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Vote of No-Confidence

Matteo

I stand in the parliamentary chamber, my entire body tense with anxiety. The tension in the air feels thick enough to cut with a knife as the votes are tallied. Every face turned toward the electronic board, watching numbers climb.

“Prime Minister Valentini,” the Speaker’s voice echoes through the chamber, “the results of the no-confidence vote are as follows…”

I straighten my tie, refusing to show any hint of the anxiety coursing through me. The evidence against Carlos and his corrupt allies has swayed some opinions, but the scandal of my relationship with Marco—with the Pope—remains fresh in everyone’s minds.

“Those in favour of the motion of no confidence: 315.”

A collective intake of breath fills the chamber. The opposition benches stir, faces lighting with premature triumph.

“Those against the motion: 319.”

The chamber erupts. Four votes. Four bloody votes stand between me and political oblivion. I remain perfectly still as chaos unfolds around me—cheers from my supporters, outraged protests from the opposition, the Speaker banging his gavel repeatedly to restore order.

“Order! The motion of no confidence has been defeated. The government shall continue.”

Gabriella grips my arm, her fingernails digging through the fabric of my suit. “We did it,” she whispers, her voice trembling with relief. “By the skin of our teeth, but we did it.”

I nod, unable to speak for a moment. The margin is razor-thin—the narrowest possible victory, leaving my government wounded but alive. The coalition has fractured, with several parties withdrawing support entirely. We’ll be operating with a minority government now, every vote a potential crisis.

“Prime Minister!” Journalists shout from the gallery as I rise. Camera flashes explode like lightning around me. I ignore them all, gathering my papers with deliberate calm.

“Your statement, sir?” my communications director asks quietly at my shoulder.

“Outside. Five minutes.”

I make my way through the chamber, accepting handshakes from allies, meeting the glares of opponents with steady eyes. My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I resist checking it until I’m in the relative privacy of the antechamber.

It’s a message from Sophia: Marco is free. Swiss Guard loyal to him. Cardinals arrested.

Relief floods through me so intensely that I have to lean against the wall for support. Marco is safe. The conspirators who tried to imprison him have failed. I type back quickly: Government survived by 4 votes. Tell him I’ll call when I can.

I step out onto the parliament steps where a sea of cameras and microphones awaits. The crowd beyond the media cordon is larger than I expected—supporters and protesters alike filling the piazza.

“Prime Minister Valentini, your government survived by just four votes. How do you respond?”

I take a deep breath, letting the cameras capture this moment of composure before I speak.

“Today, the Italian parliament has chosen democracy over corruption, truth over manipulation. The margin was narrow, yes—but democracy often hangs by such thin threads. Our government will continue its work against corruption, regardless of how powerful the corrupt may be.”

“What about your relationship with Pope Pius? Do you regret—”

I cut the question off with a raised hand.

“I regret nothing about being honest with the Italian people. I regret nothing about loving another human being with dignity and respect. What I do regret is that powerful interests tried to use that love as a weapon against both of us, to protect their criminal enterprises.”

A young reporter pushes forward. “Your coalition has lost several parties. How will you govern effectively now?”

“One day at a time, with transparency and integrity. We’ll seek support for good legislation from wherever it comes.

The fight against corruption continues—in fact, as we speak, Italian authorities are working with Vatican security to process the arrests of several prominent cardinals implicated in financial crimes. ”

This revelation sends a ripple through the press corps. Questions fly at me from all directions, but I raise my hands for quiet.

“I must return to work now. Italy faces challenges that won’t wait for political drama to resolve. Thank you.”

As I turn to leave, my security detail closing around me, I spot a flash of rainbow flags mixed with Italian tricolours in the crowd. A group of young people chant my name, their faces alight with something that looks like hope. I nod to them briefly before ducking into my waiting car.

“To the office,” I tell my driver, then sink back against the leather seat, finally allowing myself to exhale fully.

My phone rings almost immediately. It’s Gabriella .

“We need to talk about the budget vote next week,” she says without preamble. “We’re four votes short.”

I close my eyes briefly. “Already back to work, I see.”

“The opposition won’t give us time to breathe. Carlos may be in custody, but his allies are regrouping.”

“Set up meetings with the independents. And the Greens—they might support us if we strengthen the environmental provisions.”

“Already on it. And Matteo—” Her voice softens slightly. “The Pope is giving a public address in an hour. Thought you’d want to know.”

My heart jumps. “Thank you.”

After ending the call, I check the secure phone Marco and I use to communicate. There’s a message waiting:

They cannot separate what God has joined. I address the faithful at 4 pm. Watch if you can. With love, M.

The car pulls into the secure underground garage beneath Palazzo Chigi. I hurry through security, nodding to staff who offer congratulations or concerned looks. My office feels like a sanctuary when I finally close the door behind me.

Sophia is waiting, perched on the edge of my desk with a tablet in hand.

“You look terrible,” she says bluntly.

“Four votes, Sophia. Four.”

“But you won.” She hands me a glass of water. “And so did Marco. Colonel Reichlin finally came to his sense and mobilized the Swiss Guard the moment they confirmed the cardinals’ corruption. They’re in custody now—Antonelli, Lombardi, and Visconti.”

“What charges?”

“Financial crimes, obstruction of justice, conspiracy, and—” she pauses, checking her notes, “—potential accessory to attempted murder in Monsignor Adessi’s case.”

I loosen my tie, dropping into my chair. “And Marco? ”

“Fully restored to his authority. The loyal Swiss Guards are surrounding him now. He’s preparing for the synod—it’s been moved up. With the conservative opposition literally under arrest, he’s seizing the moment. Cardinals from around the world are being flown in immediately.”

I glance at my watch. “He’s speaking soon.”

Sophia nods, turning on the television mounted on my office wall. “I figured you’d want to watch.”

We sit in companionable silence as the screen shows St. Peter’s Square filling with people. The crowd is massive, stretching back far beyond the colonnade. Many hold signs—some supportive, others condemning. Police and Vatican security form a visible presence.

“This could go either way,” Sophia murmurs.

“He’ll face it with courage,” I reply, certainty in my voice. “It’s who he is.”