Page 75 of The Seventh Circle
Ilowered the gun, my hand shaking uncontrollably. Even in this, I was a coward. I couldn't follow Antonio into darkness. Not yet.
A soft tap came at my window—so faint I thought I'd imagined it. Then it came again, more insistent.
I crossed the room on unsteady legs and pulled back the curtain. Father Giuseppe's face looked back at me, his expression urgent. I unlatched the window and helped him climb through, bewildered by his presence.
"What are you doing here?" I hissed. "If my father finds you—"
"There's no time," he interrupted. "We must hurry."
"Hurry where? Antonio is dead. I killed him."
Father Giuseppe gripped my shoulders. "No, Lorenzo. Antonio lives."
The world tilted beneath my feet. "What?"
"The bullet struck his shoulder, not his heart. He lostconsciousness from the shock and blood loss." Father Giuseppe's eyes burned with intensity. "Your father and Paolo believe him dead. I declared him so. But we must move quickly before someone examines the body more carefully."
Hope, terrible and fragile, bloomed in my chest. "He's alive?"
"Barely. I've hidden him in the groundskeeper's shed, but he needs a doctor."
My mind raced. "How did you get him out?"
"Paolo ordered two men to dispose of the body. I convinced them to let me handle it, to give Antonio a proper Christian burial despite his sins. They were eager enough to avoid the task." A grim smile crossed his face.
I grabbed my coat. "We need to get him away from here. If Father discovers—"
"He won't. He and Paolo have gone to inform Don Vitelli that tomorrow's celebration will proceed as planned. The house is minimally guarded."
I moved to my wardrobe, pulling out a bag I'd prepared days ago—money, documents, clothes. I added the gun, then turned to Father Giuseppe.
"Can Antonio travel?"
"Not far, not quickly. But I've arranged transport to a place you can hide while he recovers."
"Where?"
"The monastery at San Benedetto. The abbot owes me a favor. You'll be safe there until Antonio can travel further."
I hesitated. "And after that?"
Father Giuseppe's eyes softened. "That will be for you to decide. But you cannot stay in Italy. Your father will never stop looking for you once he realizes you've gone."
The gravity of what we were attempting settled over me.Leaving everything behind—name, wealth, position, country. Starting anew with nothing but each other.
"Let's go."
The groundskeeper's shed smelled of earth and oil. Antonio lay on a makeshift pallet, his face ashen, breathing shallow. Bandages wrapped his shoulder, already stained crimson. I fell to my knees beside him, taking his hand in mine.
"Antonio," I whispered. "Can you hear me?"
His eyelids fluttered. "Lorenzo?" His voice was barely audible.
"I'm here. I'm so sorry—"
"You had to." His fingers tightened weakly around mine. "You did what was necessary."
"We're leaving, right now. Father Giuseppe is helping us."
