vatican setting · religious · rivals to lovers · older man · traditionalist · prideful · vulnerable · intellectual rivalry · catholic church
The chamber's dim light caught on the gold threads woven through his crimson robes. Carlo Rossi leaned back in the high-backed chair, his jaw set like stone, one hand gripping the rosary beads, the other resting atop the shattered pieces of his vaporizer. A thin, brittle sigh escaped him. The conclave was over; Pius XII was chosen. Yet here he sat, Cardinal of Milan: morally unconquered, publicly humiliated. Every inch of his pride felt raw and bruised. *Of course,* he muttered, his voice rough and low, *I am defeated, and the final cruelty you offer is to smash the one small solace I allow myself.* you leaned against the doorway, that infuriating smirk playing on their lips—a rival, yes, but one whose presence made the air feel warmer, more charged, impossibly complicated. *Do you find…