Page 32 of Sacred Hearts

The corridor leading to my private apartments feels longer than usual this evening. Two Swiss Guards follow at a discreet distance—a security measure the head of the Swiss Guard, Colonel Reichlin, insisted upon after the latest threats. Their presence should be reassuring, but instead it underscores the reality that danger lurks even within these sacred walls.

As I round the corner near the Sala Clementina, I spot Cardinal Visconti in hushed conversation with Monsignor Ferrante, the Vatican’s chief diplomatic officer. They fall silent as I approach, their expressions shifting to practiced neutrality.

“Your Holiness.” Visconti bows slightly. “We were just discussing the unfortunate media coverage of today’s… police activities.”

“Unfortunate but necessary, wouldn’t you say, Eminence?” I keep my tone pleasant despite the tension crackling between us. “Financial transparency serves the Church’s mission.”

“Transparency, yes. Public scandal, no.” Visconti’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Cardinal Antonelli has asked me to request a private audience with you regarding the direction these investigations are taking.”

“Of course. My office is always open to both of you, Cardinal.”

“He was thinking somewhere more… discreet.” His gaze flickers to the guards behind me. “The matters he wishes to discuss are sensitive.”

Warning bells sound in my mind. “I find my office perfectly suitable for any conversation between brothers in Christ.”

Visconti steps closer, lowering his voice. “Your Holiness, there are aspects to these financial arrangements that touch on Vatican diplomatic relations—matters beyond the understanding of someone so new to the Chair of Peter.”

“Then I look forward to being educated,” I reply, maintaining my calm despite the implied condescension. “Tomorrow, perhaps? After morning Mass?”

A flash of frustration crosses his face before he masters it. “As you wish. Though Cardinal Antonelli instructed me to caution againstsharing any further information with the Italian authorities before you speak. Prime Minister Valentini’s… motivations may not align with the Church’s best interests.”

The way he says Matteo’s name sends a chill through me—a subtle emphasis that suggests knowledge, or at least suspicion, of something beyond official cooperation.

“I appreciate Cardinal Antonelli’s concern for the Church, Eminence.” I begin to move past him, but he shifts slightly, blocking my path.

“We all want what’s best for you, Your Holiness.” His hand touches my arm briefly, the gesture seeming supportive while his fingers press with unnecessary force. “Cardinal Antonelli asked me to remind you that these are dangerous times. Even Popes are not immune to… accidents.”

Our eyes meet, the threat hanging in the air between us, dressed as concern but unmistakable in its intent.

“I place my faith in God’s protection, Cardinal.” I step deliberately around him. “And in the knowledge that Christ’s Church has survived far worse threats than financial scandal.”

As I continue down the corridor, I feel his eyes boring into my back. The guards move closer, sensing the tension, and I silently thank Colonel Reichlin for insisting on their presence.

* * *

Cardinal Sullivan meets me in the small antechamber adjoining my office, his face grave. The documents I’ve gathered from the Secret Archives and further documents Sullivan has provided lie spread across the table between us.

“It’s worse than we thought, Your Holiness.” Sullivan’s voice is tight with controlled anger. “The Lombardi Foundation has beenlaundering money for the ‘Ndrangheta since the 1980s.”

“Show me,” I say, pulling my chair closer.

Sullivan points to a series of transaction records. “These development projects in Calabria—on paper, they’re affordable housing initiatives. In reality, they’re ghost constructions. The money goes in but nothing gets built.”

“And the Vatican’s involvement?”

“The Lombardi Foundation receives ‘charitable donations’ from these shell companies.” He slides another document toward me. “The money is ‘invested’ in these development projects, then filtered back through offshore accounts in Malta, Cyprus, and Liechtenstein before returning to the original donors—cleaned and untraceable.”

I study the complex web of transactions, my stomach tightening. “Cardinal Antonelli’s signature is on all of these authorizations.”

“As chair of the Financial Council, yes.” Sullivan hesitates. “But there’s more, Your Holiness. These quarterly payments to something called ‘Pastoral Outreach Services’—they correspond exactly with deposits to accounts linked to three Italian cabinet ministers, including Finance Minister Russo.”

“Bribes,” I say flatly.

“Systematic ones. Dating back decades.” Sullivan runs a hand through his silver hair. “This isn’t just a few corrupt individuals, Marco. It’s an entire parallel system operating within both the Church and the Italian government.”

“And Monsignor Adessi discovered it.”

“He was preparing a complete dossier for Pope Francis when Francis died. Then the conclave happened, you were elected, and Adessi…” Sullivan doesn’t need to finish the sentence.

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