He set the phone down and leaned back against the couch while Sunday's magnitude continued growing, and the media's framing—academy reject versus academy product—would follow him all the way to kickoff whether he acknowledged it or not.

Friday, October 21, 2022

Centro Bortolotti Training Complex

11:30 AM

Friday's session was deliberately light as Gasperini wanted fresh legs for Sunday, and the squad moved through activation drills and set-piece walkthroughs without heavy running, and when the session ended at 11:30 AM players began heading toward the locker room knowing the afternoon would bring travel preparations.

Demien approached Gasperini near the sideline as the manager was speaking with his assistant about defensive assignments, and when the conversation paused Demien spoke clearly. "Mister, can I ask something?"

Gasperini turned, and his expression was neutral as he nodded. "Go ahead."

"My mother lives in Florence," Demien said, and his tone stayed professional while making the request. "Would it be possible for me to stay with her Friday night instead of at the team hotel? I'll report Saturday morning for team activities—whatever time you specify."

Gasperini's eyebrows raised fractionally, and he glanced at his assistant before responding. "You understand the schedule doesn't change? Saturday morning training, tactical meeting, meals with the team—all of it."

"Yes, Mister. I'll be there for everything."

"And you're responsible for getting yourself to the hotel Saturday morning. No excuses if there's traffic or problems."

"Understood."

Gasperini nodded once. "Then it's approved. Report to the team hotel Saturday at 9:00 AM sharp. We train at 10:00."

"Thank you, Mister. I won't be late."

The manager waved him off without further comment, and Demien walked toward the locker room while something loosened in his chest because going home—actually home—before facing Fiorentina felt right in a way he couldn't fully articulate.

Inside the locker room, he pulled out his phone and texted Isabella immediately.

Demien: Approved. I'll be there tomorrow night.

The reply came before he'd even set the phone down.

Mamma: 🎉🎉🎉 I'm so happy! What time should I expect you?

Demien: Team travels tomorrow afternoon. I'll probably arrive around 7 PM.

Mamma: Perfect! I'll have dinner ready. Drive safely. Love you so much!

He smiled despite himself while reading the message, and when he looked up Koopmeiners was watching him with a knowing expression. "Good news?"

"Staying with my mother in Florence tomorrow night," Demien explained while changing into his street clothes. "Got permission from Gasperini."

"Nice. Family time before a big match. That'll help you stay grounded."

"Yeah," Demien agreed, and he pulled his hoodie over his head while the reality of Sunday began settling properly. "That's the plan."

Saturday, October 22, 2022

Florence, Italy

7:15 PM

The drive from Bergamo to Florence took just under three hours, and Demien's car navigated familiar streets as autumn darkness fell across the city, and when he turned onto his childhood street the landmarks appeared one after another—the corner shop where he'd bought snacks after training, the park where he'd practiced juggling alone, the bus stop where he'd waited countless mornings heading to Fiorentina's academy.

His mother's house sat halfway down the block with warm light glowing through the front windows, and before he'd even parked completely the door flew open and Isabella appeared on the front step with her hands clasped together and her face already breaking into tears.

Demien stepped out of the car with his bag over his shoulder, and he barely made it three steps before she was rushing toward him with arms outstretched and voice rising in a mixture of Italian and disbelief.

"Demien! Tesoro! You're here! You're actually here!"

She crashed into him with a hug that nearly knocked him backward, and her grip was fierce as she held him tight while her voice continued without pause. "Why didn't you visit sooner? It's been months! Months! You're so close in Bergamo and you never come home!"

"Mamma, I'm sorry," Demien said while returning the hug, and his voice carried genuine apology mixed with amusement. "The season's been busy. Training, matches, travel—"

"Too busy for your mother?" she interrupted while pulling back to look at his face, and her hands cupped his cheeks as tears streamed down her face. "Look at you. You look tired. Are they feeding you properly? Are you sleeping enough?"

"I'm fine, Mamma. Everything's fine."

She wasn't listening as she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the house, and her voice carried across the quiet street loud enough that neighbors' lights began turning on. "Maria! MARIA! Come see! My son is home!"

An elderly woman appeared in a doorway two houses down, and her face lit up with recognition as she waved enthusiastically. "Demien! Welcome back!"

"Thank you, Signora Russo!" Demien called back while being dragged inside, and Isabella's grip on his hand didn't loosen until they were through the front door.

The house smelled exactly as he remembered—garlic, basil, something baking in the oven—and the interior looked unchanged from his last visit months ago with family photos covering the walls and his old football boots still sitting on a shelf near the entrance.

"Sit, sit," Isabella commanded while gesturing toward the dining table, and she disappeared into the kitchen before he could respond. "Dinner's almost ready. I made everything you like. Pasta al pomodoro, chicken parmigiana, fresh bread, tiramisu for dessert—"

"Mamma, you didn't have to cook this much," Demien protested while sitting at the familiar table, and his voice carried affection despite the words.

"Of course I did!" she called from the kitchen, and dishes clattered as she moved with practiced efficiency. "You're playing at the Artemio Franchi tomorrow! In front of the whole city! Everyone will be watching! You need proper food, not that processed garbage footballers eat."

Demien smiled while watching her move through the kitchen, and the warmth of being home—truly home—settled over him like a blanket, and when she emerged carrying plates loaded with pasta his stomach reminded him that training complex meals never tasted like this.

She sat across from him while he ate, and her questions came rapid-fire without waiting for complete answers. "How's Bergamo? Do you like it there? Are your teammates nice? Is the coach treating you well? How's Luca doing at Braga? Does he call you? I haven't heard from him in weeks—you know how boys are, never updating their mothers about anything!"

"Bergamo's good," Demien answered between bites, and the pasta tasted exactly like childhood. "Teammates are professional. Coach is tough but fair. And Luca's doing well in Portugal—he's getting regular playing time, scored twice last month."

"Twice!" Isabella's face lit up with genuine joy. "That's wonderful! His mother must be so proud. You tell him to call home more often when you talk to him next, yes? Poor Maria is always worrying."

"I will, Mamma."

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand, and her voice softened into something more tender. "And you? Are you happy? Really happy? Not just playing well, but actually happy?"

Demien looked up from his plate and met her eyes, and the question carried weight that went beyond football. "Yeah, Mamma. I'm happy. Things are good."

Her smile trembled slightly before steadying, and she squeezed his hand once more before releasing it. "That's all I need to hear."

They ate in comfortable silence for several minutes before Isabella spoke again, and this time her tone carried unmistakable pride. "I bought a ticket for tomorrow. Section 23, near the halfway line. I'll be watching."

Demien looked up sharply. "You didn't have to do that. Tickets are expensive—"

"I'm your mother," she interrupted firmly, and her expression left no room for argument. "You're playing professional football in Serie A in our city. Of course I'm watching. I wouldn't miss it for anything."

Her eyes were bright with tears again, and she continued while her voice thickened with emotion. "Do you know how proud I am? Watching you on television is wonderful, but seeing you play in person, in Florence, wearing that Atalanta shirt—"

She couldn't finish the sentence as tears overwhelmed her words, and Demien stood to walk around the table and hug her while she cried against his shoulder, and when she finally pulled back she was smiling through the tears.

"You're going to be amazing tomorrow," she said while wiping her eyes. "Those Fiorentina people who rejected you—they'll see what a mistake they made. Show them, Demien. Show everyone."

He nodded while something tightened in his chest, and the weight of Sunday—of returning to the Artemio Franchi, of facing the club that destroyed him, of proving himself in front of his mother and his city—settled fully across his shoulders.

A/N

I've been so busy lately and I'm sorry th upload have been coming in slow or late.

I will try to upload at least 5 chapters or 3 today to make up for the lateness.

Yeah, thanks for the support and powerstone and unlocking of chapters. I really appreciate!!!

H

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