The office had settled into a rhythm—clean, efficient, almost surgical.
Matteo's pen glided across the page—one signature after another. The soft scratch of ink filled the silence, steady and precise, broken only by the occasional distant buzz of a phone from the outer office.
He flipped the page, eyes sweeping the quarterly report with cold sharpness. Revenue margins—holding. Procurement costs—shifting, but still manageable. His gaze skimmed over details the way a hawk might trace a landscape, searching for flaws invisible to others.
Page turn. Pen down. Signature. Next.
A courier file from Madrid landed in his hands. He read in silence, his brow ticking faintly at one clause. A small circle of ink marked the margin, followed by a crisp note: Rephrase. Too open-ended.
The rhythm continued until Bianca stepped in, quiet and measured, placing a glass of water beside him. She didn't speak; she didn't need to. Years by his side had taught her to read his silence.
Matteo gave no glance, only a faint nod, and kept going.
The next file—contract extension from the shipping arm. Negotiation points highlighted. He went straight to the appendix, crossed out an entire section without hesitation. Too generous. They would push back, but it didn't matter.
He signed the trimmed version, and the file disappeared into the outgoing stack.
Minutes slipped by. Perhaps an hour. Time folded in on itself inside Matteo's office, compressed by discipline. The faint hum of the desk lamp hung above him, a steady companion. Outside, the city surged forward—traffic, noise, life—but in here, everything moved at Matteo's pace. Controlled. Cold.
His hand paused only once—over a file marked Security Oversight: Internal Review.
The first page held no mention of Frankie, yet the implications bled through every line. Weak spots. Overlooked errors. People who should have caught them sooner. Matteo's pen ticked three names onto the reassessment list. Then, without flourish, he closed the file.
No fury. No commentary. Just quiet calculation.
He leaned back for a moment, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers, then straightened, cuffs clicking softly as silver brushed fabric. Business would not wait. Neither would he.
The next proposal—Seoul. A partnership full of promise, but vague in detail. Matteo's pen slashed through two paragraphs with sharp finality. Beside them, he wrote: Clarify liabilities. Legal review required before next step.
The folder slid across the desk to Bianca. She caught it smoothly, replacing it with another.
Vendor inconsistencies—Naples. His jaw hardened at the clipped photo of warehouse damage. Improper packaging. Delays. A quiet tap of his fingers against the desk.
He wrote one word on a sticky note: Terminate.
The decision was made. Swift. Irreversible.
Next came employee transfer requests. Bianca passed him her own notes alongside the files. He trusted her judgment, but still combed through every sheet.
"Too emotional," he muttered once under his breath, setting aside a file. "Not suited for logistics."
One approved. Another rejected. Each judgment delivered without hesitation. The rhythm of efficiency pressed on.
Bianca slid one final folder across—stamped urgent.
Matteo finally looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time in an hour.
"From Legal?"
She nodded. "The Rivera holdings. They found the loophole."
His chest rose with a quiet inhale. Not relief—only the release of a pressure point. His fingers tapped once against the folder before he opened it. Three dense pages of legal jargon stared back, but he read with unwavering speed, mind clicking through each implication faster than a full legal team.
"This doesn't leave the room," he said at last, voice soft but sharp as steel. "Corporate counsel only. Draft a buyout clause—silent, clean, untouchable."
Bianca scribbled every word, already moving.
Matteo rotated his shoulder with a faint crack, then reached for the last file. This was where he thrived—inside the stillness of strategy, where no emotion clouded his decisions.
He closed the final file with a soft thud, the sound crisp in the silence. Standing, he adjusted his suit jacket and crossed to the wide office window. The city below moved like clockwork—indifferent, fast, relentless. Just how he liked it.
Bianca was there with the summary sheet before he asked. He glanced down once, then handed it back untouched.
"I want a review of the Dubai numbers," he said flatly. "Every shipment in the past three months. If there's even a whisper of misreporting, Audit gets the call—and tell them it comes from me."
Bianca nodded, already jotting notes.
"And Rivera?"
"You'll have a draft by noon. Legal's moving fast."
"Good. Keep it that way."
He buttoned his jacket, pausing just long enough for Bianca's eyes to flicker upward.
"Hold all calls for the next two hours."
"Should I notify your father?" she asked carefully.
"No. This one doesn't go to him."
Calm words, but underneath them—something else. Not anger. Not guilt. Quiet purpose.
Bianca gave a single nod, but there was a faint hesitation in her eyes. She felt the shift but didn't press.
As he reached the door, she spoke gently. "Matteo…"
He stopped, glancing back.
"I'll send flowers on behalf of the board," she said. "Something simple. Classic."
His jaw ticked once. "Make it white."
And he left.
No explanation. No rush. But the weight in his steps carried what words did not.
He wasn't heading to another meeting.
He was going to Felix.
The car waited at the curb, door already opening as he approached. Matteo slid inside without a word, the door shutting behind him with quiet finality. The engine purred, folding into the rhythm of the city.
No music. No chatter. Only the low hum of wheels against asphalt and Matteo's fingers tapping against his knee—a silent, steady beat of thought.
At the hospital gate, two guards stepped forward. Their eyes flicked to the tinted glass as the car slowed. Recognition was instant. Both straightened, subtle bows marking his presence.
"Boss."
He returned the nod, moving past them.
The hallway outside Felix's room was still—but never empty. Two more men stood guard, one on either side of the door. Suits sharp. Hands relaxed, but alert.
They hadn't moved since his order.
"Everything's been quiet," the older guard reported softly. "No one in or out but the doctors."
The second added, "Stable. Nurse was in twenty minutes ago. Nothing else."
Matteo didn't answer right away. His gaze held on the door, his silence heavier than words. A war played out behind his still eyes.
Finally, he said, "Good."
They stepped aside without question.
Matteo reached for the handle. His fingers tightened just slightly around the metal before turning it.
And then, without another word, he stepped inside.