Page 9 of The Seventh Circle
"That's what you need to decide." He patted my knee and struggled to his feet. "Just remember—in this world, loyalty buys nothing but a prettier grave."
After he left, I sat with the book in my lap, not reading, just feeling its weight. The world I inhabited during daylight hours felt impossibly distant from this small room with its peeling wallpaper and the sound of Enzo's soft breathing from the bed across the room.
I thought of Vito asking questions about my family, of the rage in his eyes when I'd humiliated him. I'd made it personal, and now he'd brought that danger to my doorstep. To my family.
And Lorenzo... Lorenzo complicated everything. He wasn'tjust another Benedetto thug. Something about him pulled at me—his contradictions, perhaps. The ruthless heir who quoted poetry. The privileged son who fought his own battles. The dangerous curiosity I felt growing whenever we were together.
I put the book away and checked that Enzo was asleep before pulling out the scrap of paper I'd been working on for weeks—my handwriting becoming neater with each attempt, copying passages from Meditations, adding my own thoughts. This secret practice, these written words, felt like seeds planted for some future I couldn't yet imagine.
Outside, someone whistled a three-note warning—our neighborhood's signal that strangers were in the area. I moved to the window, peering through a crack in the shutters. Two men I didn't recognize walked slowly down our street, pausing to look at buildings.
Looking for me, perhaps. For my family.
I glanced at Enzo's sleeping form, at the door beyond which my parents rested. Everything I loved, everything I protected through blood and broken bones, gathered under one roof.
This was the path I'd chosen—or that had chosen me. Every day, I walked the knife's edge between provider and destroyer, between the man who helped Enzo with his schoolwork and the man who knew exactly how much pressure it took to break another man's fingers.
And now there was Lorenzo, offering a glimpse of someone caught in similar contradictions. Someone who might understand the war inside me.
I closed the shutters tightly and checked that our door was locked. Tomorrow would bring what it would bring. Tonight, I would guard my family's sleep and try to forget the look in Vito's eyes when he promised to remember my face.
Try to forget—or perhaps dangerously indulge—the way Lorenzo had looked at me with something more than the assessment of a boss for his soldier. Something that made me feel seen for the first time in years.
LORENZO
I returned to the Benedetto manor as the sun began its descent, my body still humming with tension from the market. The house loomed against the darkening sky, its stone façade more prison than home. Guards nodded as I approached, their eyes tracking my movements with practiced vigilance.
Inside, the house smelled of garlic and oregano—Nonna Lucia was preparing dinner. I handed my coat to Stefano, our elderly butler, who examined me with narrowed eyes.
"No blood today, Signorino Lorenzo?"
"Not on my clothes, at least," I replied, offering a tight smile.
"Your father is waiting in his study."
I made my way through the house. Father's study door stood ajar, the scent of his cigars leaking into the hallway. I knocked briefly before entering.
"Ah, Lorenzo." Father looked up from his ledger, spectacles perched on his nose. "How did our market business conclude?"
I stood before his desk, shoulders squared. "Vito Torrino won't trouble our vendors again. We made our point without excessive force. The market appreciates our restraint."
Father removed his glasses, studying me with that penetrating gaze that had intimidated rivals for decades. "Romano followed your lead?"
"He did. He's an asset—thinks before he acts."
"Unlike some of our associates." Father nodded slowly. "And Torrino's reaction?"
"Humiliated but not hospitalized. He'll nurse his wounded pride, perhaps plot revenge, but he knows challenging us directly would be suicide."
A small smile touched Father's lips. "Good. You understand the balance—enough force to command respect, not so much we create unnecessary enemies." He closed his ledger. "Dinner in twenty minutes. Your uncle Federico is joining us. Paolo too."
I suppressed a grimace. My cousin Paolo's company meant enduring his particular brand of cruelty disguised as family loyalty.
"I'll clean up and join you," I said, turning to leave.
"Lorenzo."
I paused at the door.
