd confessed my feelings, or was I imagining the new tension in the air?
"Nothing serious, I hope." His eyes searched mine.
I hesitated, weighing vulnerability against pride. "Vito's men have been watching my family's building. Asking questions about my brother."
Lorenzo's expression hardened. "When?"
"This morning. And before."
He closed the ledger with a snap. "You should have told me sooner."
"I can handle Vito."
"I don't doubt it." Lorenzo moved toward me, stopping at a respectable distance. "But you shouldn't have to handle him alone. That's not how this works."
"How does it work, then?" The question came out sharper than intended.
Something shifted in Lorenzo's gaze—a softening, a question. "We protect our own, Antonio."
Our own.The words hung between us, carrying weight beyond their surface meaning. I was his father's employee, not family. Not "their own" in any real sense. Yet Lorenzo had said it with such conviction.
"I was going to send Enzo to my aunt's," I said, looking away from the intensity in his eyes. "Until things cool down."
"A wise precaution." Lorenzo moved to his desk, opening a drawer. "But perhaps unnecessary. I've spoken with Paolo about your concerns."
My pride bristled. "I didn't ask—"
"You didn't have to." He removed a small pistol, checkingits chamber before tucking it into his jacket. "We'll complete today's collections, then address Vito directly."
"Your father approved this?"
A shadow crossed Lorenzo's face. "My father trusts my judgment in such matters."
I doubted that was true, but didn't press. "And Paolo?"
"Will ensure your family remains undisturbed while we work." Lorenzo gathered the ledger, tucking it into a leather satchel. "I've assigned two men to watch your building."
I should have felt relieved. Instead, complicated emotions swirled in my chest—gratitude, yes, but also shame at needing help, and beneath it all, that constant hum of awareness whenever Lorenzo was near. The way his hands moved as he prepared for our day, the line of his jaw, the careful way he spoke—all of it registered with painful clarity.
"Thank you," I managed.
Lorenzo paused, looking up at me. For a moment, something unguarded passed between us—something that made my confession to Father Giuseppe seem less like madness and more like recognition of what had been building all along.
"Your family's safety matters to me, Antonio," he said quietly. "You matter."
The words were simple, could be interpreted innocently enough by anyone overhearing. But the way he said them, the way his eyes held mine, suggested layers of meaning I barely dared acknowledge.
"We should go," I said, my voice rougher than intended. "The day's getting away from us."
Lorenzo nodded, but hesitated. "There's something I've been wanting to discuss with you. After our collections, perhaps we could—"
