Page 63 of The Seventh Circle
"I can carry messages between you. Perhaps arrange a meeting. As for money..." He hesitated. "The church has emergency funds for those in dire need. It isn't much, but it might help you reach Milano."
"You would do that for us?"
"Christ himself protected the vulnerable and challenged the powerful." A hint of steel entered his voice. "I've heard toomany confessions from men like your father not to recognize when true goodness presents itself."
We arranged a system: messages left beneath a loose stone in the church garden wall, a code to indicate urgency. Father Giuseppe would attempt to contact Antonio today.
"One last thing," I said before leaving. "If anything happens to me, please help Antonio and his family escape regardless. Promise me."
The silence stretched long enough that I wondered if he'd heard.
"I promise," he finally said. "But Lorenzo—be careful. Men like your father and Paolo... they don't lose gracefully."
I crossed myself mechanically. "Neither do I, Father. Not anymore."
By midday, preparations for the engagement celebration had transformed our estate into a hive of activity. Servants scurried with lists and decorations while Father held court in his study, receiving reports from captains about security arrangements. Uncle Federico supervised the wine selection with military precision.
I moved through it all like a ghost, playing my part while my mind raced through contingencies. Each conversation became a performance, each smile a mask. Father beamed with approval at my apparent enthusiasm, taking my requests to review guest lists and seating arrangements as signs of my commitment.
Paolo returned mid-afternoon, smelling of the sea and looking grimly satisfied. He found me in the library reviewinginvitation cards.
"Cousin," he greeted, helping himself to a decanter of brandy. "Playing the dutiful heir-to-be-married, I see."
"And you've been enjoying the seaside?" I kept my tone neutral, though my heart hammered at the mention of Ostia where Antonio had been sent.
"Hardly enjoyable. Shipping concerns." His smile revealed nothing. "Your man Romano has proven quite useful, though. Thorough in his duties."
"Antonio has always been a valuable asset to the family." I met his gaze steadily. "Is he well?"
"Concerned about his family, naturally. Working hard to ensure their safety." The threat hung unspoken between us. "He asked after you, actually. Said something about unfinished accounts that needed your attention."
My breath caught. A message. "I'll need to review those with him soon."
"Of course. Family business comes first." Paolo sipped his brandy. "But perhaps after the celebration. No distractions until then, yes? Your father's orders."
He left me with the distinct impression that Antonio remained alive and unharmed—for now—but also that Paolo had no intention of allowing us to communicate before the engagement was formalized.
Evening descended with no word from Father Giuseppe. I found myself on the terrace overlooking the gardens, struggling against the crushing weight of helplessness. Below me, workers strung lanterns between trees, preparing for a celebration that felt increasingly like my execution.
"Brooding doesn't suit you."
I turned to find Sophia approaching, wrapped in a simpleshawl against the evening chill. Her presence surprised me—I hadn't known she was visiting.
"Neither does artifice, yet here we are," I replied, too weary for pretense.
She joined me at the balustrade, her profile illuminated by the setting sun. "Your father invited us for dinner to discuss celebration details. I escaped while the men argue about music and politics." She studied me with that penetrating gaze. "You look terrible."
A surprised laugh escaped me. "Not what a man hopes to hear from his fiancée."
"I'm not your fiancée yet, Lorenzo. Not truly." She turned fully toward me. "And I don't think I ever will be, will I?"
The directness of her question stunned me into silence.
"Walk with me," she said, a command rather than request. "These walls have ears."
We descended to the garden, following gravel paths between cypress trees. Workers nodded respectfully as we passed, but Sophia led us beyond their presence to a small fountain partially hidden by hedges. The burble of water would mask our conversation.
"I'm not a fool, Lorenzo," she said when we were alone. "Something significant stands between us—something beyond the normal reluctance of an arranged marriage."
