Aria Moretti adjusted her blazer as she stepped into the large hallway of Lazio FC's headquarters. The place smelled like turf and lemon polish, the kind of clean that tried too hard to hide dirt. Her heels clicked against the tile floor as she passed staff and reporters, all pretending not to stare.

"That’s her, right? The new PR head?"

"Yeah, she’s hot. Heard she worked with Roma last year."

She ignored the whispers. Let them talk, it was literally part of the plan.

She touched the badge pinned to her chest. It read: Aria D’Angelo, Head of Public Relations.

The name was fake, but the role was real. She’d worked hard to learn everything about media strategy, even if her father didn’t trust her to handle it alone. He thought giving her a gun made her dangerous. But words? Reputation? Those were sharper than bullets. Something she knew nothing about.

“Ms. D’Angelo!”

A short, nervous intern rushed toward her. “They’re ready for you in the boardroom. The media team and staff are waiting.”

“Thank you,” Aria said with a tight smile.

She followed the girl through a glass door into a room full of men in suits and tracksuits and all heads turned to her. She took a breath and smiled again.

“Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Aria D’Angelo. I’ll be handling your public relations going forward.”

The team’s general manager stood and gave a brief introduction, but Aria barely heard him. Her eyes scanned the room.

Until there… Leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, wearing a navy polo that said Team Physiotherapy was a man who looked completely out of place. Not stiff like the managers. Not jittery like the interns… just relaxed and quiet.

Aria’s stomach twisted for a second, but she kept her face neutral. She didn’t know him. Just a staff member, still, there was something about the way he stood that made her uneasy.

The meeting began. Aria laid out her media strategy, key dates for press conferences, and player branding. People nodded. A few asked polite questions.

And yet, the man by the wall never looked away.

When the room emptied, she walked over.

“Hi. I’m Aria D’Angelo.”

He looked at her for a long second before answering. “Luca. Team physio.”

“Nice to meet you.” She smiled, but he didn’t smile back.

“You're not what I expected,” he said simply.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“PR people usually come in loud. Talking big. Flashy clothes. You look... calm.”

“I take my job seriously.”

He nodded. “So do I.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Aria cleared her throat.

“I’ll need injury reports before the next press release. Any players we should avoid putting in the spotlight?”

“Number 7’s got a strained hamstring. Number 19 had a concussion last season. Be careful with his interviews.”

“Thanks. Can you email that to me?”

He nodded again. “Sure.”

She started to walk away, but his voice stopped her.

“Stay away from the west tunnel at night.”

She turned. “Why?”

“Locks don’t work. Security cameras are old. Just don’t go there alone.”

“Got it,” she said, unsure if it was a warning or a threat.

---

Later that night, Aria walked through the nearly empty stadium halls. The place looked different without people.

She should’ve gone home. But something kept pulling her back.

She found herself near the west tunnel, the door was locked.

She reached out and gently tugged the handle. It moved slightly. The lock looked intact, but something felt off. A tiny scratch near the keyhole. Like someone had tried to force it open.

She made a mental note to tell security in the morning.

“Didn’t I say not to come here?”

Aria jumped, she spun around only to see luca standing a few feet behind her, with hands in his pockets.

“Jesus,” she muttered. “You scared me.”

“I told you earlier. This area isn’t safe.”

“Are you always this dramatic?”

He walked over, looking down at the lock. “It’s not just talk. Someone tried to break this last week. We filed a report, but nothing happened.”

“Why didn’t they fix it?”

“Because this club doesn’t want to admit there’s a problem. PR nightmare.”

“You’re full of helpful advice tonight.”

He looked at her again, really looked this time.

“You new here?”

“First week.”

“Then here’s another tip. Watch who you trust.”

“Thanks, Dr. Doom.”

“That is what people call me?”

“No. But maybe they should.”

“Fair.”

A long silence passed. For once, it wasn’t awkward.

“What brought you to Lazio?” He asked.

She shrugged. “Fresh start.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Bad ending?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

He gave a half-smile. “Physios need to be good at reading people.”

“And do you read everyone like this?”

“No. Just you.”

Aria’s breath caught slightly.

“You're funny.” He didn't say anything, but his jaw tightened. It was the fifth time he was looking at the exit like he wanted to run.

Before she could say anything else, her phone buzzed. It was a message from her father.

WHERE IS THE REPORT. YOU’RE WASTING TIME.

She pocketed the phone. “I should go.”

Luca stepped back. “Yeah. Be careful.”

“You too.”

As she walked away, she didn’t look back. But she felt his eyes on her until she turned the corner.

She went straight to her room and The next day, Aria sat at her desk reviewing press questions when a brown envelope slid under her door.

No name. No note.

Inside were copies of player medical files. Neat, organized.

At the bottom: Prepared by: Luca Romano.

She smiled.

“He had good timing.”

Still, something about him nagged at her. He was too calm. Too quiet. Like someone used to hiding.

She opened the web and googled him.

Luca Romano. Licensed physiotherapist. Worked in Naples. Transferred two years ago. Clean record.

She closed her laptop and stared at the ceiling. “Is he really not him?”