Page 39 of Sacred Hearts

“Effectively,” I confirm. “Every meeting scrutinized, every visitor logged. They’ve even restricted my access to certain areas of the Vatican Archives.”

“Our joint task force has been stonewalled as well. Requests for documentation from the Vatican Bank are being redirected through diplomatic channels that lead nowhere.”

We pause near a fountain, its gentle splash providing cover for our conversation. “They’re buying time,” I say. “The question is, for what?”

Before Matteo can answer, I notice a figure approaching—a Swiss Guard officer, his uniform distinctive even in the dim light. My heart sinks, assuming Antonelli has sent someone to retrieve me.

“Your Holiness,” the guard says with a crisp bow. “Captain Lorenzo Lombardi. Cardinal Sullivan asked me to inform you that CardinalAntonelli is looking for you. He’s currently searching the east wing.”

I sigh. “Thank you, Captain. I suppose I should return.”

“If I may, Holy Father,” Lombardi says, his voice lowered, “Cardinal Sullivan suggested you might prefer to continue your discussion undisturbed. There is a private meditation garden beyond the old seminary that remains unlocked. It’s not on the regular patrol route.”

I study him carefully. “You’re a Lombardi? Any relation to Cardinal Lombardi?”

A flicker of emotion crosses his face. “Distant cousins, Your Holiness. But I assure you, my loyalty is to the office of the Pope, not to family connections.”

Something in his direct gaze convinces me. “Thank you, Captain. Could you ensure we’re not followed?”

“Of course, Holy Father.” He gestures toward a narrow path. “This way, please.”

Sophia steps forward. “I’ll redirect any inquiries, Prime Minister. The official garden tour begins in forty minutes.”

Matteo nods. “Thank you, Sophia.”

Captain Lombardi leads us along winding paths, through a small gate concealed by ivy, and finally into a secluded garden enclosed by ancient walls. A simple stone bench sits beneath an olive tree, with a small fountain murmuring nearby.

“This garden dates to the 16th century,” Lombardi explains. “It was created as a private retreat for Pope Sixtus V. Few even remember it exists now.” He steps back with a respectful bow. “I’ll ensure you’re not disturbed, Your Holiness. When you wish to return, simply follow the path to the left of the fountain. It will lead you to the main courtyard.”

“Thank you, Captain,” I say, genuinely moved by this unexpected alliance.

Once Lombardi disappears, we’re truly alone for the first time since that night at Castel Sant’Angelo. The realization sends a tremorthrough me.

“How did you know you could trust him?” Matteo asks, looking after the departed guard.

“I didn’t,” I admit. “But Cardinal Sullivan does, and I’ve come to trust James with my life.”

We stand in silence for a moment, the night air heavy with jasmine and unspoken words. Moonlight filters through olive branches, casting dappled shadows across Matteo’s face.

“How are you really?” he asks finally, his voice gentle.

The simple question—the first anyone has asked me in days that isn’t about policy or protocol—breaks something loose inside me.

“Trapped,” I confess. “Watched. Every move I make is observed and reported. They smile and bow and call me Holy Father while systematically cutting me off from anyone who might help me expose them.”

Matteo steps closer. “You’re not alone in this fight, Marco.”

The sound of my name—my real name, not my title—sends a shiver through me. How long has it been since anyone called me simply Marco?

“Sometimes it feels that way,” I say quietly. “The weight of it all—the Church, the corruption, these robes…” I gesture at my formal attire.

“I understand isolation,” Matteo says. “To be surrounded by people yet completely alone. To wear a mask so convincing that sometimes you forget what lies beneath it.”

“What happens when the mask becomes impossible to maintain?” I ask, the question meant as much for myself as for him.

He moves closer still, close enough that I can see the faint scar on his cheek from the assassination attempt. “Then perhaps it’s time to trust someone with the truth beneath it.”

My heart pounds against my ribs. Every teaching, every vow I’ve taken tells me to step back, to maintain distance, to remembermy sacred office. But something deeper—something that feels more like truth than any doctrine—keeps me rooted in place.

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