“Who’s leading it?”
“Prosecutor Alessandra Ricci. She’s incorruptible and fearless. Turned down three private sector offers that would have tripled her salary.”
“Any relation to our new Pope?” I ask, the coincidence of the surname striking me.
“None that we know of. She starts tomorrow morning with a team of twelve. I’ve secured dedicated technical resources, independent servers, and encrypted communications.”
I’m impressed by how thoroughly she’s planned this. “You’ve designed it to be bulletproof.”
“And politician-proof,” she adds pointedly. “Once established, it would require parliamentary action to dismantle it, not just a ministerial or prime ministerial order.”
“You’re protecting it from me too,” I observe.
“I’m protecting it from everyone, Matteo. Including future versions of ourselves who might face pressures we can’t anticipate.”
I consider the political ramifications. “The timing is risky. Our coalition is already fracturing over the legislation.”
“The timing is perfect,” she counters. “While they’re fighting over disclosure requirements and implementation timelines, we’ll have an operational unit already following the money. By the time they realize what’s happening, we’ll have investigations too advanced to easily shut down.”
Her strategy is brilliant—creating facts on the ground while the political battle rages. “You need anything from me?”
“Just your public support when the announcement breaks tomorrow. I’ve already drafted a statement expressing your full confidence in the task force’s mission.”
I laugh. “You don’t leave much to chance, do you?”
“Not when it matters,” she says seriously. “This task force might be the most important thing either of us accomplishes, Matteo. If our legislation gets watered down or delayed, the task force will already be working. If you lose a confidence vote, the task force continues. If I’m forced to resign, the task force remains.”
“Creating institutional momentum that outlasts us both.”
“Exactly.” Her voice softens slightly. “I need to go. The task force members are arriving within the hour for their initial briefing.”
“Keep me updated,” I tell her. “And Gabriella… thank you.”
After hanging up, I find myself standing at the window again, my reflection ghostly against Rome’s afternoon glow. The assassination attempt has changed something fundamental in me. Death has brushed close enough that I can feel its cold breath, and it has stripped away any patience for political games.
My phone buzzes with a message from Sophia:Heard about Russo. Need to talk. Lunch?
* **
Sophia waits at our usual corner table at Trattoria Moderna, her government security badge still hanging around her neck. As protocol officer working between the Italian government and the Vatican, my sister has developed an uncanny ability to read political currents.
“You look terrible,” she greets me as I sit down.
“Always the supportive sister.”
She pushes a glass of water toward me. “Three cabinet ministers are openly defying you, Carlos is playing both sides, and you’ve got that distracted look you get when you’re planning something reckless.”
“I’m planning to save our government while pushing through the most significant anti-corruption legislation in Italian history,” I counter. “Nothing reckless about that.”
Sophia studies me over her espresso. “There’s something else. You’ve been different since the Vatican meeting.”
I avoid her gaze, focusing on the menu I’ve memorized years ago. “Different how?”
“Distracted. Almost… preoccupied.” She leans closer. “What happened with Pope Pius?”
“Marco,” I correct automatically. “He prefers Marco.”
Her eyebrows rise. “First-name basis with the Pope already?”
