Page 71 of The Seventh Circle
"I know exactly who I'm accusing." I lunged at him, knife aiming for his throat.
Despite my injuries, I was fast. But Paolo was faster. Hesidestepped, caught my wrist, and twisted. My knife clattered to the floor. His fist connected with my temple with stunning force.
The room spun. I staggered, tried to swing again, but my body betrayed me. I fell to my knees in Vito's blood.
Paolo crouched down, bringing his face level with mine. His smile was a chilling, predatory thing. "You have fire, Romano. I'll give you that. But you're a fool."
He reached out and patted my bloody cheek, a grotesquely paternal gesture. "You're right," he whispered, his voice a low, confiding hiss. "I did know. I made sure."
The world narrowed to his smirking face.
"Vito was getting sloppy, a liability," Paolo continued conversationally. "And you... you were becoming a distraction for my cousin. I needed to remind you both where your loyalties belong. So, I made a call." His eyes gleamed in the dim light. "I told Vito's lieutenant, 'Romano is back in town, but he'll be visiting his priest around eight o'clock. The window is yours. Make it count.'"
He watched the realization dawn on my face, savoring it. "Vito was a rabid dog I needed to put down. Your family... they were just the bait. I needed to see what you would do. If you would run crying to Lorenzo, or if you would act like a man. Like one of us." He stood up, looking down at me with contemptuous satisfaction. "You chose correctly. A bit messy, but effective."
The rage that had carried me this far curdled into something colder, heavier. This wasn't just Vito's revenge. This was a message from the man standing over me.
"Don Salvatore wants to see you," Paolo said, his voice returning to its cold, official tone as if our intimate confession had never happened. "This changes nothing about your obligations to the family."
Family. The word was ash in my mouth as darkness claimed me.
The last thought before unconsciousness took me: Everyone I've ever loved is gone.
Everyone except Lorenzo.
18
LORENZO
The candles in Santa Maria degli Angeli flickered, casting long shadows across the worn stone floor. I paced the length of the nave, checking my pocket watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. Ten-thirty. Antonio was late.
Father Giuseppe had arranged for us to meet here at ten. I'd managed to slip away from the house after a tense dinner with Father, claiming a need for confession before tomorrow's celebration. He'd smiled, pleased at my apparent piety, unaware I was preparing to disappear from his life forever.
The empty church echoed with my footsteps. Each minute that passed twisted my anxiety tighter. Antonio was never late. Not for anything that mattered, and certainly not for this—our escape, our future, our lives.
I approached the altar, finding strange comfort in the painted suffering of martyred saints. Would we becomemartyrs too? Sacrifices to a world that couldn't accept what we were to each other?
The side door banged open. I spun, relief flooding through me—but it wasn't Antonio who entered. Father Giuseppe rushed down the aisle, his cassock billowing behind him, his face ashen.
"Lorenzo," he gasped, clutching my arm. "You must come quickly."
The dread in his voice froze my blood. "What's happened? Where's Antonio?"
Father Giuseppe's fingers dug into my arm. "The Romano family. They've been murdered. All of them."
The world tilted beneath my feet. "What? No. That's not possible."
"Vito Torrino. His men left a message."
"And Antonio?" My voice didn't sound like my own.
"He found them. Then he went after Torrino."
"Where is he now?"
Father Giuseppe's eyes filled with sorrow. "He killed Vito. Butchered him and five of his men at La Rosa tavern. Your cousin Paolo arrived with your father's soldiers. They've taken Antonio to see Don Salvatore."
I staggered back, my mind racing to make sense of this horror. "We need to go there. Now."
