“No,” I correct him. “It only confirms what we already knew. The stakes are life and death now.”
I move toward the tunnel entrance, then pause, looking back at him. For one moment, I allow myself to see not the Prime Minister, not a political ally, but simply the man—brave, principled, and carrying the same burden of loneliness I’ve shouldered my entire life.
“Be careful, Matteo. They’ll come for you next.”
“And you,” he responds. “Watch your back, Marco. Even in God’s house.”
I nod once, then turn away, plunging back into thedarkness of the ancient tunnel, leaving behind possibilities that can never be realized and feelings that can never be acknowledged—at least not while we both remain who we are.
Back in the darkness of the tunnel, my footsteps echo against ancient stone. My mind races with the implications of Adessi’s murder and the emergency Curia meeting Antonelli has called. They’re making their move—attempting to undermine my authority, perhaps even force my resignation.
I stop midway through the passage, suddenly overwhelmed by the magnitude of what lies ahead. The corruption we’ve uncovered spans decades, implicates powerful figures in both Church and State. These people have already killed to protect their secrets. They won’t hesitate to destroy me—to destroy us both.
Sinking to my knees in the damp darkness, I bow my head in prayer.
“Lord, I am not worthy of the burden You’ve placed upon me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible even to myself. “I am flawed, confused, torn between duty and desire. But I believe You brought me to this position for a purpose.”
My hands tremble as I make the sign of the cross.
“Give me strength for the battle ahead. Wisdom to know which fights to choose. Courage to face those who corrupt Your Church for personal gain.”
I think of Matteo—his determination despite the threats against him, his willingness to risk everything for truth. The connection between us that I can neither fully embrace nor completely deny.
“And Lord, guide my heart. If what I feel is wrong, help me overcome it. But if there is truth in it—if love in all its forms truly comes from You—help me reconcile that with the traditions I’ve sworn to uphold.”
The silence of the tunnel wraps around me, neither condemning nor absolving. I rise slowly, brushing dust from my cassock, and continue toward the Vatican, toward the confrontation that awaits.
“Not my will but Yours be done,” I whisper, echoing Christ’s prayer in Gethsemane. But even as the words leave my lips, I wonder—is God’s will always found in ancient doctrine, or sometimes in the honest cry of the human heart?
With that unanswered question echoing in my mind, I emerge from the tunnel into the Vatican gardens, ready to face whatever comes next—the Curia, the corruption, and the growing certainty that my papacy and perhaps my very life hang in the balance.
10
Gilded Cage
Marco
The next morning, I walk into the meeting room to find Cardinal Antonelli already seated at the head of the table—my seat. The symbolism isn’t lost on me. Flanking him are Cardinals Lombardi and Visconti, their faces set in expressions of grave concern that don’t quite reach their eyes.
James—Cardinal Sullivan—walks closely beside me, his presence reassuring. Sister Lucia stands quietly near the wall, officially here to take notes but I suspect her real purpose is to bear witness to whatever transpires.
“Your Holiness,” Antonelli rises, offering me the chair with a gesture that manages to be simultaneously deferential and condescending. “Thank you for joining us on such short notice.”
I take my rightful place, forcing Antonelli to shift to my right. “When I hear that an emergency meeting of the Curia has been called in my city without my knowledge, Cardinal, I naturally wish to understand why.”
“Of course, Holy Father.” Antonelli’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “We are deeply concerned about recent events. Monsignor Adessi’s murder—”
“Murder that was initially presented to me as suicide,” I interrupt.
“A regrettable misunderstanding,” Lombardi interjects smoothly. “But one that highlights the grave security concerns we now face.”
“Indeed,” Antonelli continues. “The attempt on your life at the diplomatic dinner, now this. The College of Cardinals has a sacred duty to protect the Holy Father.”
Sullivan leans forward. “A duty we all take seriously, Cardinal. But I’m curious why this meeting was convened without discussion with the Pope’s office.”
“Time was of the essence,” Visconti says, his jowls quivering with feigned indignation. “We’ve prepared a comprehensive security protocol that requires immediate implementation.”
A folder slides across the table toward me. I open it to find a detailed plan that, on surface reading, appears focused on my protection. But as I scan the pages, the true intent becomes clear.
