04 • Nicolo

Courtesy demanded that Nico should’ve walked straight to the boardroom as soon as he arrived, but his lift up the cramped metal box had—for the second time that morning it seemed—triggered his fear of enclosed spaces, so that by the time he stumbled out muttering a halfhearted goodbye to Timothy the intern, it was all he could do to fight against the irrational panic.

Already, his breaths had begun coming out in shallow audible bursts.

Nico needed a pick-me-up, but his tight schedule hadn’t afforded him time to indulge in one of his favorite pre-work rituals which involved brewing himself an Espresso and savoring it as soon as he got back from one of his jogs.

He couldn’t risk facing the Board of Directors feeling as disoriented as he did, understood he had to pull himself together.

The CEO of the De Rossi group gave short replies to everyone he met on the way to his office, sharing a passing nod with one of the brawny men positioned on either side of the lone corridor which led to his office, and on getting to the doors he pulled out his ID card, setting it in front of the biometric scanner which gave a emitted a soft mechanic beep as his doors slid open to admit him.

Nico barely paid attention to the room he’d spent most of his time in for over a decade; ignored its Tuscan design interior, the wood paneled ceilings and a custom made Italian Oak table that must have taken up a fourth of the room’s breadth. The floors were hard wood too, with the exception of a beige-colored Alexandra Champalimaud rug which sat under two of the chairs on the other side of the room.

This was the same office his father had worked in, and his grandfather before him.

A source of pride usually, but this time Nico barely stopped to relieve himself of his briefcase before bounding into the adjoining bathroom, where he proceeded to run the tap, cupping his palms under the running torrent until they filled up, before splashing its contents onto his face.

It took about three tries before he settled into some semblance of normalcy, and then he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

Broad plains and a high forehead sat over deep-set hazel colored eyes and the firm line of a full mouth, resulting in features that were not altogether unattractive, though they didn’t go out of their way to be extraordinary either.

It was a face that wouldn’t have stood out in a crowd, not like his devilishly handsome brother’s would have at least, and excusing the fact that he usually towered over everyone in any room he happened to walk into the same applied to everything about him except his mind, the only thing people did not viably see at first glance. And Nico liked it this way.

He liked that he was so unassuming and especially enjoyed the look that crossed a person’s face when they realized they’d underestimated him. Still, the patches of gray that’d begun to form around his temple brought with them the occasional feeling of apprehension, that he was now in his mid-thirties, had sacrificed so much for his career only to come face-to-face with the undeniable fact that he did not have as much of a personal (or social) life as his peers did.

Middle age loomed, but he was still nimble and his hairline hadn’t begun to recede at least. One had to remain grateful for the small things.

Nico delivered a series of soft landing, open-handed slaps to both sides of his cheeks.

“Get yourself together Nic, show them who’s boss,” he gulped, straightening to fix his tie, his hair, smooth out fabric of his designer suit pants.

If there was one thing he’d learned from Count Adolfo De Rossi it was that appearances were everything, and Nico took a deep breath, closing his eyes and visualizing a box into which he put any emotion he did not have the time or desire to deal with, so that by the time he opened them again his face had settled into its default inscrutability, the intentional lack of expression that made him a beast to be around in several Executive Sessions.

Appearances were everything after all, and finally he was in his element.

•

The most important meetings were held at the topmost floor of the De Rossi Group building; in a conference room everyone called Courage, though the origin of this name was a mystery.

Nico had never seen the point behind why people insisted on naming conference rooms after anything, much less an unquantifiable virtue, but as he pushed the door open, arriving late to a gathering of some the most powerful individuals in the company, he decided that a bit of extra courage never hurt anyone.

This was the closest he ever came to admitting nervousness, and eight pairs of eyes turned to track his progress as he cut his way to the empty chair at the head of the table which had been his spot as soon as he took up the reins of the company.

“Nice of you to join us,” Giancarlo Abramo De Rossi whispered, and his gray eyes lifted momentarily from the sheaf of papers in front of him to take a look at his brother. “You look like shit.”

“Thank you,” Nico replied in an undertone, and then in a louder voice. “I apologize for my timing; it couldn’t be helped, but I ensure that I will not be making a habit of it.”

That was it. He gave no excuses to why he’d arrived over thirty minutes late to his own meeting, though they sat just at the tip of his tongue begging to be set free.

“Well, this is the first time so I believe we can make an exception. After all, you have the most on your plate.”

He turned to look at the speaker, a smartly attired woman, stunning by all indications with nary a wrinkle on her face even though he knew that she happened to be in her mid-fifties.

Giuseppina Isabelle Fiorentini was a childhood friend of their father’s late wife who, already wealthy in her own right, cemented her position as one of Italy’s most powerful women when she married into the prestigious Fiorentini banking family.

A born leader with an air of perpetual elegance, it only seemed fitting that she was the longest serving member on the board, vice chairman for what was soon going to be two decades.

Aunt Giuseppina, who’d always been fond of Carlo but never got around to masking her distaste for him; who’s every word was rest assured a veiled insult as long as she happened to be referring to him.

Nico caught the subtle reprimand in her words even as she smiled benevolently at him, and by the knowing look on Carlo’s face it seemed his brother had caught it too though he’d never been able to fully insert himself in their lifelong feud.

“I’m sure you received the slide I emailed for review detailing everything we would be discussing today?”

Her accent was all old Americana elocution lessons, words falling crisp and flawless.

“Yes, of course.”

“And I’m sure you understand that this meeting was set to run for an hour and you’ve missed the majority of that.”

Thiers was a relationship fraught with power plays long before he even knew there were things to describe their situation—and though she spoke deferentially on the surface, her words no doubt were meant as ammunition to prove that he was incompetent, that he was tall for nothing and inept, that anyone, Carlo her darling son-in-law most likely, would be a better fit for his position even though everyone knew it was a lie. Besides, his brother had no interest in being CEO and was fully content with being the Chief Financial Officer even as he was by far the more socially inclined of the both of them.

Nico was disappointed by her lack of innovation, especially since from experience he knew she was capable of even worst. It’d been a while since her last attempt to give him a passive aggressive dressing-down in front of people who worked for him fell through, and perhaps she’d run out of plausible ideas.

What she was quick to forget was chairman or not, the board meeting was a CEO’s narrative of how the company was doing, and that if it was a film then he would be its directors; meaning he held all the cards, and whether she liked it or not this was his narrative and she’d successfully set herself up for failure.

“Your drive is invaluable and we appreciate it, Mrs. Fiorentini,” Nico said, taking over the reins of their verbal combat and holding back a wicked smirk when he noticed her gaze narrowing. “But as you’ve rightly pointed out time is running out and there is still so much to discuss.”

“I understand,” she said in the moment of silence which followed. “But—”

“Now,” Nico interjected smoothly, cutting her off to address the room at large. “From the slide I’m sure we’ve all acquainted ourselves to, I understand we have up for discussion a couple of financial transaction scenarios for capital budgeting and planning analysis, regarding our North American holdings.”

It wasn’t a question but he let it land as if it was, and Giuseppina’s eyes were as hard as diamonds by the time he finished speaking.

A long stretch of silence followed until one of the other directors cleared his throat. Filiberto Conti, a short man, slightly built but sinewy and known for his overall honesty. He was powerful ally to have on one’s side, especially when it came down to matters that required voting as some of the others looked to him for guidance.

It was him who answered.

“Yes, Mr. De Rossi.”

“Then let’s get on with it now, shall we?”

A beat passed, and then Giuseppina turned in her chair and after a while the image projected before them changed to a scanned memo. Her eyes met his and silently Nico offered up a small prayer in thanks to the fact that looks couldn’t kill.

He settled into his chair.