Milan was hot. It was a sticky, fashionable heat that made Michael Sterling sweat in his suit.
He sat in the private dining room of the most expensive restaurant in the city.
Opposite him sat Julian Thorne. The American billionaire was wearing a white linen suit and a hat that looked like it belonged to Indiana Jones.
"I love Italy," Julian boomed, waving a breadstick. "The pasta. The fashion. The way they drive like they want to die. It is exhilarating."
"We are here for business Julian," Michael reminded him, checking his watch. "The window closes in twenty-four hours."
"Relax Michael," Julian grinned. "Money speaks all languages. And today, we are speaking loud."
The door opened.
Three men walked in.
The first two were directors from Inter Milan. They looked serious. They looked like men who ate sharks for lunch.
The third man was Benjamin Pavard.
