Matteo Valentini enters with purposeful strides, his dark suit impeccably tailoured. The fresh scar on his cheek—a reminder of the recent assassination attempt—stands out against his olive skin. In person, he projects an energy that television appearances fail to capture—a focused intensity that fills the room.
“Your Holiness.” He executes a perfect bow, then takes my extended hand.
“Prime Minister Valentini. Welcome to the Vatican.” His grip is firm, his eyes directly meeting mine without hesitation. Few people have looked at me so directly since the conclave. “Please, sit.”
As we settle into our chairs, I notice the subtle ways he assesses the room—the mark of someone accustomed to evaluating potential threats. The security detail remains outside, though I know both our staffs are uncomfortable with the arrangement.
“I must congratulate you on your election,” Valentini says. “Italy is honoured to have one of her sons elevated to the Chair of Saint Peter.”
“God works in mysterious ways,” I reply with a small smile. “I suspect my election surprised Him as much as it surprised me.”
Valentini’s eyebrows rise slightly, his lips quirking upward. “An unusual perspective for a pope.”
“I’m an unusual pope, as you are an unusual prime minister. We both find ourselves in positions neither of us necessarily anticipated at our ages.”
“True enough.” He relaxes marginally, crossing one leg over the other. “Though I campaigned for my position. You, I understand, received a more… divine appointment.”
“Divine, perhaps. Unexpected, certainly.” I lean forward slightly. “I understand you recently faced your own unexpected challenge. How is your recovery progressing?”
His fingers briefly touch the rough scar on his cheek. “Well enough. A reminder that not everyone appreciates change.”
“We have that in common, it seems.” I glance toward the door where I know Cardinal Antonelli will be watching the clock. “I received my own warning shortly after the conclave.”
Interest sharpens his gaze. “A threat?”
“A caution from unnamed ‘friends’ that reformers don’t last long in the Vatican.” I hadn’t intended to mention the note, but something about Valentini’s directness invites honesty.
“Have you identified the source?”
I shake my head. “The Vatican has many shadows, Prime Minister. I’m still learning to navigate them.”
“Matteo, please.” He studies me with renewed interest. “At least when we’re speaking privately.”
“Matteo,” I agree. “And I’m Marco. At least in this room.”
A genuine smile transforms his face, softening the intensity I’d first noticed. “I expected this meeting to be considerably more formal, Marco.”
“Disappointed?”
“Intrigued.” He settles back in his chair. “The reports about you are… contradictory. The conservative cardinals believe you’ll maintain tradition. The progressives hope you’ll bring reform. Both can’t be right.”
“Perhaps both misunderstand the nature of the Church.” I gaze at the ancient texts surrounding us. “Tradition without compassion becomes empty ritual. Reform without respect for tradition loses connection to our foundations.”
“A diplomatic answer.”
“An honest one.” I meet his eyes again. “What about you, Matteo? Your anti-corruption legislation has powerful enemies. Are you prepared for the resistance?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, his expression thoughtful. “I grew up watching corruption destroy opportunities for ordinary Italians. My father worked himself to exhaustion in a system designed to keep him poor.” Passion edges into his voice. “I’m not just prepared for resistance—I expect it.”
“And yet you returned to the podium after being shot.”
“Would you have done differently?” he challenges.
The question catches me off guard. “I… don’t know.”
“I think you do.” His eyes hold mine. “You accepted the papacydespite knowing the dangers. That takes courage.”
Heat rises to my face at his unexpected praise. “Or incredible foolishness.”
