Page 73 of The Seventh Circle
"Don't say that." I pressed my forehead to his. "I won't lose you too."
In that moment, nothing else mattered—not my father, not the family, not the bloody business that had brought us tothis point. I kissed him, tasting salt and copper, pouring every ounce of my love and desperation into it.
Antonio kissed me back with the fervor of a man who knows it might be his last. His hands clutched at my shirt, pulling me closer, as if he could disappear into me and escape the horror of this night.
"I love you," I whispered against his lips. "We'll go away, start over—"
The door crashed open behind us. We broke apart, but not quickly enough.
Paolo stood in the doorway, his face a mask of disgust. And behind him, his expression shifting from confusion to dawning horror, stood my father.
"What is the meaning of this?" Father's voice was deadly quiet.
I rose to my feet, positioning myself between Antonio and my father. "This isn't what you think—"
"What I think?" Father stepped into the room, his presence seeming to suck all the air away. "What I think is that my son, my heir, was just kissing a man—a soldier—like some degenerate!"
"Don Salvatore," Antonio began, struggling to stand.
"Silence!" Father roared. "You don't speak to me. Not ever again."
Paolo's face held a terrible satisfaction. "I tried to warn you, Uncle. I told you Lorenzo was distracted, that he was making plans behind your back."
"You knew about this... abomination?" Father's eyes never left my face.
"I suspected," Paolo said. "I followed them to an abandoned villa where they met in secret. I heard them planning to run away together after the Romano family moved to Milano."
"Is this true?" Father asked me.
I straightened my shoulders. There was no point in lying now. "Yes."
The word hung in the air like a gunshot. Father's face contorted with rage, then settled into something worse—cold, calculating fury.
"Paolo, bring Father Giuseppe in here."
Paolo left, returning moments later with the priest, whose face paled when he saw the tableau before him.
"Father," I said, "I can explain—"
"There is nothing to explain." Father cut me off. "You've made your choice clear enough."
He reached into his jacket and withdrew his revolver, the pearl handle gleaming in the lamplight. With deliberate movements, he extended it toward me, grip first.
"Now you will make another choice, Lorenzo." His voice was ice. "You will take this gun and kill this... this perversion that has corrupted you. You will prove that you are a Benedetto, worthy of the name and everything that comes with it."
"And if I refuse?" My voice didn't tremble, though my insides quaked.
Father's smile was terrible to behold. "Then Paolo will kill him. Slowly. And you will watch every moment before I cast you out. No name, no money, no protection. You'll be dead within a week."
"Don Salvatore," Father Giuseppe stepped forward. "Please, this is not—"
"Be silent, priest, or leave," Father snapped. "This is family business."
Antonio's hand found mine, squeezing once before letting go. "Do it, Lorenzo," he whispered. "It's alright."
I looked at him, this man who had shown me what lovetruly meant. His eyes held no fear, only a deep sadness and resignation.
"I can't," I whispered back.
