Page 25 of The Seventh Circle
The door opened, and Paolo stepped in. "Lorenzo, your father wants a word before you leave."
The moment shattered. Lorenzo's expression closed, returning to the professional mask of the Benedetto heir.
"Of course," he said. "Antonio, wait for me by the gate. This won't take long."
As I walked back through the grand house, I wondered what Lorenzo had been about to suggest. And I wondered, with equal parts hope and terror, whether the feelings I'd confessed in the sanctity of the church might actually be returned.
LORENZO
Father stood at his window, hands clasped behind his back as he studied the estate grounds with the same calculating gaze he used to assess potential threats. His reflection in the glass revealed nothing of his thoughts—a skill I'd spent a lifetime trying to master.
"You wanted to see me, Father?" I kept my voice neutral, professional.
He turned, his eyes flickering over me with practiced assessment. "The collections from the eastern quarter are down this month."
Not a question. An accusation wrapped in observation. I maintained a steady expression, though my mind raced to the ledgers I'd been keeping. I'd known this conversation was inevitable.
"Some businesses have struggled with the dry summer. The Moretti bakery lost inventory to mold, and Salvini's wife has been ill—"
"I'm not interested in their excuses," Father interrupted, moving to his desk with deliberate steps. "And neither shouldyou be."
He picked up a ledger—one of mine—and opened it to a marked page. His fingers traced the careful numbers I'd recorded. "Three months ago, the eastern collections brought in seventeen percent more. What changed?"
"Nothing changed," I said. "Business fluctuates."
"No." He closed the ledger with a snap. "What changed is your approach. Paolo tells me you've been lenient. Making exceptions. Accepting partial payments with promises of the remainder."
Paolo. Of course. My cousin had always positioned himself as the true son my father deserved—one without my inconvenient conscience.
"I've been building relationships," I said carefully. "These people work hard. When we accommodate temporary setbacks, they remain loyal."
Father laughed, a short, sharp sound devoid of humor. "Loyalty? They aren't loyal, Lorenzo. They're afraid. The moment they sense weakness, they'll exploit it." He rounded the desk, standing close enough that I could smell the expensive cologne he favored. "Your grandfather understood this. I understand this. Why do you struggle with such a simple concept?"
I met his gaze. "Because I believe fear only works until someone offers a better alternative."
"And what alternative do you offer? Kindness?" He practically spat the word. "Kindness is a luxury for those who don't have empires to maintain."
I felt the familiar tightening in my chest—the constriction of expectations, of a life predetermined from my first breath. "The Benedetto name could mean more than just fear."
"It means respect," he corrected. "Respect earned throughgenerations of strength. Your philosophical notions have no place in our world."
He moved to the sideboard, pouring himself a small measure of brandy though it wasn't yet noon. The familiar ritual meant he was settling in for a lecture.
"The cobbler on Via Merulana," he said, swirling the amber liquid. "His payment was half what it should have been."
"His wife has consumption. The medicine—"
"Is not our concern." Father's voice cut like a blade. "Do you think the Torrinos care about a cobbler's dying wife? They would take his entire shop and throw him into the street."
"Which is precisely why we're different," I countered.
"We're different because we're stronger, more disciplined." He set his glass down with precise control. "Not because we're softer."
I recognized the folly of arguing further. Twenty-six years had taught me when to bend.
"You're right, Father. I'll ensure the full amounts are collected going forward."
He studied me, assessing the sincerity of my capitulation. "Good. The world sees what we allow it to see, Lorenzo. Show weakness to our enemies, and they'll destroy everything we've built."
