Page 83 of Sacred Hearts

Sullivan watches me with understanding. “The servant, not the ruler.”

“As Christ taught us,” I reply.

We walk together toward the meeting hall, accompanied by the two guards Antonelli assigned to “protect” me. Their expressions reveal confusion at my calm demeanour.

Outside the hall, I pause, turning to Sullivan. “Whatever happens, James, know that I am at peace with my decision.”

“And what is that decision, if I may ask?”

I smile, feeling a tranquility I haven’t experienced since before the scandal broke.

“To be who God made me to be. Both Pope and man. Both servant of the Church and a person capable of love.” I straighten my shoulders. “I will not resign. Nor will I hide. I will face them with truth—about the corruption they’ve protected, about the love they condemn, about the faith they claim to defend.”

Sullivan’s eyes glisten. “Then may God be with you, Holy Father.”

“He is,” I say with certainty. “In ways I’m only beginning to understand.”

I step forward toward the doors, ready to face whatever comes next—not as a prisoner of fear, but as a man liberated by truth.

21

Dropped Pretenses

Matteo

I watch the parliament chamber erupt into chaos. My statement acknowledging my relationship with Marco—with the Pope—has shattered any pretense of business as usual. The opposition benches pound their desks in unified outrage while my own coalition fractures before my eyes. Representatives huddle in small groups, whispering urgently, casting furtive glances my way.

“Order! Order in the chamber!” The Speaker’s voice barely rises above the din.

Gabriella leans toward me. “We should leave now. This isn’t productive.”

I nod, gathering my papers as we stand to exit. The jeers grow louder.

“Resign!” someone shouts from the opposition.

“Blasphemer!” calls another.

I keep my chin up, my pace measured. I will not give them the satisfaction of seeing me flee.

In the corridor, Sophia rushes to meet us, her face taut with worry. “Two more coalition partners have announced they’re withdrawing support. The Christian Democrats and the Rural Alliance.”

“That puts us below the threshold,” Gabriella calculates quickly. “We no longer command a majority.”

I lean against the wall, the marble cool against my palm. “How long until the no-confidence vote?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Sophia says. “Carlos’s working fast. He’s already giving interviews positioning himself as the stable alternative.”

My security detail guides us to a private conference room where my remaining loyal ministers wait. Their faces reflect varying degrees of concern, determination, and in some cases, resignation.

“The situation is critical,” Finance Minister Renata begins without preamble. “The markets are already responding. The euro is down against the dollar, the European Union President has already reached out demanding an explanation, and Italian bonds are taking a hit.”

“What about the corruption investigation?” I ask. “Where do we stand with the evidence against Carlos and the others?”

Justice Minister Gabriella’s secretary Taddeo shakes his head. “We need another week at minimum to compile everything for formal charges. The prosecutors are working around the clock, but—”

“We don’t have a week,” Gabriella interrupts. “We have hours.”

I pace the length of the conference table. “What are our options?”