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Chapter Text

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That morning, the Curia awoke to an unexpected development.

It was Pentecost morning, and most of the prelates had been invited to Saint Peter’s Basilica to attend the solemn papal Mass.

They were waiting for the last Cardinals to arrive when, suddenly, word spread that the Patriarch of Venice had collapsed and been rushed to the hospital. In his place had been sent a Bishop—one Monsignor Goffredo Tedesco.

Aldo Bellini, the Secretary of State, was waiting alongside Thomas Lawrence, Dean of the College of Cardinals. Aldo looked openly irritated and made no attempt to hide it—who on earth would send a mere Bishop to preside and intervene at a solemn celebration like Pentecost, he thought.

Thomas appeared calmer, but inside, anxiety stirred. If anything were to go wrong that day, he would never forgive himself.

The other Cardinals were gathered in the Courtyard of San Damaso, full of curiosity. No one knew who Goffredo Tedesco was. They only knew that his ideology was considered moderate—more conservative than liberal.

A car with tinted windows stopped in front of Thomas and Aldo. When the door opened, neither of them expected to see a man step out who couldn’t have been more than forty.

Aldo eyed him cynically but intrigued: the stranger had a lean frame, perfectly highlighted by dark trousers and shirt. A well-kept beard framed a face that could tempt even the most rigorous of men Aldo could imagine. The man’s beauty was disarming, interrupted only by a touch of melancholy in his gaze, partially hidden behind thin glasses. A crown of dark curls adorned his head, interrupted by a single white lock that, in its dissonance, made the man even more striking. The only sign of his clerical status was the Roman collar.

A man like that, Aldo thought, was not made for chastity.

It was Thomas, clearly confused, who broke the silence.

“Good morning… Are you Monsignor Tedesco’s assistant?”

The stranger gave a faint smile.

“Actually, I am Monsignor Tedesco. Good morning to you.”

Both stood stunned. But unlike Aldo—shocked more by the man’s appearance than his role—Thomas managed to compose himself and called over his assistant, Monsignor O’Malley.

“Ray, would you be so kind as to accompany Monsignor Tedesco to his room?” Receiving an affirmative answer, he turned to Goffredo:

“Monsignor O’Malley will escort you to your quarters. At 8:30, we’ll begin moving toward Saint Peter’s for the Mass. Please be punctual.”

Goffredo nodded and followed Ray into the Domus Sanctae Marthae.

Thomas turned to Aldo.

“…He’s young.”

“Too young…”

Soon after, Goffredo joined the others in the courtyard. His light-purple cassock stood out among the sea of cardinal red.

Aldo, now apart from Thomas, watched the young Bishop. There was something disarming about him, something that stirred a vague anger in Aldo, though he couldn’t yet name it.

Goffredo leaned against a column and lit a cigarette. He seemed contemplative, watching the other Cardinals.

Replacing the Patriarch of Venice on such a solemn occasion would have been daunting for anyone, yet this Bishop looked more relaxed than ever—and that irritated Aldo deeply.

At 8:30, they began walking toward the Basilica, arriving on time. The Mass began at 9:30.

The celebration proceeded without issue. Goffredo was invited to speak shortly before Communion.

As he ascended the pulpit, it became clear to everyone that the young Bishop was not the least intimidated by the solemnity of the moment—he seemed almost… pleased by it.

He took a moment to scan the crowd of faithful and clergy alike. Everyone hung on his words.

“My dear faithful, my dear brother Cardinals, we have a problem.”

Murmurs of concern rippled through the sea of red robes. The faithful leaned in, fully alert. Aldo, seated in the front row, stared at him challengingly. He wanted to know what this Goffredo had to say.

“Our Church has been left to drift and is paralyzed by indecision. We need clarity. We need to know the direction we are to take. We must restore the sacred, unshakable foundations that, for centuries, have upheld and glorified the Church. And if those foundations are now outdated, no longer aligned with the message the Church wishes to send today, then we must remove them. We need decisions—firm and resolute.”

He paused, scanning the crowd. His colleagues stared, incredulous—all except Aldo.

Aldo was intrigued.

“Today more than ever, brothers and sisters, we must condemn uncertainty in our Church. Today, on the holy day of Pentecost, we recall the moment the Holy Spirit descended upon the Apostles, filling them with courage and banishing their fear and uncertainty. The Church was born only when uncertainty was driven out. It is, therefore, a cruel paradox that this institution is more uncertain now than ever before.

What I offer today is an invitation to reflect. You must question your values and be certain of what you wish to show the world—and God. Only then, together, can we help our Holy Roman Church become stronger, more alive, and more enduring.

In the Vangelo according to Matthew, Jesus says to Peter: ‘And I say to you: you are Peter, and on this rock You will build my Church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.’

Today, here in Saint Peter’s, I invite you to lay your own stone—to help strengthen a Church that needs you, needs its faithful, needs its children. It needs strong and unyielding walls to protect its heart and all who choose to believe. And only by freeing ourselves from uncertainty can we prepare to receive what God wishes to give us.”

The entire Basilica stood still, waiting for his next word.

Some didn’t even dare to breathe.

“Preghiamo: Credo in un solo Dio, Signore onnipotente…”

Everyone stood. Their voices rose as one, echoing through the Basilica. Technically, it should have been the Pope leading the Creed—but to all, this felt like the natural continuation of Goffredo Tedesco’s homily. A name that, in under ten minutes, had written a page of contemporary Church history.

Thomas was in crisis. He had no idea how to react or justify what had just occurred. He couldn’t even focus on the prayer. All he could do was hope the damage done by Tedesco wasn’t too deep.

Aldo was furious—not with Goffredo, but with himself. He hated that he couldn’t find a single way to dismantle Tedesco’s sermon. And he hated seeing himself in him. He couldn’t bear the thought that he wanted to be him—or worse, that he wanted him.

He immediately repented and tried to return his attention to the prayer.

The Pope had listened attentively to the young bishop’s words. He alone realized he had just witnessed the speech of a strategist.

Every word measured. Every phrase calibrated for impact—but never destruction.

Goffredo would be of great use to him.

Chapter Text

The tension caused by Goffredo’s homily lingered throughout the day.

During dinner at Casa Santa Marta, several Cardinals surrounded Thomas, demanding explanations and expressing concern about the impact the sermon might have on their faithful.

The Dean tried to reassure them, noticing at the same time that some of his colleagues had formed a small circle around Goffredo, likely to delve deeper into the points raised during the homily. Deep down, he hoped the Bishop wouldn’t cause any further damage.

Aldo, of course, had noticed this as well.

He decided to approach.

The Bishop saw him from the corner of his eye and, after politely dismissing the other Cardinals, turned toward Aldo. His expression was neutral, but the pride in his gaze betrayed him.

He knew Aldo had no real grounds to criticize his speech, but he was curious to watch him try.

“Eminenza Bellini, what can I do for you?”

“Do you even realize what you’ve done today? Are you trying to destroy the Church?”

“Quite the opposite. I thought I’d made myself clear… and frankly, I expected you, Aldo, of all people, to understand my words. You seemed… very absorbed.”

Aldo couldn’t remain calm. Goffredo’s arrogance, combined with his relaxed demeanor, infuriated him.

Goffredo looked amused, and took the liberty of breaking the formal tone Aldo was struggling to maintain at the first opportunity.

Aldo managed to keep a composed appearance—betrayed only by his clenched jaw and the vein pulsing visibly on his neck.

“How dare you? Who do you think you are? You can’t come in here and treat this place like it’s your Church. There are rules that must be respected.”

“Is that so?”

Aldo clenched his fists. The temptation to strike him was strong. What stopped him wasn’t so much moral duty as it was the guilt at the thought of ruining such beauty. He couldn’t bear the feelings this man stirred in him. He was terribly attracted to him, and if before it was his vow of chastity that kept certain thoughts at bay, now it was rage—blind and instinctive.

And yet, it was that very rage that fueled the thoughts, digging into the darkest recesses of the Secretary of State’s repressed desires.

“Listen, you’re no one to come here and lay down the law. Before preaching morality to the Church and our Holy Father, you should reexamine your own principles—maybe even review your theology.”

Goffredo looked at him carefully, taking his time before responding. He knew the silence was eating Aldo alive—and he had no intention of making it easier for him. He wanted to see just how far the man would go. He hoped he would snap.

“I’m well aware that I’m no one, Aldo.”

A wave of heat surged through Aldo. Could it really be that just hearing his name from this man’s lips affected him so strongly? This whole ridiculous situation had to be a test.

Goffredo was surely a temptation sent by God to challenge his willpower.

And at the moment, he was failing—miserably.

“And you must know,” Goffredo continued, “that it’s precisely because I’m no one that I allow myself to point out the problems of our Church. I didn’t think I’d shaken people so much—but if the Cardinal Secretary of State has stooped to yelling at a simple Bishop, you’re telling me I might’ve actually stirred something up, aren’t you?”

He looked at Aldo and smiled, with a tone that—to Aldo—seemed identical to the one the serpent used when tempting Eve, offering her the forbidden fruit. He felt like Eve—and sooner or later, Aldo would give in, accepting and biting into that fruit he hadn’t even known he craved until that very morning.

“Still, Aldo,” Goffredo continued, ignoring the burning look of desire being directed at him,

“I don’t regret what I said, if that’s what you’re hoping for. You know I’m right. And that—more than anything—is what angers you. Between the two of us, you are the one who needs to reexamine your principles—moral and theological. In any case, I do hope you’ll forgive me if I dared to express my convictions.”

Aldo barely had time to process those words before all the heat in his body—now boiling with both rage and… desire—rushed to a very specific part of his anatomy, causing him no small amount of discomfort.

Goffredo pretended not to notice what he had very much just caused in the man standing before him.

The moment Aldo became aware of it, he quickly turned and walked toward the elevator.

He was running—fleeing—followed by the murmurs of his colleagues.

The Bishop resumed speaking with the other Cardinals as if nothing had happened.

Aldo left behind the buzzing refectory of Casa Santa Marta and stepped into the elevator. A few seconds later, Thomas joined him.

“I finally escaped. They had me surrounded. Everyone’s in crisis after today’s Mass.”

He looked at Aldo.

“Aldo… are you okay?”

The elevator doors closed.

“DO I LOOK OKAY TO YOU?”

“…No. But what did you two talk about? I’ve never seen you so… shaken.”

Thomas’s eyes involuntarily dropped to the very obvious issue that had grown from a mere annoyance to a full-blown erection.

“…Aldo.”

“NO. No. Don’t even start, Thomas. This is not my fault.”

“You only talked?” said Thomas, trying not to burst into laughter in front of his friend.

It was a tragically comic sight.

“DO YOU THINK I CAN CONTROL IT?”

“…Now I understand why you practically ran out of the room,” Thomas said, chuckling, finally allowing himself to relax a little after the hellish day.

“It’s not funny.”

“You sure? Because when it happened to me, you laughed plenty. Especially every time you brought it up for months. Of course, we were still kids back then.”

Aldo looked at him. Thomas was his only real friend in that place. They’d met in seminary and had never been apart since.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm the burning embarrassment.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll give you that one.”

The doors opened to Thomas’s floor.

“Get some rest. See you tomorrow, Aldo.”

“Goodnight, Thomas. See you tomorrow.”

He was alone again.

Talking to Thomas had helped him relax a little, but, of course, his problem remained far from resolved.

He had no idea how he could possibly find relief without breaking his vow of chastity.

Chapter Text

For Aldo, that night seemed eternal.

He had managed to ease his physical discomfort with a simple cold shower before going to bed, but sleep didn’t seem to want to come, probably due to the growing nervousness inside him. He couldn’t stand being so submissive to a man he barely knew.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Goffredo in front of him; even the smallest detail had been imprinted on Aldo.

He tried in every way to clear his mind until, after hours spent staring at the ceiling, he decided to get up and leave Casa Santa Marta.

The fresh air tingled on his skin, sending a shiver through him. The Vatican Gardens at night had a more welcoming feel, in Aldo’s opinion, who was more accustomed to frequenting them at night than during the day. From there, he took a secondary entrance to the Vatican Museums, arriving at a small hidden room containing a piano.

That instrument had been his only outlet since seminary. It was his secret. The piano was his confessor, through which, in the brief moments he played, he accepted his humanity — imperfect and sinful.

He gently touched the keys, sensing their purifying energy, a feeling that constantly made him feel guilty. He felt like he was betraying the Church by seeking peace through music, and many times over the years he had tried to resist but failed.

He took a deep breath and surrendered to the smell of wood and ivory that filled the room, beginning to play. It was a bare, primitive melody — the only way Aldo had to scream to God that he too existed and needed Him.

That night, for the first time, he was heard.

Behind the slightly ajar door stood Goffredo.

His presence there was accidental; in fact, he was headed to the Library to finish studying some documents but was drawn by curiosity to find out who could be playing the piano so rawly and heartbreakingly in such a hidden place.

Never in his life had he heard anything like it, despite his initial studies having been entirely focused on music and having met many talented musicians.

He remained hidden, listening to the crying of that piano, and for the first time discovered that men can cry without shedding a tear, which was exactly what Aldo was doing.

Only one thing was certain: if he had entered that room, he would have broken a sacred bond, ruining it forever. For that reason, he left silently, aware that he had seen the most intimate side of a man he didn’t know but who intrigued him.

A few hours later, the sun exchanged places with the moon, marking the beginning of a new day.

Goffredo waited in front of the Pope’s office, under his arm carrying the real reason for his visit to Rome — documents proving that Cardinal Tremblay had begun corrupting other colleagues, attempting to buy votes in case of a forthcoming Conclave, which Tremblay believed was imminent.

Goffredo had launched the investigation after discovering that recent funds received by his vicariate came from these dealings. He not only refused the money but also investigated the matter.

He could have published those documents — people would have expected it of him, given his homily — it seemed he was just waiting for an excuse to bring down the current Church, but in reality, he only wanted to rebuild it from within, without media scandals.

While waiting to be received by the Pope, he was approached by Tremblay himself.

“Good morning, Tedesco.”

“Eminenza.”

“What brings you here?”

“I have matters to discuss with the Santo Padre.”

Tremblay nodded, ready to conclude the usual polite chit-chat.

“My colleagues and I were wondering how you managed to achieve such success at such a young age.”

“You know, Eminenza, I often ask myself the same.” He looked up.

“Surely being a vicar of an important area helps, no? Moreover, you’re the only Bishop besides the Patriarch. Some say you command the ‘Salute’ vicariate, others — myself included — say you’re vicar of ‘Mestre’ or even ‘San Marco’… would you care to clear up my curiosity?”

Goffredo smiled, knowing well the direction the conversation was about to take.

“I’m vicar of ‘Jesolo,’ Eminenza.”

“…a particular area.”

“You mean deserted, fragmented, and considered only a summer spot?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. Just that… knowing this, I wonder how you gained all this… power.”

“Do you have any theories?”

“It’s hard not to think so.”

Goffredo looked at him, feeling the full weight of the truth he had discovered about Tremblay pressing down on him.

“I have never demanded anything, Eminenza, nor asked for favors. I simply care about my community. I never desired all this… power, as you call it.”

“Forgive me, but I find that hard to believe, Tedesco.”

“Of course, I understand, but it’s simply the truth.”

He felt Tremblay’s accusing gaze on him.

“You know, sometimes even the wisest men ask favors from the wrong people, ending up in places that don’t reflect their true worth,” said Tremblay.

Goffredo looked at him, irritated by how the cardinal before him was trying to bribe him without even trying to hide it. Fortunately, at that moment, the Pope’s personal assistant came out, allowing Goffredo to enter.

“Excuse me, Eminenza, good day.”

“To you, Goffredo. Let me know.” Tremblay walked away, satisfied, presumably thinking he had found an ally.

Goffredo entered the office and sat across from the Holy Father. The Pontiff was a man worn by time, belonging to a now outdated generation. Nonetheless, his mind was still strategically brilliant but too accustomed to compromise, according to Goffredo, probably because of the Pope’s great passion for chess. The chessboard was, in fact, the Pope’s only faithful companion. Often during private audiences, the Holy Father would stare at it, surely thinking of new strategies, but still remaining present in the conversation. At that moment, however, his gaze was fixed on Goffredo. He looked at him just as he looked at the chessboard, creating a new strategy in his mind built solely around the enigmatic figure of Goffredo.

“I took the liberty of launching an investigation,” said Goffredo, breaking the silence between them. “A few months ago, I had a request approved for additional funds, which I had asked for to organize activities in my vicariate. It was a considerable amount, too high for the coffers of Venice, especially considering my vicariate is deemed less important and thus less deserving of funds.”

“Go on…”

“A rumor spread that you wanted to make the Patriarch a cardinal, and because of this, he had received those funds. Unfortunately, I discovered they came from Tremblay. He’s preparing for the next Conclave, buying votes from cardinals and future cardinals. I brought you all the bank data, including the names of those who received the money and the various transactions.”

“Goffredo, may I ask you a question?”

“Certainly, Holy Father.”

“Why haven’t you published these reports? From your homily yesterday, you seemed ready to reform the Church at any cost.”

Goffredo averted his gaze, turning it to the chessboard.

“You’re mistaken. I want to reform it, yes, but not destroy it. If I had published those reports, I would have betrayed the trust that millions of faithful have in our Church and the men who make it up. I don’t want a perfect but dead Church; I want an honest and imperfect but living Church. I understand that from my intervention yesterday, it might have seemed that I wanted to attack you and your pontificate, but that’s not the case… Although I disagree with many of your ideas, I trust you, and I know you will act in the best way for our Sacra Romana Chiesa and its dignity as an institution.”

The Pope smiled, rising from his desk.

“You know, I’ve been watching you for some time.”

“…Yes.”

“Is that why you worked so hard to rebuild a community that was almost destroyed?”

“No, I did it because I know the potential the Church has in today’s world, especially with young people.”

“Many parishes offer courses and activities similar to those your parish offers. Can you explain why you have succeeded with these projects?”

“I don’t want to take any credit. I simply listened a lot and offered what little I could… but I organized well. For the music courses, I was helped by some friends from the conservatorio, offering the chance to learn instruments beyond classical guitar. I involved my family, my nephews to be precise, who got involved in organizing other activities, like sports or drawing courses, for example. It’s a work I started alone and that lives thanks to the community. I only knew when to keep quiet and let those who needed to speak, speak. The Church must be a place that helps and teaches something — not just the simple theological teaching at Mass, but teaching something tangible. God himself, through Cristo nostro Signore, invites us to make our talents bear fruit and not hide them, and I simply helped the community express what God has given them. My only merit is having no merits, Santo Padre.”

“Thank you, Goffredo. I will take note of what you have revealed to me today. May I ask how long you will stay in Rome?”

“I will stay another week,” he said, standing. “I remain at your disposal.”

“Good, then see you soon.”

“Good day, Santità.”

He disappeared after a simple bow. He could not yet imagine that that conversation would soon change his life, making him part of a plan both divine and earthly.