Page 99 of Sacred Hearts

“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.”

26

Signs of the Times

Marco

I stand at the window of my papal apartment, watching St. Peter’s Square fill with people. The murmur of the crowd rises like the tide, washing against the ancient walls of the Vatican. Sister Lucia appears at my side, her usually calm face tense with concern.

“Your Holiness, it’s almost time. The square is at capacity, and the Swiss Guard reports the streets beyond are filled for blocks. They’ve deployed loud speakers to broadcast your message to all the faithful.”

“How many, do you think?”

“Hundreds of thousands. And tens of millions more watching broadcasts online.” She hesitates. “There are protesters as well as supporters.”

I nod, turning from the window. “That’s to be expected.”

Cardinal Sullivan enters, followed by Father Tomás and Archbishop Chen. Their presence steadies me—allies in this storm.

“The text of your address?” Sullivan asks.

I tap my temple. “Here. And here,” I add, placing my hand over my heart.

Sullivan looks alarmed. “Your Holiness, in such a critical moment—”

“I’ve prayed on this. The Holy Spirit willguide my words.”

The room falls silent. We all know what’s at stake—not just my papacy, but the future direction of a Church that has stood for two millennia.

“It’s time,” Captain Lombardi announces from the doorway.

I take a deep breath and reach for the white papal zucchetto on my desk, placing it carefully on my head. “Then let us go.”

The walk through the Apostolic Palace feels like a procession. Swiss Guards in their colourful uniforms flank us, their halberds gleaming. Their faces are solemn but determined—these men stood against corruption, choosing loyalty to the office of Peter rather than the corrupt cardinals who tried to usurp it.

Colonel Reichlin meets us at the final corridor. “Your Holiness, we’ve secured the balcony and the square. The Italian police are coordinating with us on the perimeter.”

“Thank you, Colonel. For everything.”

He bows slightly. “I serve the Holy Father, not those who would manipulate the Church.”

As we approach the doors to the balcony, I pause. The sounds of the crowd grow louder—cheers, chants, even some jeers mixing in the warm Roman air. I close my eyes briefly.

Guide me, Lord. Not my will but yours be done.