Pope Francis Memoir Audiobook Novels & Stories

"I have to." He met her eyes. A long beat. A lifetime of warnings passed between them. Then he gave a tight nod. The doors opened, heavy as tombs. She stepped inside. It was not a grand throne room as she'd expected, but a dim archive study, lit by oil lamps and crowned with a mosaic dome. The Pope sat at a narrow desk, flanked not by guards but by silence. A single old priest stood in the shadows. "Dr. Fabrizio," the Pope said. "Or should I call you Dona Sanchiano now?"

I had for once in my life no planning I had to go by, no plans or things to do or any expectations and I felt relaxed to have nothing to do but read a book in a hot bath. Once I was done taking a bath and a quarter of my book further I decided it was time to rinse myself off, I started to get hungry, which my mother would love, and figured it should be about time to maybe go downtown, get myself some new clothes and new books from the money I had saved and was still in the envelope I was given along with my train ticket.

business was business. "You saved yourself a useful tool," Evan replied. "Someone with no other loyalty except to you. Someone who would never question your orders because he had nowhere else to go." The Pope was quiet for a long moment. It was clear his mind was working overtime. None of his ideas was working on Evan and honestly , Evan found it amusing the more he tried. Finally, he spoke in a whisper. "I did love you like a son." "Then you have a strange way of showing love," Evan said.

"What ails you? You look so... unhappy." Poppy let out a bitter laugh. "Unhappy? Oh, Francis, you have no idea. I am a prisoner of my own desires, a slave to my appetites. And now, as I grow old and weak, I find that those appetites have abandoned me, leaving me with nothing but the bitter taste of regret." Francis reached out, taking Poppy's hand in his own. "Your Highness," he said, his voice gentle. "You have lived a life of great pleasure and indulgence. You have tasted delights that most can only dream of. Surely that is worth something?"

“Hmm, the book seems to listen to commands spoken aloud… or not necessarily aloud, but in her native language. But something is missing ... Only one word did not keep her in obedience. Acting more on a whim, he concentrated and, by an effort of will, tingled in his palms, signifying the awakening of power. Now the sanctifier has increasingly begun to practice doing this without the use of a rosary, although the habit of twirling the beads in his hands has not gone away. Feeling invisible sparks dancing on his fingertips, Lorenzo turned his gaze to the page and began to read aloud. It turned out slowly and with difficulty, but the inquisitor did not give up. Five minutes later, when he had ov

“How long have I been out?” “About an hour. This is quite a unique book. I think you’d find it interesting as well. Miriam wrote about you.” “What the hell?” he said with a deep frown. “She didn’t mention you by name, but she definitely wrote about you and your brother Andrew. Listen,” she said and began reading out loud: A Sex Maniac’s Journal By Dr. Miriam Bachmeier Chapter four My First Encounter

"It's your choice." I was puzzled, what hard way? He would've hurt me by now. He's complicated, I thought he'd hurt me but what was he doing? Suddenly audio was played from the tablet. My whole world collapsed upon realizing who owns the voice. A sharp needle stabbed my heart and flood of tears fell from my eyes. It was Haliyah, she's pleading. 'Save me from here. I beg you.' The audio was repetitive making me delirious. "What did you do to her?" I cried in anger.

“Yeah, well. People change.” Ricardo raised a suspicious brow. “So now you pray?” “Yes,” I said solemnly. “When food this holy appears, you show respect.” He shook his head, chuckling under his breath, but folded his hands anyway. “Fine. Lead the way, Pope Ryan.” I bowed my head slightly and mumbled, “Dear God, thank you for this food. Thank you for sparing Ricardo’s fingers. And thank you for cinnamon and YouTube tutorials. Amen.” Ricardo laughed quietly, shaking his head as I grinned.

“You raised me to be ashamed of my own body? Stellar parenting. I’m not possessed. I’m just horny. There’s a difference.” Dad slammed the Bible onto my dresser with a heavy thud. “We’ve prayed. We’ve fasted. This is beyond us now. Father Francis is the only one strong enough. We’re taking you for deliverance tonight.” Father Francis. A wicked thrill shot through me. I’d noticed him at Mass—tall, broad-shouldered beneath those robes, with a deep, resonant voice and intense eyes that looked like they carried the weight of every secret sin in the parish. Early forties, handsome in that tortured, celibate way. The kind of man who probably hadn’t touched a woman in years.

On the other side, I heard the soft rustle of fabric and then his voice—low, smooth, and so deep it slid straight down my spine like warm oil. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” I whispered, my thighs already pressing together under my short sundress. “It has been… one year since my last confession.” A pause. Then that velvet-gravel voice answered, calm but commanding. “Speak your sins, child. God is listening.” God maybe. But right now, all I could think about was *him*. Father Lucian Cross.