Page 37 of The Seventh Circle
Antonio inhaled sharply. "So soon?"
"He thinks I need to be anchored more firmly to the family. To our traditions." I couldn't keep the bitterness from my voice. "Apparently, my sensitivity, as he calls it, concerns him."
"This changes things," Antonio said quietly, his practical mind already working through the implications.
"It does." I ran a hand through my hair, frustration building. "I thought we'd have more time to figure something out, but now..."
"Now we need to decide," Antonio finished for me, stepping closer. "Today. Not someday."
The certainty in his voice made my heart race. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that last night, after I left you, I went home and looked at my family—really looked at them." His eyes held mine, intense and resolute. "My father's back is getting worse. The dock work is killing him. Enzo needs schooling I can't afford on honest wages. And my mother..." He shook his head. "She's aged ten years in the last two, worrying about me."
"Antonio—"
"Let me finish," he said, holdingup a hand. "I realized something. I joined the Benedettos to protect them, to provide for them. But the longer I stay in this life, the more danger I bring to their door. Those men watching our building? That's just the beginning."
I felt something shift in the air between us, a current of possibility I hardly dared acknowledge.
"There's a cousin of my mother's," Antonio continued, his voice low and urgent now. "In Milano. I've never met him, but she corresponds with his wife. They own a small bookshop. No children of their own."
My breath caught. "Antonio, what are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting that maybe there's another way to protect my family. To get them out of Rome, away from the Benedettos and Torrinos and all of it." His eyes never left mine. "My mother mentioned once that her cousin always wanted Enzo to come apprentice with him when he was older."
"You would send them away?" I asked, trying to understand where this was leading.
"I would send them to safety," he corrected. "And then..." He hesitated, as if gathering courage. "And then I would be free to make a different choice."
The implication hung in the air between us, too fragile to name directly.
"What about you?" I asked. "You'd stay here? In danger?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I know I can't keep doing this—living divided between my family and my heart." He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. "Last night on that roof, we talked about finding another path. This morning, I'm asking if you meant it."
Did I mean it? The question cut through all my carefully constructed rationalizations, my lifetime of compromise and obligation. I thought of the meeting with Vitelli waiting forme, of my father's expectations, of the blood-soaked legacy I was meant to inherit.
"I meant it," I said, the words both terrifying and liberating. "But Antonio, what you're suggesting—it's not simple. My father wouldn't just let me walk away. And your family—they'd need money, protection—"
"I have some savings," he said. "Not much, but enough to get them to Milano, to help them settle. As for protection..." His expression hardened. "Once they're gone, there's no leverage against me. Against us."
The thought of Antonio standing against my family, against Paolo, made my blood run cold. "You can't fight them alone."
"I won't be alone," he said simply, his eyes holding mine. "Will I?"
The question contained multitudes—a challenge, a plea, a declaration of faith. I felt something crack inside my chest, a fissure in the careful façade I'd maintained my entire life.
"No," I said, the word feeling like a vow. "You won't be alone." I reached for his hand, twining our fingers together. "I have access to money—my mother's inheritance. It's in a separate account my father doesn't control. Not a fortune, but enough to help your family start over. Enough for us to..." I couldn't finish the thought, the possibility still too fragile to voice.
"Enough for us to disappear?" Antonio suggested, his voice barely above a whisper.
The world seemed to hold its breath around us. Disappear. The word held danger and promise in equal measure.
"It wouldn't be easy," I cautioned. "My father would look for me. His reach is long."
"But not endless," Antonio countered. "There are places even the Benedettos don't control."
"You've thought about this," I realized.
