Page 92 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

The doors close before either of us says anything else.

***

I am back at the Milan office with coffee in one hand and my recorder in the other. Matteo takes the first interview, walking me through the expansion of Blackwell’s European operations without trying to make every decision sound inevitable. Alessandra follows with a considerably less polished version of the same history, including the operational failures, abandoned partnerships, and regional disagreements that never found their way into annual reports.

By late morning, my notebook is filling quickly. I spend another hour touring the operations floor and then sit down with Carlo Bianchi, a longtime European executive who worked with Richard during Blackwell’s earliest push into Italy. Carlo speaks about those years with the comfortable irreverence of someone who has known the family too long to be impressed by the mythology surrounding it.

“Richard hated being told something couldn’t be done,” Carlo tells me.

“Julian hated being told something had been done badly. There is a difference.”

I smile as I make a note.

“Which one was easier to work with?”

Carlo glances toward the glass wall behind me, where Julian is speaking with Matteo several yards away.

“I am still employed,” Carlo says.

“I’ll let you decide what that answer means.”

I laugh, and when I look through the glass again, Julian’s attention has shifted toward us.

He holds my gaze before Matteo says something that draws him back into the conversation.

The interview ends shortly before lunch, and I catch Julian alone near the corridor while I am reorganizing my notes.

“You’re very popular here,” I tell him.

Julian looks over. “That sounded accusatory.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I close my notebook. “You’re different here.”

His attention settles more fully on me.

“Different how?”

“Less guarded,” I say.

Julian considers that for a moment.

“Maybe you’ve gotten better at reading me.”

I lift an eyebrow.

“That sounds dangerously close to a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

The faint amusement in his eyes makes it difficult to look away. For several seconds, neither of us seems particularly interested in returning to work.

Then Alessandra calls my name from the end of the corridor.

I step back. “Saved by operations.”