Lorenzo stiffened, and his hand trembled in mine. "I…I can't."
"You were raised by Dionysus himself," Aeacus said, with a shrug. "You know the territory better than anyone. You speak the language. You understand the culture."
"That doesn't mean I should run it." Lorenzo let go of my hand. "Directors manage people. Resources. Politics. I'm a Ferryman. I take contracts. I don't... I can't..." He looked to me for help.
He was right. A directorship would destroy him. He’d be miserable. We didn’t fight our way through hell and back just so he could chain himself to a position he’d hate.
I stepped forward. "I'll do it."
Every head turned toward me, and my legs nearly gave out, but I locked my knees and stayed standing.
"Rafael—" Lorenzo reached out to take my hand.
"I'll take the directorship," I said again. "I have administrative experience. I ran Vatican operations across three continents. Managed intelligence networks, coordinated extractions, handled logistics for classified missions."
Aeacus studied me intently. "You were a priest. This is the criminal underworld."
"I was my father’s son long before I was a priest.” I looked at Lorenzo and squeezed his palm. “I was born for this.”
"Rafael, you don't have to—" Lorenzo's voice cracked, and the sound went straight through my chest.
"I want to." I turned to face him and nearly stumbled. My depth perception was still wrong, my left side just gone, but I found him anyway. "You'd hate it, Lorenzo. Every meeting, every decision, every political maneuver. It would destroy you."
"And you just escaped the Church." His hand came up to my face, fingers trembling against my jaw. "You don't need another cage."
"It's not a cage if I'm choosing it." I turned my head and kissed his palm. My lips were cracked and tasted like blood. "You taught me that. Choice is what makes us free."
His throat worked.
"Besides, someone needs to make sure the Ferrymen don't kill each other over territory disputes. Might as well be someone with a few morals left."
Aeacus was quiet. The silence stretched, and my knees shook. I couldn't fall now. Not in front of her. Not when I was trying to prove I could handle this.
Then she nodded. "The South American directorship requires someone who can maintain order while respecting the region's autonomy. Someone who understands both violence and restraint." Her eyes burned into mine. "You'll need to prove yourself. The transition won't be easy."
"I don't need easy,” I said, turning to face her. "I need a purpose."
And I needed Lorenzo to have the freedom to choose his own path.
Even if it meant I'd spend my days managing criminals.
Aeacus extended her hand. "Then welcome to the Pantheon's leadership, Director Oliveira."
My hand felt small and weak in hers. My palm was still torn up from where Constantine's nails had driven through. The scars pulled.
Lorenzo looked gutted. "Rafael..."
"You can still be a Ferryman," I said. "Choose your own contracts. Work when you want. Say no when you don't." I touched his face with trembling fingers. "You're finally free, Lorenzo. Don't let them take that from you."
He blinked back tears. "You're giving up your freedom for mine."
"No." I smiled, and it hurt. Everything hurt. My head was pounding where Caesar had raked my scalp. My legs were jelly. My missing eye throbbed like it was still there. "I'm choosing what I want to do with it. There's a difference."
Luka let out a low whistle. "Well. That's one way to start a relationship."
“Not so different from how we got our start.” Vincent elbowed him, and I heard the impact more than saw it.
Rhadamanthys tipped his hat in my direction. "Congratulations, Director Oliveira. I look forward to working with you."
