Page 43 of The Seventh Circle
"Yes, but at what cost?" I leaned forward, clasping my hands. "The neighbourhood looks at me differently. They're grateful, Father. Grateful for violence done in their name."
He sat beside me. "And this disturbs you."
"Shouldn't it? I didn't stop it. I stood by while Paolo..."
"You chose your family's safety," he said gently. "As you've always done."
I thought of Lorenzo, of our stolen moments at the villa. "And there's the other matter."
Understanding softened his features. "Your feelings haven't changed?"
"They've grown stronger," I confessed. "We've spoken. Things have happened between us. He feels the same."
Father Giuseppe was quiet for a long moment, his fingers tracing the wooden rosary at his belt. "Two impossible choices, then. Your work that protects your family but stains your hands. And a love that nourishes your soul but puts you in danger."
"What am I to do?" I whispered.
"Live with complexity," he answered simply. "Find moments of grace where you can. With your brother, your parents. With him." He didn't need to specify who. "The world rarely offers pure choices, Antonio. Sometimes we navigate between evils, searching for slivers of good."
I thought of Enzo's proud smile when he solved his equation, of Lorenzo's gentle touch, of Mama's soup warming our small kitchen. Slivers of good amidst the darkness.
"Tomorrow," I said, "Lorenzo and I meet again. To plan... whatever this becomes."
Father Giuseppe nodded. "Be discreet. Be wise. But Antonio—" he touched my shoulder lightly "—don't reject love when it finds you, even in unexpected forms. Such gifts are rare in this world, even if society deems them forbidden."
I left the church with his blessing weighing on me, the impossible path ahead somehow clearer for having been acknowledged. In the distance, the Benedetto compound rose above the city, where Lorenzo played his part as the dutiful son, as I played mine as the loyal soldier. Both of us pretending,both of us waiting for the moment when pretense could fall away.
Between those worlds—violence and love, duty and desire—I would have to find my way.
LORENZO
I waited until half past three to slip out of the house, taking care to avoid the guards at the eastern gate where Uncle Federico had increased security. My conversation with Sophia Vitelli still echoed in my mind as I briskly walked, her intelligence and warmth making the deception all the more painful. I'd spent the entire car ride home silent, staring out the window while Father discussed dowries and business arrangements as if they were one and the same.
The night air carried the scent of orange blossoms as I walked toward Villa San Michele. I'd taken a circuitous route, doubling back twice to ensure I wasn't followed. Paolo had been watching me more carefully since the Torrino incident, his eyes narrow with something like suspicion. The thought of him discovering Antonio and me turned my blood to ice.
The villa stood silhouetted against the midnight sky, a shadow of its former glory. I approached silently, heart quickening at the faint glow of candlelight through the broken shutters.
Antonio was already there, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the small flame. He turned at my footsteps, relief washing over his features.
"You came," he said, as if he'd genuinely feared I wouldn't.
"I promised." I closed the distance between us, wanting totake him in my arms but hesitating. Something in my face must have betrayed me.
"The dinner?" he asked quietly.
I nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "It's done. The arrangement is made."
"And the girl?"
"Sophia," I corrected gently. "Her name is Sophia."
Antonio's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "And what is Sophia like?"
I sank down onto the dusty chaise, suddenly exhausted. "Intelligent. Well-read. Trapped." I rubbed my face. "She doesn't want this any more than I do. She quoted Machiavelli while her father discussed olive exports."
"You liked her," Antonio said, not a question but an observation.
"I respect her," I clarified. "She deserves better than being a bargaining chip in our fathers’ business dealings."
