The dining room of the Rossi family estate in Milan was so vast that the twenty-seat table seemed like a solitary ship sailing a silent sea. Tonight, crystal chandeliers cast a cold gleam on every piece of silverware. The air was thick with the aroma of roast lamb with truffles and the rich scent of aged Barolo, but thicker still was a silent tension, flowing only between bloodlines.
The Chairman—Vittorio Rossi—sat at the head of the table. Over eighty, his spine was still straight as a Tuscan oak weathered by storms but never bent. He precisely cut the tender pink lamb on his plate, unhurried, then lifted his insightful gray-blue eyes to Elisa at the far end.
"Today's *Financial Times* commentary," his voice was quiet, yet it silenced the faint clinking of cutlery, "was rather fair. 'Rossi Jewels gave the market an expensive public lesson on what truly underpins a brand—not marketing rhetoric, but impeccable authenticity.'" He paused, the tip of his knife lightly tapping his plate's edge. "Well done, Elisa. Clean, decisive, left no room for a counterattack. That is more like a Rossi heir."
This was high praise. Andrea—Elisa's father, the mild-mannered bibliophile—immediately smiled with relief, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses. "Elisa has always been exceptional. This pressure… was extraordinary. She handled it even better than we expected."
Elisa set down her fork, dabbing her lips with a napkin. Under the light, she wore a simple pearl-gray silk blouse, buttoned meticulously to the top, appearing cool and detached. "Thank you, Nonno, Papà. Being able to clarify matters so quickly this time was inseparable from Lorenzo's assistance." Her gaze calmly turned to Lorenzo seated at her right. "The crucial timeline and evidence correlation map were his work. Without that clear thread, the counterattack wouldn't have been so precise and effective."
All eyes at the table instantly focused on Lorenzo. He wore a well-fitted dark suit, not uncomfortable in this opulent setting, yet the unconscious scrutiny from the old family members still descended like an invisible web. He met those gazes, giving a slight nod, his voice steady. "I merely organized some materials. It was Elisa's judgment and decisiveness that secured the victory."
Chairman Vittorio looked deeply at Lorenzo. That gaze held assessment, scrutiny, finally dissolving into a barely perceptible nod of acknowledgment. "An orderly mind is always an asset," he said, taking a sip of wine before falling silent. But this was rare acknowledgment.
Just then, Sophia—Elisa's mother—elegantly cut into the asparagus on her plate, producing a faint, almost critical scraping sound. She lifted her meticulously made-up eyes, her gaze skimming over Lorenzo like a dragonfly touching water, then settling on Elisa's face. The corners of her mouth lifted into a perfect, yet cold, smile.
"The crisis passing is always good. The family's reputation is paramount," she said slowly, her voice smooth as silk. "Now that everything is back on track, perhaps it's a good time to consider the family's future… balanced development."
The air at the table subtly froze for an instant. Andrea seemed to want to speak but stopped himself. Chairman Vittorio continued eating expressionlessly, as if he hadn't heard.
Sophia, seemingly oblivious, continued in that tone used for discussing the weather. "Massimo isn't getting any younger. Better he learn something practical in the company from the ground up than wander outside with unreliable friends. After all, the Rossis don't have just one daughter." Her gaze drifted meaningfully toward the old man at the head of the table. "With more people sharing the load, Elisa could relax a little, no?"
Elisa's fingers tightened slightly around her wineglass, knuckles paling. She looked at her mother. Beneath that impeccably made-up face was a calculation wrapped in icy resentment she knew all too well. She knew her mother had never truly forgiven her, never abandoned the ambition to fight for Massimo's share of power, especially now, when Elisa's marriage was "unstable" (in Sophia's view).
"The company's current organizational structure and staffing needs follow strict evaluation processes," Elisa's voice was clear and cool, stating a business fact. "If Massimo is interested in the jewelry industry, he can first complete his studies or apply through the formal internship recruitment channels. The Group has annual training programs for new graduates."
"Through recruitment channels?" Sophia's tone rose slightly, carrying a hint of absurd laughter. "He is a Rossi! Joining his own family's company requires submitting a resume and interviewing like an outsider? Elisa, he's your brother!"
"Precisely because of that, exceptions cannot be made," Elisa did not yield, her gaze icy. "The rule set by Nonno is that Rossis entering the Group must prove their capability matches the position, not rely solely on the surname. That is for the company's good, and for his."
"For his good?" Sophia set down her knife and fork; silver clinked crisply against china. "Having him ordered around like a regular clerk, watching others' moods, is for his good? Elisa, are you perhaps afraid—"
"Sophia." Chairman Vittorio finally spoke, his voice not loud but carrying indisputable authority. He didn't look up, just dabbed his lips with a napkin. "The dining table is not the place to discuss company personnel. Massimo's future depends on whether he is ready himself, not on whether his sister 'gives him a chance.'"
Sophia's face paled, her lips pressed into a rigid line. She shot Elisa a glare so cold it could have frozen the wine in the glasses.
Meanwhile, the subject of this discussion—Massimo Rossi—sat at the far end of the table, boredly playing with his phone. Hearing his name repeated, he merely lifted his eyelids, shrugged, and said lazily toward his mother, "Alright, Ma. I'm not interested in rocks and ledgers. Things are fine as they are." Then he lowered his head back into his game world, as if this little storm about his future mattered less than a virtual race on his screen.
Andrea sighed helplessly, trying to ease the tension by mentioning an ancient text recently appearing at an auction. Chairman Vittorio picked up the thread, and the dinner continued in a seemingly restored calm, though stronger undercurrents flowed beneath.
Elisa lifted her glass. The cool liquid slid down her throat but couldn't dispel the chilling stagnation in her chest. She could feel her mother's gaze, like fine needles. She could also feel the silent support beside her—Lorenzo's knee, under the tablecloth, gently touched hers. Just an extremely brief, light contact, yet it strangely transmitted a wave of steady warmth.
The next morning, Rossi Group headquarters.
The polished marble floors reflected hurried figures. The air was thick with expensive perfume, caffeine, and an intangible tension called "efficiency." Elisa and Lorenzo walked side by side into the executive elevator. The metal doors closed, shutting out the outside world.
"Can I have the marketing report today?" Elisa asked, watching the ascending floor numbers.
"Before lunch," Lorenzo replied, holding a tablet, quickly scanning the schedule. "Also, the board has requested an additional briefing on post-crisis PR evaluation, scheduled for next Wednesday."
Elisa gave an almost imperceptible sigh. "Noted."
The elevator reached the executive floor with a soft *ding*, the doors sliding open. In the spacious corridor outside, several department directors on their way to the morning meeting happened to pass by. Seeing Elisa, they immediately stopped, respectfully greeting, "Good morning, Chairman."
Elisa nodded in acknowledgment, her steps not faltering. Lorenzo followed half a step behind.
Just as they passed, a lowered voice, dripping with obvious sarcasm, drifted over—the volume perfectly controlled to reach a few nearby ears:
"…So, when it comes to crunch time, blood ties matter. Outsiders… well, they're fine for hiding out in the countryside. But on the real battlefield… tsk tsk."
The speaker was the deputy director of Strategy, a middle-aged man known for currying favor with Sophia and Uncle Marco. As he spoke, his eyes glanced almost casually at Lorenzo, a look of undisguised contempt curling his lips.
A few stifled, knowing chuckles came from beside him. The directors exchanged glances; a subtle, exclusive understanding spread through the air. In their view, Lorenzo Costa, this "small-town archivist" who had barged into the heart of the Rossi empire via a marriage contract, had merely accompanied the Chairman on a countryside retreat during the crisis. The real turning of the tide was naturally due to Elisa Rossi's own mettle and the Rossi family's influence. His presence here was just another reminder of his "luck" and incongruity.
Lorenzo's steps didn't falter; his expression showed no ripple, as if those words were just insignificant breezes from a ventilation vent. But Elisa saw—she saw the almost imperceptible tightening of his jawline, the slight curling of his fingers by his side.
A cold fury instantly replaced all her morning weariness.
She didn't turn around, didn't slow her pace. She merely spoke to her assistant Anna beside her in a clear, steady voice that carried undeniable authority, reaching everyone in the corridor. "Anna, notify all department directors and above to gather in Conference Room One in fifteen minutes. An impromptu meeting to discuss post-incident brand reputation restoration strategies."
The faces of the whispering directors changed slightly.
Only then did Elisa stop and slowly turn. Her gaze swept over those slightly embarrassed faces, finally settling on the deputy director of Strategy. Her eyes held no anger, only a cold, appraising look from a superior position, as if evaluating a flawed piece of jewelry.
"Furthermore," she spoke again, each word like a precisely cut diamond—clear, hard, flashing cold light, "one of the core values of our corporate culture is respect and professionalism. The value of any work should be assessed based on its contribution, not on unfounded speculation and narrow prejudice." She paused for a second, her gaze sweeping over everyone. "I do not wish to hear any further unprofessional, pointless chatter targeting a colleague's personal background. It's amateurish and a waste of company time. Understood?"
The corridor fell dead silent. The directors' faces turned from embarrassed to pale; some shifted their gaze uncomfortably. The deputy director of Strategy opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but under Elisa's utterly temperatureless stare, he only managed a stiff nod.
"Good," Elisa withdrew her gaze as if she had merely handled a trivial matter. "Conference room, fifteen minutes."
She turned and continued toward her office. Lorenzo followed silently. Only when they entered the Chairman's office and the heavy solid wood door closed behind them, shutting out everything outside, did the atmosphere shift.
Elisa placed her handbag on the expansive desk but didn't sit immediately.