As we bow our heads together, I add a silent prayer of my own—for Matteo’s safety, for our future, and for the strength to follow this path wherever it leads.
16
Beyond Vatican Walls
Marco
I stare at the theological papers Archbishop Chen brought me, the words blurring together after hours of reading. The perspectives from Asian and African theologians offer powerful support for my proposed reforms, but my mind keeps drifting to other concerns. The Cardinals’ opposition has grown more vehement since I announced the synod, and it’s been three days since I’ve spoken to Matteo beyond brief, encrypted messages confirming our continued safety.
A soft knock at my door interrupts my thoughts. Captain Lombardi enters, his posture rigid but his eyes kind.
“Your Holiness, a moment?”
“Of course, Captain.” I set aside the papers. “What is it?”
He glances at the door before closing it completely. “I’ve received a communication from Prime Minister Valentini’s security detail.” His voice drops. “The Prime Minister requests a meeting… off-site.”
“Off-site? Where?”
“A private property on the coast, Your Holiness. About an hour from Rome.” Lombardi hesitates. “His message indicated concern for your well-being given recent… tensions within the Curia.”
I rise from my chair and walk to the window. Cardinal Antonellihad been particularly vicious at yesterday’s meeting, all but accusing me of heresy for suggesting reforms to the Church’s teaching on homosexuality. The strain is showing—I’ve barely slept in days.
“The Prime Minister believes you need space to breathe, Your Holiness.” Lombardi’s voice is gentle. “Away from Vatican walls.”
I turn to face him. “And how would I leave without the entire Curia knowing?”
A slight smile touches his lips. “I’ve given this considerable thought, Your Holiness. There are ways. If you trust me.”
I study his face—this young Swiss Guard captain who has gradually become one of my few true allies within the city walls. “I do trust you, Lorenzo.”
He nods, clearly moved by my use of his first name. “Tomorrow evening then. I’ll arrange everything.”
“The Cardinals—”
“Will be told you’re on spiritual retreat in your private chapel and not to be disturbed.” His confidence reassures me. “I’ve selected a small team of Swiss Guards whose loyalty is beyond question.”
“And you believe this is… wise?” I ask, though I already know my answer.
Lorenzo meets my gaze directly. “Your Holiness, I believe it’s necessary. For your safety, yes, but also for your spirit. Even the Pope needs sanctuary sometimes.”
I feel a weight lifting at just the thought of escaping these walls, of seeing Matteo without the constant fear of discovery.
“Tomorrow evening then,” I agree.
* * *
The following night, I find myself wrapped in a plain black coat, a cap pulled low over my eyes, following Lorenzo through a series ofmaintenance tunnels beneath the Vatican. Two trusted guards walk ahead and behind us, their vigilance creating a small bubble of safety.
“These passages were used during World War II,” Lorenzo explains quietly. “To smuggle refugees and Jews to safety.”
“And now to smuggle out a Pope,” I murmur.
“To protect him,” Lorenzo corrects firmly.
We emerge through an unmarked door into a quiet alleyway where a nondescript Fiat waits. No papal flags, no insignia—just an ordinary car that blends into Rome’s evening traffic.
As we drive through the city and then along the coastal highway, I feel a strange lightening of my spirit. For these few hours, I am not Pope Pius XIV but simply Marco again—a man with hopes and fears and a heart that beats faster at the thought of seeing someone he cares for.
