The conference room smelled faintly of coffee and polished wood.
Morning light slid through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching on glass screens and steel edges, turning everything sharp and deliberate.
Luca sat at the head of the table.
Not stiff, not relaxed—balanced.
A tablet rested beneath his palm. His other hand lay flat on the table, fingers still. No tapping. No wasted movement.
Five years had stripped away hesitation and left something quieter behind.
"Let's start," he said.
Not loud, not forceful—but the room settled anyway.
Department heads lined both sides of the table—finance, operations, regional leads—people who had been in the industry longer than Luca had been an adult. A chair shifted. A laptop closed. Eyes lifted.
"The Q3 numbers look strong," Luca continued, eyes moving briefly to the screen behind him, "but they're masking inefficiencies we can't afford to carry forward."
He swiped once. The slide changed.
