Page 81 of Sacred Hearts

“Enter,” I call, straightening my cassock.

Cardinal Antonelli strides in, flanked by two guards I don’t recognize. His face wears a mask of pious concern that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Your Holiness, I’ve come to brief you on developments.”

“How thoughtful,” I reply, keeping my voice neutral. “I’ve been feeling rather… isolated.”

He ignores my implication. “The situation is grave. Protests continue outside the Vatican. Several bishops’ conferences have issued statements expressing concern about the scandal. And the Italian parliament is in chaos over Prime Minister Valentini’s… involvement.”

“And Matteo? Have you news of him?”

Antonelli’s lip curls slightly at my use of the Prime Minister’s first name. “He faces a vote of no confidence. His coalition is fracturing. It seems his career, like your pontificate, may be shorter than anticipated.”

The barb stings, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“The College of Cardinals meets tomorrow,” he continues. “As your Secretary of State, I strongly advise you to consider a voluntary resignation. It would spare the Church further scandal and allow for a dignified transition.”

“And if I decline your advice?”

His eyes harden. “Then the College will be forced to consider more… formal measures. For the good of the Church.”

“The good of the Church,” I repeat. “Or the good of those who profit from corruption?”

Antonelli’s face flushes. “You dare accuse—”

“I dare speak truth, Eminence. As Christ did to the Pharisees.”

He composes himself with visible effort. “Consider your options carefully, Holy Father. You have until tomorrow morning to make your decision.”

After he leaves, I sit in silence, contemplating the choice before me.Resign and abandon the reforms I believe God called me to implement? Or fight and risk schism within the Church?

Neither option seems right. There must be another way.

* * *

Night falls again on my captivity. I’ve spent hours in prayer, seeking guidance, finding only questions.

A soft tap at my door reveals not Lombardi but Sister Lucia, her presence a shock.

“How did you—”

“Captain Lombardi arranged it,” she whispers, glancing behind her. “I have only moments. Cardinal Sullivan asked me to bring you this.”

She presses a small device into my hand—a secure phone, similar to the one I used with Matteo.

“It’s encrypted. One number programmed. He’ll be waiting for your call at midnight.”

“Sullivan?”

“No.” Her eyes meet mine. “The Prime Minister.”

My heart leaps. “Matteo?”

She nods. “Cardinal Sullivan believes you both need to coordinate your response. And…” her voice softens, “he thought hearing his voice might strengthen your resolve.”

After she leaves, I clutch the phone like a talisman, counting the hours until midnight.

When the time comes, I slip into my bathroom, turn on the shower to mask any sound, and make the call.

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