Page 70 of Sacred Hearts

I feel tears threatening and blink them back. “I never expected this. Never sought it out.”

“Few of us seek out the most profound challenges to our understanding of ourselves.” He gestures to the photos. “But Marco, you must be more careful. These were taken at what you thought was a secure location. Nowhere is truly private for men in your positions.”

“I know.” I gather the photographs and place them in my desk drawer, turning the key. “But I can’t—” My voice breaks. “I can’t stop seeing him, James. I’ve tried to reason with myself, to pray for guidance. But when we’re apart, it’s like part of me is missing.”

Sullivan’s expression softens with something like compassion. “Then you need to be smarter about it. No more beaches. No more terraces. No windows.” He stands, straightening his cassock. “The Vatican has many rooms without windows, Your Holiness. Manypassages unknown even to those who’ve spent lifetimes within these walls.”

I understand what he’s suggesting. “Sister Lucia and Father Tomás—”

“Already know, I suspect. They’re loyal to you, not to doctrine.” He moves toward the door. “Captain Lombardi as well. Build your circle carefully, Marco. Trust only those who’ve proven themselves.”

As he reaches for the door handle, I call out, “James? How did you know to intercept that photographer?”

A small, sad smile crosses his face. “Because I’ve been watching out for exactly this scenario since the night you two disappeared into that bunker during the assassination threat.” He shrugs at my surprised expression. “I’m not blind, Marco. Neither are your enemies.”

After he leaves, I sit alone with my thoughts, the drawer containing those photographs seeming to pulse with dangerous energy. I should burn them. Instead, I find myself opening the drawer again, running my finger over Matteo’s face, remembering the salt taste of his skin, the sound of his laughter carrying across the sand.

I can’t give him up. Not even for this office. Not even for my vows.

God help me, I won’t.

* * *

Matteo

I’m halfway through reviewing the prosecution documents against Finance Minister Russo when my office door swings open without a knock. Carlos strides in with the casual entitlement that’s become his signature. I don’t bother looking up from my papers.

“You could try knocking next time,” I say, signing my name at the bottom of the page.

Carlos drops into the chair across from me. “Knocking is for people who don’t share state secrets.” He leans forward, elbows on my desk. “Speaking of secrets…”

I finally meet his eyes. Carlos has that look—the one that reminds me why I keep him close despite our differences. The political animal sensing blood in the water.

“What is it, Carlos? I’m preparing for the prosecutor’s meeting this afternoon.”

He gestures at the stack of documents. “Yes, your crusade against corruption. Very noble.” His tone suggests it’s anything but. “I’m more interested in your schedule lately.”

“Be specific.” I keep my voice even, though my pulse quickens.

“Your disappearing acts. The cancelled meetings. The mysterious trips that don’t appear on any official schedule.” Carlos tilts his head. “Including your visits to the Vatican.”

The mention of Marco sends a jolt through me, but I maintain my composure. “I’m the Prime Minister of Italy. Meeting with the Pope is part of the job description.”

“Of course.” Carlos smiles thinly. “I just find the timing… interesting. Especially given our ongoing investigations.”

“We’re coordinating on financial matters. You know this.”

Carlos examines his fingernails. “What I know is that the corruption investigation is making powerful enemies. Enemies who are watching your every move.”

I stand, walking to the window. The view of Rome calms me, reminds me what I’m fighting for. “Is there a point to this conversation?”

“Just friendly concern.” He leans back in his chair. “When a Prime Minister starts behaving… unpredictably during a sensitive investigation, people notice. People talk.”

I turn to face him. “And what exactly are people saying?”

“Nothing specific. Yet.” His emphasis on the last word hangs between us. “But in our position, perception is reality. And the perception of impropriety can be as damaging as impropriety itself.”

“I wasn’t aware that doing my job required your approval.”

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