After a sizeable amount of time, the bus slowed as the narrow road opened into a complex lined with trimmed hedges and a white sign marked with the blue crest of the Federazione Italiana Giuoco Calcio.
A neat driveway curved up to a low, modern-looking building framed by cypress trees, their tall shadows stretching across the afternoon sun.
Leo had been half-dozing against the window, his music a soft hum in one ear.
The gentle halt of the bus, however, made his eyes flick open, and he straightened up, blinking at the view outside: open pitches in the distance, crisp green, and a couple of staff moving about with no player in sight.
At least not from what Leo saw as the bus gave a final hiss as the brakes locked.
Marco was already on his feet, talking to the driver.
Then, with his usual grin that Leo had come to know in the few minutes of knowing him, he stepped down first, stretching his arms like a man who had just finished a long trip.
