“This anti-corruption witch hunt has gone far enough,” I slam my palm against the cabinet table, making Finance Minister Russo jump. “You’re targeting legitimate businesses with these excessive regulations.”
Matteo sits at the head of the table, calm as ever, that infuriating half-smile playing on his lips. The same lips I’ve now seen pressed against the Pope’s.
“These ‘legitimate businesses’ you’re so concerned about, Carlos—why exactly are you their champion?” Matteo’s voice remains measured, but his eyes hold mine with that piercing intensity that helped him rise to power. “The legislation targets organizations with documented connections to organized crime. Unless you have personal interests I’m unaware of?”
Several ministers shift uncomfortably. Justice Minister Esposito watches me with narrowed eyes.
“It’s about economic stability,” I counter. “These measures will freeze investment when we need it most. We need to exempt the banking sector and phase in the compliance requirements over five years.”
“So the criminals have time to move their money elsewhere?” Matteo raises an eyebrow. “No. The legislation passes as written.”
“You’re making powerful enemies,” I warn.
“I’m counting on it.” He stands, signalling the meeting’s end. “Ifthere’s nothing else?”
The other ministers file out, but I remain seated. Matteo notices and waits until we’re alone.
“Something on your mind, Carlos?”
I approach him slowly. “We’ve been colleagues a long time. I’ve supported your rise from the beginning.”
“And I’ve appreciated it.” His tone suggests otherwise.
“Then trust me when I say you’re moving too fast. This crusade against corruption—it’s admirable, but politically naive.”
“Is that what this is about? Politics?” Matteo gathers his papers. “Or is it about the Lombardi Foundation’s donations to your campaign last election?”
My blood runs cold. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing yet. But my investigation is thorough, Carlos. It follows the money wherever it leads.” He walks to the door, then pauses. “Even to friends.”
“You should be more careful,” I call after him. “About your investigations. About your… personal associations.”
He turns back, face unreadable. “Is that a threat?”
“Friendly advice. Italy isn’t ready for all your… progressive ideas.”
A flicker of something—concern, perhaps—crosses his face before he masks it. “Goodnight, Carlos.”
* * *
Back in my office, I pour another bourbon. My hand trembles slightly as I raise the glass. That arrogant bastard. He knows about my connections to Lombardi. He’s investigating me.
I pull out my phone and dial Franco.
“It’s time,” I tell him when he answers. “Leak the photos. All of them.”
“To which outlet?” His voice is emotionless.
I consider for a moment. “Start with La Repubblica. They’ll give it the most sensational coverage. Then make sure copies reach the international press and Vatican correspondents.”
“Timeline?”
“Tomorrow morning. Early. I want Matteo to wake up to his world burning.”
“Consider it done.”
I hang up and walk to my window, looking out at the lights of Rome. By this time tomorrow, the country will be in chaos. The Prime Minister and the Pope—lovers. The scandal will rock both the government and the Church to their foundations.
