Page 42 of Sacred Hearts

“I’m saying you should not condemn yourself for experiencing love,” he clarifies. “What path you choose—how you balance your personal truth with your public office—that is between you and God. But know this: God does not reject you for who you are or who you love.”

The absolution he offers feels like cool water on parched soil. “How do I reconcile this with my position as Pope?”

Father Domenico smiles gently. “Perhaps that is precisely why God placed you in this position, Marco. Not despite who you are, but because of it.”

“You believe my… orientation… could serve a purpose in God’s plan?”

“I believe that authentic witness to God’s inclusive love is what the Church needs most in these troubled times.” He makes the sign of the cross. “God’s mercy is boundless, His understanding far greater than our human doctrines can contain.”

As he pronounces the words of absolution, I feel something shift within me—not the elimination of conflict, but perhaps the beginning of integration. The man and the Pope, the private self and public office, the doctrine I’ve sworn to uphold and the truth I can no longer deny.

“Thank you, Father,” I whisper as we rise.

“Remember, Your Holiness,” he says, reverting to my title though his eyes remain kind, “Christ’s harshest words were never for those who loved too much, but for those who used religion to exclude and condemn.”

As Father Domenico leaves me alone in the chapel, I turn once more to the crucifix. My prayers are different now—still questioning, still uncertain of the path ahead, but no longer fractured by shame.

“Guide me, Lord,” I whisper. “Not away from this love, but toward the truth of how it might serve Your greater purpose.”

11

Hidden Hours

Marco

I kneel in the pre-dawn stillness of my private chapel, Father Domenico’s words from last night still resonating through me.“God does not reject you for who you are or who you love.”After decades of believing my deepest feelings were sinful, his acceptance has unlocked something profound within me—not just permission to acknowledge my attraction to Matteo, but an invitation to see it as potentially sacred.

“Guide me, Lord,” I whisper, watching morning light filter through stained glass. “If this path is truly from You, give me the courage to follow it.”

Sister Lucia appears at the doorway, disturbing me from my reflection, her normally composed face transformed by urgency, two Swiss Guards flanking her with hands on their weapons.

“Your Holiness, we need to move you immediately.”

I rise quickly, alarm replacing contemplation. “What’s happened?”

“Captain Russo just intercepted intelligence about coordinated assassination plots against both you and Prime Minister Valentini.” She’s already gathering essential papers from my desk, movements efficient but hurried. “The Swiss Guard is implementing ProtocolLazarus.”

My blood runs cold. Protocol Lazarus—the Vatican’s highest security measure, never activated in my lifetime. Named for the biblical resurrection, it’s designed to protect the Pope when death seems imminent.

“Where—” My voice catches. I clear my throat and try again. “Where are they taking me?”

“The secure bunker beneath the Apostolic Palace.” Sister Lucia moves toward the door, gesturing for me to follow. “Prime Minister Valentini is being brought here as well. His security team intercepted an armed assassin near his residence an hour ago.”

“Matteo?” My heart lurches painfully. “Is he hurt?”

“Unharmed, Your Holiness. His security detail acted quickly.” She gives me a searching look at my use of his first name, but continues, “Colonel Reichlin believes the Vatican is currently the safest location for both of you while they neutralize all identified threats.”

The corridor outside my office has transformed into a scene of controlled chaos. Swiss Guards in tactical gear rather than ceremonial uniforms move with practiced precision, securing doorways and speaking urgently into communication devices. Cardinal Sullivan appears, his face ashen.

“Marco,” he says, dispensing with formality. “Thank God they reached you in time. We’ve identified three separate teams targeting you.”

“Who’s behind this?” I ask as we hurry down a corridor I’ve walked countless times, now made foreign by crisis.

“Too early to be certain,” Sullivan replies, matching my pace. “But the timing, coming right after we’ve traced those Vatican Bank accounts to the Calabrian ‘Ndrangheta…”

“Antonelli,” I mutter. A Swiss Guard captain I don’t recognize appears at my side, gently but firmly guiding me toward a side passageI’ve never noticed before.

“Your Holiness, please stay between us,” he instructs, his voice calm but authoritative. “We need to move quickly.”

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