Father Domenico arrives as the evening bells ring. The guards search him thoroughly, even checking his Bible and stole for hidden messages. The elderly priest bears their indignities with quiet dignity.
“My son,” he says when we’re finally alone. “How are you holding up?”
“Better than they think,” I reply, embracing him. “But I’m tired of being a prisoner.”
“The whole world is watching now,” Father Domenico says, settling into a chair. “That’s your protection. Even Antonelli wouldn’t dare harm the Pope with every camera in Christendom pointed at the Vatican.”
I sit across from him. “I’m not afraid for my safety. I’m afraid for the Church. This division—”
“Was already there,” he interrupts gently. “You didn’t create it. You simply brought it into the light where it can be healed.”
“And Matteo? What I feel for him—”
“Is love,” Father Domenico finishes. “Love that has given you courage to face corruption that has festered for decades. Would you have found that courage otherwise?”
I consider this. “Perhaps not.”
“Then perhaps God sent him to you for a reason.” Father Domenico smiles. “Now, shall we proceed with confession? For appearance’s sake, at least.”
I kneel before him, though we both know this is more conversation than confession. There is no sin in my heart for loving Matteo.
“The synod will be the battlefield,” Father Domenico says quietly. “Antonelli and Lombardi are gathering allies, preparing arguments from scripture and tradition to overwhelm any progressive voices.”
“Let them come with their arguments,” I say. “Truth doesn’t fear debate.”
“They’ll try to make it about you personally. About your relationship. They’ll say you’ve lost moral authority.”
“While they’ve been protecting criminals and laundering money for the mafia?” I can’t keep the edge from my voice.
“Precisely why they’ll attack so viciously.” Father Domenico places a hand on my shoulder. “You must stay focused on the larger questions—on love, on human dignity, on the Church’s mission to the marginalized.”
“I will.”
“Good.” He reaches into his pocket. “I almost forgot. Sister Maria asked me to give you this.”
He hands me a small USB drive.
“What is it?”
“Testimonials. Thousands of them. Catholics from around the world sharing how your stance has affected them. Many from priests and religious who’ve lived in silence for decades.” His eyes grow misty. “Including mine.”
I look at him in surprise.
“Yes, my son. I too have known the burden of loving in silence. Perhaps that’s why God placed me in your path.” He stands. “I should go before they grow suspicious.”
As he leaves, I clutch the USB drive. Thousands of voices. Thousands of stories like mine. I am not alone.
* * *
The next morning, my television shows Cardinal Lombardi at his press conference, flanked by eleven other cardinals. Their faces are grim as they call for my immediate resignation “for the good of the Church.”
But split-screen coverage shows something else: outside the press room, hundreds of young Catholics hold a prayer vigil. Their signs read “Who Are We to Judge?” and “Love Is Not a Sin.” Sister Maria Francisca moves among them, her phone live streaming their peaceful witness to millions.
My secure phone rings. It’s Sophia Valentini.
“Marco,” she says, “I’ve arranged interviews with major outlets for Archbishop Chen and Cardinal Sullivan. BBC, CNN, Al Jazeera. We’re countering their narrative in real time.”
“Thank you, Sophia. How is Matteo?”
