Page 29 of The Seventh Circle
The question carried more weight than its simplicity suggested. Why here, and not the vast Benedetto estate with its libraries and gardens? Why sneak away to an abandoned villa?
"Because nothing was expected of me here," I said, the truth spilling out before I could reconsider. "I wasn't Lorenzo Benedetto, heir to my father's empire. I was just... me. Whoever that might be."
Antonio's eyes met mine, dark and unreadable in the half-light. "And who is that? The real Lorenzo?"
My heart hammered against my ribs. We were no longer talking about security concerns or Torrino's men. This moment, this question, balanced on a knife's edge.
"Someone who wants things he cannot have," I said softly. "Someone who dreams of a different life than the one chosen for him."
A floorboard creaked as Antonio shifted his weight, closing the distance between us by half a step. "What things does he want?"
The air between us seemed to crackle with electricity. Father Giuseppe's words echoed in my mind:Love itself is not the sin. It is what we do with that love that matters.
"Freedom," I whispered. "Honesty. The courage to reach for what he desires instead of accepting what duty demands."
Antonio's expression changed subtly—his careful maskslipping to reveal something vulnerable and fierce. "Dangerous things to want in your position."
"The most precious things often are." I took a deliberate step closer, close enough to see the flecks of amber in his brown eyes. "But here, in this place... I've always felt braver than I am."
"You are brave, Lorenzo," he said, my name sounding different on his lips—tender, almost reverent. "Braver than you know."
The confession rose to my lips, demanding release after so long contained. "Antonio, I—"
The confession died on my lips as Antonio moved—decisive, purposeful—closing the final distance between us with unexpected grace. His hands found my face, calloused palms cupping my jaw with a gentleness that belied their strength. Before I could finish my thought, his mouth was on mine, warm and insistent, stealing the words I'd been struggling to form.
I stiffened at the contact, shock rippling through me despite all my secret longing. This was real. This was happening. Antonio Romano was kissing me in the abandoned villa, his body pressed against mine, his warmth seeping through layers of expensive fabric to reach my skin.
For one terrible moment, I remained frozen—years of careful restraint and fear paralyzing me even as everything I wanted was finally being offered. Antonio began to pull away, uncertainty flickering across his face.
That retreat shattered my hesitation. I surged forward, one hand grasping the back of his neck, the other clutching at his waist, dragging him back to me with a desperation that surprised us both. I kissed him with the accumulated hunger of months of wanting, years of denial, a lifetime of hiding. His lips parted under the force of my need, and I tasted him—coffee and tobacco and something uniquely, intoxicatingly Antonio.
We crashed backward against the wall, dust motes swirling around us in the shafts of filtered sunlight. My body pressed his against the faded wallpaper, our chests heaving together as though we'd run for miles. The kiss deepened, grew wilder—teeth grazing lips, tongues seeking, breaths mingling hot and urgent.
"Lorenzo," he gasped when we finally broke apart, my name a prayer and a question.
I answered by kissing him again, softer this time but no less intent. My hands traced the contours of his face, memorizing by touch what I'd only been allowed to observe from a respectful distance—the strong line of his jaw, the slight roughness of stubble, the surprising softness of his lower lip.
"I've wanted this," I confessed against his mouth, "for so long."
Antonio's hands slid from my face to my shoulders, then down my back, pulling me closer. "I thought I was alone in this madness."
"Not alone," I whispered, pressing my forehead to his. "Never alone in this."
His eyes searched mine, dark and serious. "You know what they would do to us."
"I know." The reality hovered around us even in this sanctuary—my father's rage, the family's retribution, the church's condemnation. Death would be the kindest outcome. "But here, now, I don't care."
"You should care," he said, even as his fingers curled possessively into the fabric of my jacket. "You have everything to lose."
I laughed softly, the sound bitter even to my own ears. "Everything? A marriage to a woman I'll never love the waythe world expects? The inheritance of my father's cruelty? The weight of his empire crushing whatever's left of my soul?" I traced the outline of Antonio's lips with my thumb. "What I have to lose is nothing compared to what I might gain."
His expression softened, vulnerability showing through the cracks of his usual guardedness. "And what might that be?"
"This." I kissed him again, gentle but deep. "You. A chance at something real."
Antonio's hands moved to frame my face, his touch reverent. "We can't have a life together. You know that."
"Perhaps not openly," I conceded. "Not now. But we can have moments. We can have truth between us, even if the rest of the world sees lies."
