Unravel

LONDON — 5:38 A.M.

“Your left, Lorenzo.”

I blocked Marco’s punch a fraction of a second before it reached my jaw and drove my fist into the padded target strapped across his chest.

The impact echoed through the otherwise empty gym.

Marco stumbled backwards.

“Jesus Christ. Are you trying to kill me?”

“You said my left was slow.”

“I said your left was slow, not that you should take out a personal vendetta against my entire bloodline.”

I lowered my gloves, breathing hard enough to feel the burn in my lungs.

“Your bloodline will survive.”

“I’m beginning to doubt that.”

I laughed and stepped away while he adjusted the target.

The gym occupied the lower floor of a private building in Mayfair. At this hour, the only sounds were the hum of the ventilation system, the occasional rattle of equipment, and our shoes scraping against the rubber flooring. Outside, London was still caught somewhere between night and morning.

I preferred it that way.

No calls from investors. No meetings. No one asking me to approve a decision they had already made and simply wanted me to take responsibility for.

For an hour, I could concentrate on something straightforward: movement, timing, the angle of a punch. If I made a mistake, I felt it immediately. There was no committee meeting to explain it away.

Marco raised his gloves again.

“One last round.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“And you keep falling for it.”

I shook my head but raised my hands.

He came at me with a quick combination. I blocked the first strike, ducked the second, and countered with a clean hook that sent him retreating.

“Show-off,” he muttered.

“Occupational hazard.”

“Your occupation is sitting in expensive chairs and frightening people.”

“I’m very good at both.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve noticed.”

We finished the round with a final exchange before Marco called time. I pulled off my gloves and reached for my towel, my shoulders pleasantly sore.

My phone vibrated on the bench.

ADRIAN ROSSI.

I answered while unwinding the wraps around my hands.

“If the building is on fire, call the fire brigade. If the world is ending, give me five minutes.”

“The Vantage deal is in trouble.”

I stopped unwinding the wrap.

“Good morning to you, too. How much trouble?”

“Their chairman has withdrawn his approval for the final agreement. He’s requested an emergency meeting this morning.”

“On what grounds?”

“He hasn’t provided any.”

“Then he hasn’t withdrawn his approval. He’s refusing to confirm it. There’s a difference.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate the correction.”

“I’m sure he’ll survive.”

Adrian exhaled. I could picture him in my London office, immaculate as ever, already three steps ahead of whatever crisis had landed on his desk.

He was my chief of staff and one of the few people who could interrupt my morning without earning an immediate threat to his employment.

“What else?” I asked.

“The confidential acquisition model was accessed last night. A copy was transferred to an external account.”

I sat on the bench.

The Vantage acquisition was worth £2.4 billion. We were negotiating to acquire a European industrial systems manufacturer with four production facilities, a valuable engineering patent portfolio, and long-term contracts in the energy infrastructure sector.

It was a strategic acquisition, not an expensive trophy. Vantage’s manufacturing capacity would strengthen our supply chain, reduce our dependence on external suppliers, and give us access to technology that would take years to develop independently.

We had spent eighteen months negotiating the deal. Our financial teams had examined the company’s revenue, projected growth, factory maintenance costs, contractual obligations, and the investment required to modernise two ageing facilities.

The numbers worked.

That was why we had reached the final agreement.

The confidential model contained our internal valuation, projected returns, integration costs, and the maximum amount we were prepared to pay. It also included our assessment of Vantage’s financial weaknesses and the risks attached to several of its expiring supply contracts.

If their chairman had obtained it, he would know exactly how much room we had to negotiate.

If a competitor had obtained it, they could interfere with the acquisition or force us into a bidding war.

And if the leak was deliberate, someone had chosen a remarkably expensive way to get my attention.

“Who had access?” I asked.

“The acquisition team, finance, legal, you, and me. Security is checking the logs.”

“Preserve everything. No one contacts Vantage about the breach until we know what happened.”

“Understood.”

“Keep the offer at its current value. If the chairman wants to renegotiate, we’ll hear him out. If he’s using the leak to manufacture leverage, he can find someone else willing to pay for the privilege.”

“And if he has another buyer?”

“Then we’ll establish whether the offer is real before we respond to it.”

I ended the call.

Marco was watching me from across the gym.

“Business?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Someone trying to steal your money?”

“Not yet.”

“Excellent. You look as though you’re about to buy a country and ban someone from entering it.”

I picked up my bag.

“Don’t tempt me.”

He laughed as I headed for the changing rooms.

By six fifteen, I was showered, dressed, and in the back of my car with the acquisition report open on my tablet.

By six forty-five, I had read the same paragraph three times.

The numbers weren’t the problem. The acquisition still made sense at the agreed price. What bothered me was the timing. Vantage’s chairman had withdrawn his approval shortly after our internal file had been transferred outside the company.

Coincidence was possible.

I simply wasn’t inclined to trust it.

My phone buzzed.

ADRIAN: Boardroom at seven. Your father has arrived.

I stared at the message.

My father rarely visited London without a reason. He ran the group from New York, leaving me responsible for the London division and its operations. When he travelled, it was usually for major negotiations, shareholder meetings, or matters that required the personal attention of the Group CEO.

I typed back.

ME: Did he say why?

ADRIAN: No.

ME: Did you ask?

ADRIAN: I value my continued employment.

I smiled faintly.

ME: Sensible.

I put the phone away.

Whatever had brought Alessandro De Luca to London, I would find out soon enough.

The boardroom was already occupied when I arrived.

Seven directors sat around the long walnut table, their expressions ranging from cautious concern to barely concealed irritation. My father sat at the far end, reading the acquisition summary.

At sixty, Alessandro De Luca possessed the kind of composure that made other people nervous about filling silences. Silver threaded his dark hair, and his charcoal suit looked as though it had been tailored around the idea of authority.

He glanced up as I entered.

“Lorenzo.”

“Father.”

I took my seat and opened my tablet.

“Let’s begin.”

For the next forty minutes, we discussed Vantage.

I explained the strategic value of the acquisition, the financial exposure, and the implications of the compromised model. The directors raised concerns about the chairman’s withdrawal, the possibility of a competing offer, and the reputational consequences of a failed transaction.

One of them suggested increasing our offer before the meeting.

I looked at him.

“Why?”

“To demonstrate our commitment.”

“Our commitment to what? Paying more for the same assets?”

He shifted in his seat.

“We can’t ignore the possibility that they’re negotiating with another buyer.”

“We won’t. But we’re not going to reward a possibility as though it’s a fact.”

I brought up the financial projections.

“Our offer already accounts for the cost of modernising their factories, the risk attached to their expiring contracts, and the investment required to integrate their operations. If they have a credible competing offer, we’ll evaluate it. If they have a legitimate concern about our proposal, we’ll address it. But we’re not increasing the price simply because someone has decided to make the final stage of a negotiation uncomfortable.”

The room fell quiet.

I wasn’t opposed to paying more when the circumstances justified it. Sometimes a higher price secured an asset that would otherwise take years to replace. Sometimes walking away cost more than conceding.

But there was a difference between making a calculated investment and allowing another party to dictate our decisions through uncertainty.

I had no intention of confusing the two.

My father remained silent through most of the discussion, occasionally asking a question that forced someone to examine an assumption they’d presented as fact.

When the board finally agreed to maintain the existing offer and proceed with the chairman’s meeting, I closed the report.

“Security will continue investigating the breach. Until we have evidence, no one is to make accusations or contact Vantage independently. We’ll hear what the chairman has to say, establish whether the deal remains viable, and make our decision based on the facts.”

The directors began gathering their documents.

One by one, they left the room, their conversations fading into the corridor.

Adrian paused at the door.

“Your next meeting is at nine.”

“Move it to ten.”

“Of course.”

He glanced at my father, then back at me.

“Would you like me to bring in coffee?”

“Please.”

When the door closed behind him, the boardroom became quiet.

For the first time that morning, it was just my father and me.

I leaned back in my chair.

“Now will you tell me why you’ve come to London?”

My father set his tablet aside.

“I wanted to speak to you in person.”

“About Vantage?”

“No.”

I waited.

He studied me for a moment, his expression unusually difficult to read.

“I’ve decided to retire.”

The words landed with such unexpected simplicity that I almost missed their meaning.

I straightened.

“Retire?”

“Yes.”

“You’re serious.”

“I rarely travel across the Atlantic to make jokes about my career.”

I ignored the remark.

My father had been the centre of De Luca International Group for as long as I could remember. He had expanded the business, strengthened its international operations, and established the relationships that kept our industrial and infrastructure divisions competitive. Even after I took charge of London, the largest decisions still came through him.

Retirement was not a word I had ever associated with Alessandro De Luca.

“When?”

“Once the transition is complete.”

“And you’ve decided this without discussing it with me?”

“I’ve been considering it for some time. I’ve discussed the succession plan with the board. I wanted to speak to you before anything was announced.”

I studied him.

There was no uncertainty in his expression. He had thought it through, made his decision, and arrived in London to tell me himself.

“Who are you planning to appoint as Group CEO?”

His eyes held mine.

“You.”

For a moment, I said nothing.

He continued before I could respond.

“You’ve led the London division successfully. You’ve managed acquisitions, strengthened our European operations, and built relationships with our partners without requiring me to intervene in every decision. The board has seen your work. It’s time you took responsibility for the group as a whole.”

I looked down at my tablet, though the screen had gone dark.

I had known this day would come eventually. I had spent years preparing for greater responsibility, taking on increasingly difficult decisions and learning to manage a business whose reach extended far beyond any one office.

Knowing something was possible, however, was not the same as hearing your father tell you that the entire empire was about to become your responsibility.

“You want me back in New York,” I said.

“I do.”

The answer was immediate.

“London will need a new managing director. We’ll work together to identify the right person, and you’ll oversee the handover. But I want you leading the group from New York.”

I ran a hand over my jaw.

My first instinct was to calculate the logistics: the transition schedule, the board’s expectations, the leadership appointments, the responsibilities I would be taking over.

That was the practical part.

The other part was harder to organise.

New York.

Home.

I had built a life in London over the years. I had my apartment, my routines, my work, and the people who had become part of my daily world. I had earned my position here, and I wasn’t entirely eager to leave everything familiar behind.

But I had also become very good at leaving New York before a visit could feel long enough.

Three days for a family birthday. A week for Christmas. A quick trip for a board meeting, followed by a flight back to London before anyone had time to complain that I was leaving again.

My mother had stopped asking me to stay longer.

My father had stopped pretending he didn’t notice how often I checked my watch during family dinners.

And my friends had learned that if they wanted to see me, they needed to accept whatever scraps of time my calendar allowed.

I had told myself it was temporary.

Somehow, temporary had become a way of life.

“When do you want me there?” I asked.

“Within the next few months. We need to prepare the transition properly. There will be an announcement once the board has finalised the details.”

“And the London office?”

“We’ll appoint someone capable of running it. You’ll remain involved during the handover.”

“I want a say in that appointment.”

“You’ll have one.”

“And I want to make sure the London division doesn’t become an afterthought once I’m gone.”

My father nodded.

“That’s exactly why I want you to choose someone you trust.”

I looked at him again.

“Have you already told Mother?”

“Of course.”

“Does she know you’re telling me today?”

“She insisted I tell you in person.”

I could imagine her reaction perfectly. She would have been pleased that I was coming home and furious that I had been the last to know.

“What did she say?”

“That she expects you to stop making excuses to avoid family dinners.”

I laughed under my breath.

“She could have put that in an email.”

“She wanted me to deliver it personally.”

“Efficient use of an international business trip.”

My father smiled.

Then his expression softened.

“I know you’ve spent a long time in London, Lorenzo. You’ve done well here. But your family is in New York. Your mother misses you. Your friends barely get to see you. And there is more to life than the next acquisition.”

I looked away toward the windows.

I could have argued. I could have told him that I had never neglected my responsibilities, that the company needed me here, that I wasn’t the kind of man who abandoned a project halfway through.

All of those things would have been true.

None of them would have answered what he was actually saying.

“I miss them, too,” I admitted.

The words came out quieter than I intended.

My father didn’t make a comment about it. He simply nodded, as though he had been waiting for me to say it in my own time.

Then he reached for his tablet.

“Your mother is organising a celebration in New York. My retirement, your appointment as CEO, and the beginning of the transition. The board will attend, along with our business partners, friends, and family.”

I turned back to him.

“A celebration?”

“She insists it deserves one.”

“Of course she does.”

“She wants it to be memorable.”

“That sounds expensive.”

“You’ll survive.”

I shook my head, smiling despite myself.

The idea of a room full of executives congratulating me on a position I hadn’t officially started was not particularly appealing. I could already imagine the speeches, the handshakes, the photographs, and the people who would suddenly remember how much they admired the De Luca family.

But beneath my reluctance was something else.

Excitement.

The thought of returning to New York for more than a few days felt unexpectedly good. I could see my mother without checking the clock. I could have dinner with my father without an early flight waiting the next morning. I could see my friends without promising to make up for my absence on the next visit.

I could finally stop treating home like somewhere I was always leaving.

“When is the event?” I asked.

“We haven’t settled on a date. Your mother wants the transition schedule confirmed first.”

“Then Vantage comes first.”

“I expected nothing less.”

I closed my tablet and stood.

“I’ll take the position.”

My father rose as well.

“I know.”

“You might at least pretend that I had a choice.”

“You always have a choice, Lorenzo.”

He paused, then added, “But I also know what you’ve worked for.”

For once, I had no clever answer.

He stepped closer and clasped my forearm. It was a familiar gesture, the sort of affection we had always found easier than saying too much.

“You’ll do well,” he said.

I looked at him.

“You sound very certain.”

“I am.”

The certainty in his voice settled something inside me.

I had spent years proving I could run the London division. Now I would have to prove I could lead the entire group, with all the scrutiny and expectations that came with the title.

It would be difficult.

It would be demanding.

It would probably be infuriating.

I was looking forward to it.

“Then let’s get the transition started,” I said.

My father smiled.

“Welcome home, son.”

By the time he left, the morning had changed completely.

Vantage was still a problem. The confidential file was still being investigated, and I still had a meeting with the chairman to prepare for. The London office needed a succession plan, the board needed a formal announcement, and I had several months of work ahead of me before I could move back to New York.

But for the first time in years, the future didn’t end with another London quarter.

It ended somewhere familiar.

My phone buzzed as I returned to my office.

ADRIAN: Your father has asked me to begin preparing the transition schedule.

ME: Naturally.

ADRIAN: Congratulations, by the way.

I paused before replying.

ME: Thank you.

Another message arrived.

ADRIAN: Should I begin looking for a replacement for myself in New York?

I smiled.

ME: You can start by booking your own flight.

ADRIAN: I was afraid you’d say that.

I set the phone down and looked through the glass walls of my office at the city beyond.

London had given me room to grow into the man I wanted to become. I wasn’t ready to dismiss that chapter as though it meant nothing.

But I was ready for the next one.

I had a deal to salvage, a company to prepare for its next generation of leadership, and a homecoming that would involve far more than unpacking my suitcases.

For now, though, I had work to do.

I opened the Vantage report.

New York could wait a little longer.

It had waited this long.