Page 53 of The Seventh Circle
"And Romano? He'll be handling collections with you?"
Lorenzo's fingers tightened imperceptibly on the newspaper. "Yes. He's been effective with the shopkeepers."
"Indeed. Quite the friendship you two have developed."
His expression remained neutral, but a vein pulsed once at his temple. "He's useful."
I smiled. "Certainly. Uncle Salvatore appreciates men who know their use."
After Lorenzo departed, I lingered over coffee, considering my next move. I'd spent years protecting my uncle's interests, anticipating threats before they materialized. This situation with Lorenzo felt increasingly like a threat, though its exact nature remained unclear.
I found Luca smoking in the courtyard. A discreet man with sharp eyes, he'd served our family for fifteen years without ambition or complaint—the perfect shadow.
"The heir," I said without preamble. "I want to know where he goes when he's not on family business."
Luca nodded once. "And Romano?"
My estimation of Luca increased. "Him too. Separately and together. Every movement, every meeting. Especially anything unusual."
"Consider it done."
I handed him an envelope of cash. "Discretion above all. Not even Don Salvatore hears of this until I decide otherwise."
Three days later, Luca delivered his first report. Lorenzo had maintained his usual schedule—collections, meetings with shopkeepers, dinner with the Vitelli girl—but with one significant deviation. Twice he'd slipped away to an abandoned property on the city's edge, a run-down villa that had once belonged to a minor noble family.
"And Romano?" I asked.
"Joins him there. They remain for hours, then leave separately."
I tapped my fingers against my desk. "Anyone else? Women, perhaps?"
Matteo shook his head. "Just the two of them."
A business arrangement would require additional parties—suppliers, potential partners, new territories. Two men repeatedly meeting alone in seclusion suggested something else entirely.
"Has Romano been acting differently with his family?"
"His mother mentioned Milano several times. The brother seems excited about it."
"Milano." The word carried weight. Far enough from Rome to escape family influence, close enough to the northern borders if escape became necessary. "And have they made any unusual purchases? Train tickets, perhaps?"
"Not yet. But Romano visited a bank yesterday. Withdrew a significant sum."
The pieces were assembling themselves. Lorenzo's questions about his mother's villa, Antonio's interest in Milano, their secretive meetings, the changed demeanor. My cousin was planning something foolish—perhaps catastrophically so.
"Continue watching them. I want to know the moment either makes arrangements to travel."
After Luca left, I poured myself a generous measure of whisky and considered my options. If Lorenzo was merely planning to flee his responsibilities—abandoning the family and his engagement—Uncle Salvatore would be furious but could recover. The Vitelli arrangement would be salvaged, a different successor groomed.
But if there was more to his relationship with Romano—the kind of relationship that would destroy our family's standing if discovered—the damage would be irreparable.
I needed confirmation before approaching Uncle Salvatore. Accusations of that nature against his only son would require absolute certainty.
The opportunity came sooner than expected. Two days later, I followed Lorenzo myself when he slipped away after dinner, claiming a headache. Rather than returning to his rooms, he exited through the garden, moving with the confidence of a man who had traveled this path before.
The villa sat like a crumbling sentinel on abandoned grounds. I positioned myself at a broken section of wall with clear sightlines to the entrance. Romano arrived shortly after, glancing around before entering—another telling sign. Men with nothing to hide don't check for watchers.
I circled the property, finding a side entrance that allowed me to slip inside unnoticed. The building's dilapidated state worked to my advantage; broken floorboards and crumbling plaster forced me to move slowly, silently.
