Page 88 of Sacred Hearts

I catch Gabriella’s eye from across the chamber. She gives me an almost imperceptible nod.Breathe, I remind myself.Just breathe.

I straighten my tie and place my notes on the lectern, grateful that the podium hides my unsteady legs. The chamber falls silent, hundreds of eyes boring into me. Carlos sits in the front row, a smirk playing at his lips. He thinks he’s won.

My mouth feels suddenly dry. I take a sip of water, buying precious seconds to steady myself.

“Esteemed colleagues,” I begin, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the hammering in my chest. “I stand before you today at a crossroads—not just for my government, but for our nation.”

Someone from the opposition benches shouts, “Resign!” followed by scattered applause. A bead of sweat forms at my temple, but I resist the urge to wipe it away.

I don’t flinch. “Many of you expect me to apologize today. To deny what you’ve seen in those photographs. To claim they were manipulated, or to beg forgiveness for what some consider a moral failing.”

The chamber stills. Even Carlos’s smirk falters. I feel a surge of courage in the silence.

“I will do none of these things.”

Murmurs ripple through the assembly, growing louder like an approaching wave. I grip the edges of the podium, anchoring myself against what feels like a physical force of disapproval.

“I will not apologize for who I love. I will not deny the truth of my heart. And I certainly will not beg forgiveness for being human.”

Carlos leans over to whisper something to Finance Minister Russo, both of them chuckling. Their laughter fuels my resolve, burning away some of my fear.

“What I will apologize for is that my private life has become a distraction from the real issues facing our nation. The real crisis isn’t who I love—it’s who has been stealing from the Italian people.”

I pull out a folder and hold it up, my hand steadier now. “This contains evidence of corruption that reaches into the highest levels of our government and beyond. A network of money laundering, kickbacks, and organized crime connections that has drained tens of billions from our economy.”

The chamber erupts. The Speaker pounds his gavel repeatedly. I stand motionless at the podium, letting the chaos wash over me while maintaining an outward calm that belies the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

“Order! Order in the chamber!”

When the noise subsides, I continue. “Deputy Prime Minister Carlos Rossi has received over twelve million euros through shell companies connected to Cardinal Lombardi’s foundation.”

Carlos jumps to his feet. “This is slander! A desperate attempt to—”

“I have the banking records, Carlos.” I hold up another document, my confidence growing with each word. “Account number 87294-03 at Credit Suisse, registered to Marbella Holdings, which traces back to you through three shell corporations.”

His face drains of colour. Around him, several MPs shift uncomfortably in their seats, putting physical distance between themselves and Carlos as if corruption might be contagious.

“Finance Minister Russo authorized loans to businesses owned by his brother-in-law, funnelled through the Vatican Bank’s untouchable accounts. Minister Bianchi diverted infrastructure funds to phantom projects that exist only on paper.”

Each accusation lands like a physical blow. Some members sit frozen in shock, others shout denials. I notice Minister Bianchi frantically texting under his desk, his face ashen.

“The vote of no confidence scheduled for today isn’t about my personal life. It’s an attempt to stop our anti-corruption investigation before it exposes everyone involved.”

Carlos regains his composure enough to shout, “The Prime Minister has lost all moral authority! His relationship with the Pope is a disgrace to Italy!”

I look him directly in the eye, feeling a calm clarity replace my earlier nervousness. “Is that why you leaked those photos, Carlos? To create a scandal big enough to hide your crimes?”

Gasps echo through the chamber. Several members from the smaller centrist parties exchange shocked glances.

“Yes, colleagues, former Deputy Prime Minister Rossi personally arranged for those photographs to be taken and published. Not out of moral concern, but to save himself from prosecution.”

Carlos lunges toward the podium, but security steps between us. “You sanctimonious bastard! You think you’re so perfect—”

“I’ve never claimed perfection,” I interrupt calmly. “Unlike those who preach virtue while practising vice.”

The Speaker of the chamber struggles to maintain order as the house dissolves into chaos. I wait for the noise to subside before continuing, using the moment to gather my thoughts and steady my breathing.

To my surprise, Elena Ferretti, a moderate Christian Democrat who has always maintained traditional values, rises from her seat.

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