Harbinger Of Glory

Aldo looked at his wife for a second before shaking his head.

"I don’t think there’s much to handle. It’s dinner. He comes over, we eat, we talk and see how he is to her!"

He smiled, watching his wife look at her like he’d just committed a cardinal sin.

"I’d rather it didn’t feel like a job interview."

Sienna smiled back finally, while sighing.

"I know."

Then something amused her.

"And here you thought he was a model."

Aldo laughed and then shook his head.

"It’s amazing how you haven’t forgotten that, but you were the one who agreed with me."

"I agreed it was possible since it was her field of work, but you seemed entirely convinced, so much so that you started searching for models called Leo in London when I mentioned the name I heard from Vittoria’s friend to you."

"Not knowing, he was in Manchester and wasn’t even a model!"

"I was not convinced."

She folded her arms.

"You were darling. Don’t fight it!"

"But I think you share some of the blame. You planted that idea in my head!"

"Well, did you see the photos when it was released? I thought it was a publicity stunt that the boy was trying to get done over our daughter, but guess we were wrong."

He leaned over and rested his cheek lightly against the top of her head when he finished.

"Whatever happens..." his voice softened.

"If he’s good to her..."

"...we don’t scare him away. We fought too hard for ours!"

Hearing that, Sienna looked up.

"Me?"

"You."

She widened her eyes innocently.

"I’ve never scared anyone."

"Why do you think our daughter calls you a fox?"

"Our daughter exaggerates."

"Or maybe she ’s learned it from experience."

She gave his arm a light slap.

"Oh, hush."

He laughed again, but then while he did, something occurred to him.

"The national team was supposed to play today," he muttered as Sienna tilted her head.

"The boy’s involved, isn’t he?"

"He should be. At least from what he did last time out!"

While he spoke, Aldo reached across the coffee table for the tablet.

"Let’s have a look."

Sienna watched him as he navigated through the tablet, before seemingly finding what he was looking for.

When the broadcast finished loading, commentary began to fill the room, and the first thing Aldo did was glance at the scoreline, and when he did, he couldn’t help but shake his head in approval.

"Oh, that’s brilliant," he said and turned the tablet toward her.

Three-nil was the score with Italy comfortably ahead of Malta.

Sienna looked from the screen to her husband and then shrugged.

"You are far too excited for a match against Malta."

Aldo didn’t even try to deny it.

"That’s why I said you’re only half Italian," he said, shaking his head dramatically.

"You’ll never understand."

At that, Sienna gasped in mock offence.

"Half?"

Before he could clarify, she stood up.

"I’ll have you know I am deeply insulted."

Without another word, she turned and walked toward the door with all the dignity she could muster.

Aldo watched her go for a moment before laughing and pushing himself off the sofa.

"Oh, don’t do this, honey..."

"You brought this upon yourself," she called back without looking around.

He followed her out into the hallway, still smiling as the study fell quiet again, leaving the tablet forgotten on the sofa as its commentary continued to drift through the study!

.....

"And Italy have the ball back. Calderon with the reins here."

All around the stadium, each person knew that at the moment, the game was just a formality with Italy cruising dominantly to victory.

The tension, if there was even any that had hung over the opening hour, had disappeared.

The crowd no longer reacted with nerves every time the ball changed hands.

Down in the thick of it, Leo drifted into the pocket between Malta’s midfield and defence and took the pass on the half-turn, his first touch cushioning the ball just enough to let him lift his head.

The right full-back had stepped a yard too high, and the nearest centre-back was glancing toward the opposite side of the pitch instead of tracking the movement behind him.

For a second he decided against playing it because it felt almost glaring, like a trap to win the ball back, but at the last, he was sold.

When he met Carlo’s gaze, the forward curved his run across the defender’s shoulder, waiting until the very last moment before bursting into the channel between full-back and centre-back.

With his decision made and gaze already on Carlo, Leo slipped his foot underneath the ball, lifting it over the defensive line with just enough weight to clear the retreating defenders before dropping into the space beyond them.

"That is a gorgeous pass..." the commentator said as the ball began to fall.

"And Carlo Regutti’s timed his run to perfection!"

Three Maltese defenders threw up their arms at once, appealing for offside, but the assistant never moved.

Carlo was through and ahead of him; the goalkeeper charged off his line, spreading himself as he raced to narrow the angle.

Leo followed the move from just outside the final third, watching Carlo steady himself with a single touch that carried the ball slightly across the keeper’s path.

The goalkeeper looked certain, but there was never any certainty for him to have in that situation.

Carlo, biding his time, finally saw the right angle, and wrapped his right foot around the ball, sending a composed finish curling beyond the outstretched glove and towards the far corner.

One defender hurled himself back across the goalmouth, desperate to make the clearance, but together with the ball, they settled into the back of the net.

A wave of "Gooooaaaaaallll" broke out from the stands, but it was more subdued than the previous 3 because there was nothing more in this game.

"THAT IS FOUR-NIL! AND CARLO REGUTTI HAS HIS FIRST GOAL FOR THE AZZURRI!"

Carlo wheeled away with a grin that he couldn’t suppress, pointing almost immediately toward Leo before spreading both arms wide.

Leo met him halfway as their palms slapped together before Carlo hooked an arm around his shoulders, laughing into the celebration.

On the broadcast, the commentator chuckled as the pair began jogging back towards the centre circle.

"That’s Leo Calderon’s second assist of the evening."

"He won’t grab the headlines the same way goalscorers do tonight, but if you’ve watched this match from start to finish, you’ll know exactly why we keep mentioning him.

The fourth official glanced toward his watch.

Ninety-two minutes and certainly, Italy had both feet over the finish line.

"Italy four, Malta nil," the commentator said as play resumed.

"A professional evening, four well-worked goals, and another performance that will leave Luciano Spalletti with plenty to smile about."

Several hundred kilometres away, Vittoria sat curled into the corner of her sofa with a bowl of noodles resting on her lap.

The match played quietly on the television while the city outside her apartment slowly bled into the evening!

She watched the whole proceeding on the screen and then smiled to herself.

"That’s my man."