Chapter 76: Building Something
The chairman’s office sat perched at the top of Lecce’s administrative wing. Modest, like everything else about the club. No marble floors or golden crests, no flashy lighting or pretentious artwork. Just clean lines, soft-colored walls, a few framed jerseys, and the hum of a building that knew exactly who it was and what it had to offer.
But the view, that was something else.
Through a long, narrow window behind the chairman’s desk, you could see the entire training complex laid out like a chessboard. Two pitches. A fitness annex. And beyond them, the city stretching to meet the sea.
Alex Walker walked in still sweating from late-afternoon drills, his Lecce tracksuit jacket slung over his shoulder, hair damp, body sore, but his mind sharp. There was a tightness in his chest he hadn’t fully shaken since the message buzzed on his phone.
Chairman Saverio Giannotta was already seated at the round table in the corner of the room, hands resting on the polished surface, posture as still and composed as ever. Late fifties, hair mostly gray but well-kept, face naturally stern though his eyes, Alex had learned, were warmer than they first appeared.
Across from him sat the club’s sporting director, Federico Salvini. Younger than Saverio, mid-forties maybe, sharp in every sense. Sharp suit, sharp jawline, sharp instincts. His tablet was propped up in front of him, fingers flicking through what looked like transfer documents or scouting dossiers.
"Alex!" Saverio greeted, rising with a smile and offering his hand. "Come in. Sit. Relax. I heard training was intense today."
Alex shook hands with both men and dropped into the seat between them. "Yeah. We had to make up for the missed day after Milan. The boys were sharp, though. Hungry."
"That’s good," Salvini said without looking up. "They looked it against Milan. I haven’t seen Banda run like that since... well, ever."
Alex smirked. That match felt like it happened a lifetime ago, even though it had only been a few days. He could still hear the San Siro crowd, still see Krstovic’s penalty bulging the net, still feel the sting of champagne foam in his eyes after the final whistle.
"Coffee? Water?" Saverio offered, gesturing to the side counter where a bottle sat beside two neatly stacked glasses.