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“Minor injuries from broken glass.” He shakes his head. “But it could have been… they were aiming for me and hit…”

I pull him into an embrace, holding him as tremors run through his body—reaction setting in now that the immediate danger has passed. His arms wrap around me, clinging with surprising strength.

“They’re trying to kill us again,” he whispers against my shoulder. “How many times can we survive this? ”

“I know.” I run a hand along his back, feeling his heartbeat gradually slow. “But they failed. We’re both here. We’re safe.”

He pulls back slightly, his hands still resting on my arms. “Safe for now. But they won’t stop coming for us. Not when we’re this close to exposing everything.”

“Then we don’t stop either,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “We use these twelve hours to plan our next move.”

Matteo studies my face, something shifting in his expression. “You’re different today. More certain.”

I nod, thinking of Father Domenico’s words from last night. “I spoke with my confessor about us. About my feelings for you.”

His eyebrows rise in surprise. “And?”

“He helped me see that what I feel might not be the sin I was taught to believe it is.” I take a deep breath. “That God’s love is broader than human doctrine.”

Matteo’s expression softens. “And you believe that?”

“I’m beginning to.” I reach for his hand, twining our fingers together. “Life is fragile, Matteo. We’ve both been shown that clearly today. I don’t want to waste whatever time we have left hiding from the truth.”

“What truth?” he asks softly.

“That I’m falling in love with you,” I whisper, the words both terrifying and liberating. “And that no doctrine, no tradition, no papal office is worth denying that reality.”

His eyes widen with wonder. Before he can respond, I continue, “I know this is complicated, impossible even. But after nearly losing you today, I needed you to know.”

He leans forward, his lips meeting mine with gentle certainty. When we part, he whispers against my mouth, “I’ve been falling since that first day in the library.”

The kiss deepens, his arms encircling me, drawing me closer. When we finally separate, I’m breathless, my body humming with unfamiliar sensations.

He removes his suit jacket, loosening his tie as I busy myself finding water for us both. The simple domesticity of the moment strikes me—how natural it feels to be here with him, despite the extraordinary circumstances.

When I return with the glasses, his collar is unbuttoned, revealing the hollow of his throat. My hands tremble slightly as I pass him the water, our fingers brushing.

“Terrified?” he asks, noticing my reaction.

“Not in the way you think.” I move closer. “Terrified of how much I want this. How right it feels, despite everything I’ve been taught.”

He sets down the glasses and takes my hands in his. “Marco, we don’t have to do anything.”

“I know.” I meet his gaze directly. “But I’ve spent my entire life denying myself. And today I nearly lost you—you could have died without knowing what you mean to me, without my ever experiencing what it means to truly connect with someone.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want everything with you, Matteo. I’m just… inexperienced.”

His smile is gentle. “Then let me guide you.”

He leads me toward the bedroom, and any lingering doubts I might have had dissolve in the certainty that this—us—is blessed rather than forbidden.

His hands are gentle as they help me out of my clothes, each button undone with careful reverence. When my cassock finally falls away, I feel momentarily vulnerable under his gaze—no one has seen me this way before. His eyes travel slowly over my exposed skin, appreciation warming his expression.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and I feel a flush spread from my chest to my face.

My own fingers tremble as I reach for his shirt buttons, clumsy with inexperience.

He covers my hands with his own, guiding me through each movement.

The fabric parts to reveal tanned skin and the defined muscles of his chest, dusted with dark hair.

I hesitate before touching him, overcome by the reality of this moment.

“It’s okay,” he encourages softly. “You can touch me. I want to feel you on my skin.”

When my palm finally meets the warm skin of his chest, I feel his heartbeat racing beneath my fingers—as rapid as my own.

I explore him with tentative touches, marvelling at the differences between us—the breadth of his shoulders, the firmness of his abdomen, the trail of dark hair that disappears temptingly beneath his waistband.

He helps me with the rest of his clothes, and I gasp involuntarily when his underwear slides down his muscular thighs.

His body is magnificent—lean and powerful, his arousal evident and intimidating to my inexperienced eyes.

He notices my stare and smiles, not with arrogance but with gentle reassurance.

“You can touch me,” he whispers.

My hand reaches out, hesitant at first, then wraps around him. He’s velvet-smooth and hard as marble, pulsing with heat beneath my fingers. A groan escapes him as I explore this new territory, his eyes fluttering closed momentarily before he draws me toward the bed.

The first contact of our fully naked bodies is electric—his hot skin pressing against mine from chest to thigh.

He lowers me onto the mattress, his weight settling partially on me, one thigh sliding between mine.

The pressure against my own arousal makes me cry out, my body responding with an urgency that surprises us both.

“Easy,” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “We have time.”

His body is a revelation above me—broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, muscles shifting visibly beneath olive skin as he moves.

The dark trail of hair that runs down his abdomen tickles against my stomach, and lower still, his hardness presses insistently against my thigh, leaving a slick trace of moisture on my skin.

I run my palms over his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart, the coarse hair there tickling my palms. When my fingers brush accidentally across his nipple, he makes a sound deep in his throat that emboldens me to do it again, deliberately this time.

“God, Marco,” he groans, dropping his forehead against mine.

His mouth claims mine in a kiss that’s deeper, hungrier than before. His tongue explores me thoroughly, tasting of mint and desire. I match his intensity, surprised by my own boldness as I arch up against him, seeking more friction where our bodies press together most intimately.

He shifts to kiss my neck, finding a spot just below my ear that sends sparks shooting down my spine. I gasp his name as he works his way lower, his lips and tongue mapping my collarbone, my chest, pausing to lavish attention on my nipples until I’m writhing beneath him.

“I want to taste all of you,” he murmurs against my ribs, and continues his downward journey.

My breath catches as his mouth moves over my stomach, his hands gripping my hips firmly. When he reaches the juncture of my thighs, he looks up, seeking permission. I can only nod, beyond words now.

The first touch of his mouth on me is so intense I nearly come off the bed.

My fingers clutch at the sheets, then at his hair as he takes me fully into the wet heat of his mouth.

The sight of him between my legs, his dark head moving rhythmically as he pleasures me, is almost as overwhelming as the physical sensation.

“Matteo—I can’t—” I gasp, feeling something building inside me, a pressure so exquisite it borders on pain.

He pulls back, replacing his mouth with his hand, stroking me firmly as he reaches for something in his discarded clothes. It’s a small bottle of lubricant, I realize, as he warms the clear liquid between his fingers.

“This might feel strange at first,” he warns, positioning himself between my spread thighs. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

The first press of his slick finger against me is foreign, intrusive.

I tense involuntarily, but his other hand continues its rhythmic stroking, distracting me from the discomfort.

Gradually, my body yields to him. When he crooks his finger slightly, he touches something inside me that sends a jolt of pleasure so intense I cry out his name.

“There,” he murmurs, satisfied, and adds a second finger, stretching me carefully.

By the time he’s worked three fingers into me, I’m pushing back against his hand, desperate for more. Sweat gleams on both our bodies, my chest heaving with each laboured breath.

“Please,” I beg, beyond pride or hesitation now. “I need you.”

He withdraws his fingers and positions himself above me, his arms braced on either side of my head. I feel him pressing against me, much larger than his fingers were.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, and I open eyes I hadn’t realized I’d closed. His face is transformed by desire, his pupils so dilated his eyes appear almost black. “I want to see your face when I’m inside you for the first time.”

The initial breach of my body burns despite his careful preparation. I gasp sharply, my hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He freezes immediately.

“Breathe,” he instructs, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. “Bear down slightly—it helps.”

I follow his guidance, and inch by excruciating inch, he enters me completely. The fullness is overwhelming, a strange mixture of discomfort and rightness. When he’s fully seated within me, our bodies joined as intimately as possible, he touches his forehead to mine.

“You feel incredible,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “So tight, so perfect.”

He begins to move with shallow, careful thrusts that gradually deepen as my body accommodates him. Each withdrawal and return sends waves of sensation through me, building in intensity as he adjusts his angle to brush against that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.

The sounds of our lovemaking fill the room—skin against damp skin, his groans mingling with my gasps, the rhythmic creak of the bed beneath us. I wrap my legs high around his waist, changing the angle and drawing him impossibly deeper.

“Yes,” he hisses, his rhythm faltering momentarily before resuming with new intensity. “Just like that.”

His hand slides between our sweat-slick bodies to grasp me, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts. The dual stimulation is too much—I feel myself tightening around him, my entire body tensing as pleasure coils tighter and tighter at my core.

“Let go,” he urges, his voice ragged, his movements becoming less controlled. “Come for me, Marco.”

My release hits with the force of a tidal wave—muscles spasming, back arching sharply off the bed as I cry out his name. Wet heat spills between us as waves of pleasure pulse through me, each one leaving me more undone than the last.

He follows moments later, driving deep and holding there as he finds his own release, his face contorted in beautiful agony as he empties himself inside me. I feel the pulse of him, the liquid heat of his climax, and it triggers a final aftershock of pleasure that leaves me trembling beneath him.

For several moments, we remain joined, both of us panting as if we’ve run miles.

When he finally withdraws, I wince slightly at the sudden emptiness, the unfamiliar sensation of wetness between my thighs.

He collapses beside me, gathering me against his heaving chest, one arm wrapped possessively around my waist .

“Are you okay?” he asks when he can speak again, brushing sweat-dampened hair from my forehead.

I touch his face, feeling the slight roughness of stubble beneath my fingertips, tracing the curve of his lips that have now known every part of me.

“I never knew,” I whisper, unable to fully articulate the revelation I’ve experienced. “I never knew it could be like this—so complete, so sacred.”

He understands without my having to explain. His smile is tender as he pulls me closer, my head finding the perfect resting place in the hollow of his shoulder. Our legs remain entwined, his hand tracing lazy patterns on my cooling skin.

“That was just the beginning,” he murmurs against my temple. “We have hours yet.”

The promise in his voice sends a fresh wave of desire through me, despite my body’s temporary exhaustion. I press a kiss to his chest, just above his gradually slowing heart, marvelling at how quickly I’ve become addicted to the taste of his skin.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my shoulder.

“That I’ve spent my life studying divine love, but I’m only now beginning to understand it.” I press a kiss to his chest, just above his heart. “And that I’m grateful, despite everything, for these twelve hours.”

He tightens his arms around me. “Whatever happens when we leave this room, Marco, this is real. What’s between us—it’s real.”

“I know,” I whisper. “And that’s what frightens me most. Not the assassins, not the corruption we’re fighting. But this—us—and what it means for everything I’ve believed.”

“Does it change your faith?” he asks, serious now.

I consider this, my head resting on his chest. “No. It deepens it. I believe God brought us together for a reason—not just to fight corruption, but to help me understand love in all its forms.”

He kisses the top of my head, and we fall silent, wrapped in each other’s arms. Outside this room, dangers wait.

Assassins hunt us, corrupt officials plot against us, and the weight of our offices will soon reclaim us.

But for these precious hours, we’ve found something rare and precious—a connection that transcends titles and positions, that exists in the space between two souls recognizing each other.

And whatever comes next, I know with absolute certainty that I’ve been changed forever by this night, by this man, by this profound understanding of what it means to truly love and be loved in return.