Page 72 of The Seventh Circle
"Lorenzo, think. Your father will be furious. An unsanctioned killing—"
"I don't care." I grabbed my coat. "Antonio needs me."
"They'll kill him for this, Lorenzo."
"Not if I can help it." I moved toward the door, then paused. "Father, please come with me. Say you're there to perform last rites for Antonio's family."
Father Giuseppe hesitated only a moment before nodding. "I'll bring my kit."
The Benedetto compound loomed in the darkness, windows glowing with lamplight despite the late hour. Guards at the gate straightened when they saw me approach with Father Giuseppe beside me.
"The priest is here for the Romano family," I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. "Where is Antonio?"
"In the small study, Heir Lorenzo," one guard answered. "Your father is finishing business with Signor Capelli before seeing him."
We moved through the courtyard. Every shadow seemed to whisper of death. I could feel Father Giuseppe's concerned gaze on me, but I kept my eyes forward, my steps measured. I couldn't falter now. Not when Antonio needed me most.
The small study door was guarded by Marco, one of Paolo's men. He moved to block me.
"I need to see him," I said.
"Paolo said no one enters."
I drew myself up, summoning every ounce of my father's authority. "I am not 'no one,' Marco. I am Lorenzo Benedetto, and you will step aside."
Marco's eyes widened at my tone. He hesitated, then moved aside.
"Father Giuseppe will wait out here," I added. "This is a private matter."
I entered the study and closed the door behind me. The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp. Antonio sat slumped in a chair, his clothes caked with dried blood. Fresh bandages covered wounds on his arms, leg, and face, hastily applied to keep him alive for my father's judgment.
"Antonio."
He looked up, his eyes hollow, vacant. Those beautiful eyesthat had always held such warmth, such intelligence—now they were empty wells of grief.
I crossed to him in three strides, falling to my knees before him. "Antonio, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
His face crumpled then, the stoic mask shattering. I pulled him into my arms as his body shook with silent sobs.
"They killed them all," he whispered against my neck. "Enzo was still in his bed."
I held him tighter, feeling his tears soak my collar. My own eyes burned. "This is my fault. If I hadn't—"
"No." His voice strengthened. "This is Torrino. And Paolo."
"Paolo?" I pulled back to see his face.
"He knew. He sent me to Ostia to get me away from them." Antonio's voice broke. "He left them unprotected, knowing Torrino wanted revenge. He told them when to strike."
The pieces fell into place with sickening clarity. Paolo hadn't just been trying to separate us—he'd orchestrated this. Used Torrino's vendetta to eliminate Antonio's family, knowing exactly how Antonio would respond.
"I killed him, Lorenzo." Antonio's eyes met mine, seeking something—forgiveness, understanding, I wasn't sure. "I carved their names into him before I cut his throat."
I should have been horrified. Instead, I felt only a cold, hard certainty that Torrino had deserved every cut.
"We'll figure this out," I promised, though I had no idea how. "We'll find a way."
Antonio's hand, bloody and bruised, reached up to touch my face. "There is no way out of this, Lorenzo. Not for me."
