The Road Less Traveled

“Yes, I knew there were challenges ahead, and I was prepared to meet them. With a bit of grit and determination, I was sure I’d overcome whatever she threw my way. I truly believed that, once.”

Standing in Gabriella’s office at the Merchants’ Guild, a man with mustard-colored hair heaved a weary sigh. He’d come to the vice-guildmaster clutching a thick bundle of documents.

“Ivano, please sit down. This matter you wish to discuss... I take it that it concerns those documents?”

“Yes. These are specifications and blueprints for new versions of the foaming soap dispensers.”

“If my aging eyes don’t deceive me, you appear to have an entire stack of them,” Gabriella noted, narrowing her eyes quizzically.

Exactly how many were there? Had he perhaps brought some additional documents and materials with him?

“It’s all soap dispensers. I’d taken steps to prepare for whatever Miss Dahlia might throw at me, but I underestimated the Gandolfi Workshop. For Mr. Fermo to submit this amount in one go... Does he expect me to divide in two like a slime just to keep up?”

For one moment, Gabriella thought that was her cue to laugh, but Ivano’s face was deadly serious. All of the documents he held were those necessary to register new product contracts with the guild. It was an unthinkable amount to register in one go—that is to say, it didn’t bear thinking about.

“To that end, I wish to apply to borrow one of the guild’s offices for the Rossetti Trading Company. I would also like to hire two or three clerks—if you’re able to recommend anyone, please let me know at once. Ideally, they should be able to write neatly enough to copy official documents and write letters.”

A number of offices within the Merchants’ Guild were available for lease to businesses. Foreign firms would sometimes use them as their first base of operations. Companies whose business required frequent visits to the guild often occupied the offices too, finding it convenient to have staff permanently stationed there. However, renting a single small office cost no less than two gold per month—a considerable sum.

“I would like an office on the second floor. I foresee us needing to visit the contracts desk quite regularly. I’d rather avoid getting hot and bothered from jogging up and down the stairs all day.”

“It seems you won’t be escaping from the guild after all. Not even from the second floor. How is the company’s income? Are you sure you have the leeway to cover the rent?”

“I believe twenty percent of our payments from the guild will cover it. I did consider renting an office in another building nearby, but I’ll still be employed here for a while longer, and it wouldn’t make sense to waste time traveling back and forth. Besides, once we have a production line going of these various soap dispenser models, I should think we’ll be in the black and then some. That depends on the output of the Gandolfi Workshop, though.”

“Shall I find some additional manufacturers for you?”

“No, thank you. I’m meeting with Miss Dahlia this afternoon to work out the particulars, but personally, I’d like to keep our operations to a minimum. It would be prudent to promote the Gandolfi name now and earn their loyalty. One day, I’d like to see them supplying Miss Dahlia exclusively,” Ivano explained matter-of-factly.

His manner was quite different from that of the mild, gentle man Gabriella had become accustomed to. His indigo eyes stared unflinchingly into the vice-guildmaster’s, the light they harbored burning far brighter than it had when he’d been in the guild’s employ.

“Vice-Guildmaster, on behalf of the Rossetti Trading Company, I have a request to make of you as the guildmaster’s representative.”

“What would that be, I wonder?”

“For two years, I would like the guild to act as an intermediary for all sales of the soap dispensers intended for the noble market. Naturally, the company will pay any fees this incurs and agree to whatever arrangement best serves Lord Jedda’s interests.”

“That’s a generous proposal indeed, Ivano. Are you quite sure? Your profit margin in the noble market would be considerable.”

“Sir Volf and the castle notwithstanding, I wish to keep Miss Dahlia far away from any unscrupulous nobles for the time being. It is far too dangerous, and I don’t yet have the know-how to properly deal with such situations. Much as I wish to expand the company and its staff, I believe it will take around two years to train the new employees—and assess their character.”

The Rossetti Trading Company had been established without any particular preparation, with Ivano joining it shortly thereafter of his own volition. Dahlia’s inventions were sure to start bringing in profits soon enough, but the company had few connections; its foundation was not yet solid.

“So the guild will be your contact address. Where shall the company be officially based?”

“At Sir Volf’s estate. I’ve already discussed it with him. Otherwise, we might have unwelcome visitors turning up at Miss Dahlia’s home.”

“Very sensible. Although, it will only add credence to the misunderstandings going around.”

“Misunderstandings?”

“It appears the two of them visited the cemetery together a few days ago. One of the young clerks passed them on the way in. Although they did apparently go their separate ways into the noble and commoner sections.”

“I do wonder... Are we misunderstanding them?” Ivano tilted his head pensively.

For all appearances, Volf was head over heels for Dahlia. Whether he was aware of the fact was a different matter, however. He couldn’t quite discern Dahlia’s feelings toward him, but she was clearly very comfortable in his presence—as much as one would be around a bosom friend or a family member. For his part, Ivano would be very happy to support the awkward young knight who seemed determined to protect Dahlia from the shadows.

“Madam Gabriella, would you indulge me in a little hypothesizing for a minute? Let’s say a certain couple—the son of an earl and a merchant—were to become very close. Do you suppose the earl’s son would be permitted to give up his noble rank and marry the merchant?”

“I think that would be very difficult, especially considering that the next earl in his family is set to be made a marquis. For a boy with such remarkable looks to quit his family without so much as a guardian would invite all sorts of trouble. Jealous noblewomen would harass his lady friend like rabid dogs.”

The “guardian” to which Gabriella referred was a noble who would vouch for the good standing of a commoner or lower-ranking noble and, essentially, agree to watch their back.

“Supposing...the merchant expanded her company, perhaps became an official supplier to the castle, gained a noble guardian, and eventually became a baroness...then might the marriage be accepted?”

Though no names were mentioned, the true identities of the hypothetical couple were no mystery.

Gabriella narrowed her dark-blue eyes and smiled at Ivano. “Yes, in those circumstances, I think it might.”

“Well then, it shall be my mission to create a company that can realize all this and more.”

“How very bold of you. I should warn you, though—the road less traveled can be unforgiving.”

Ivano knew that Gabriella was speaking from the heart; she herself had ascended from a humble commoner to a viscountess. However, he also knew that this dream of his could be realized. The proof was sitting before him.

He smiled broadly as he replied, “It’s all right. I know someone who conquered it, you see. My friend will be traveling the other way, but we know where we’re going.”

After leaving the vice-guildmaster’s office, Ivano descended the stairs to the second floor. As he walked down the corridor, he slowed his steps just a little as he passed a window, a bright square of blue sky. Every time he walked this way, he remembered Carlo, Dahlia’s father.

With his sandy-colored hair and warm, gentle smile, there had been something about Carlo Rossetti that reminded Ivano of the wind. He treated everyone he spoke to as an equal, never looking down his nose at anyone. Of course, he showed deference when the occasion called for it, but Ivano had never felt there was much difference in Carlo’s attitude when he spoke to Gabriella and her husband versus when he spoke to the lowlier guild staff, Ivano included. He was no less respectful to a fresh-faced clerk than he was to any of his noble customers. The man had a talent for sliding a well-timed joke into any conversation; wherever he went, he was always surrounded by cheerful, good-natured laughter.

Carlo was also a talented and highly respected magical toolmaker who approached his work with the utmost seriousness. He had never once failed to make a delivery on time, and defects in his products were extremely rare. If one of the more experienced staff ever got lazy and tried to sweep an issue under the rug, Carlo would be on their case in a flash.

An honest mistake from a newbie, however, was met with quite a different attitude; he wouldn’t make a fuss, simply pointing out the error and moving on. He would be the first to offer help to those in need, but he never asked anything in return. Whenever he heard of a young, inexperienced toolmaker about to be trapped in an unfair contract with a noble, he would step in and use his position as a baron to right the situation.

He would break up arguments between the guild staff now and then, and if he found anyone feeling downhearted after messing up at work, he’d take them out for a good meal and a drink. Ivano himself had once been treated to a few drinks when he was feeling overwhelmed by the burden of his responsibilities.

Another time, Carlo saved a female clerk from the unwelcome advances of a noble. The next day, however, when she went to thank him, he didn’t even recognize the woman. She’d come looking her best, wishing to see if he, too, had felt a spark between them. When it wasn’t mutual, she understandably burst into tears.

In spite of having a young daughter, Carlo—a highly respected craftsman and an honorary baron to boot—was a very eligible bachelor. He received his fair share of invitations to marriage interviews and the like. Apparently, Dominic the scrivener had repeatedly encouraged him to remarry. However, Carlo simply brushed off all talk of marriage with his usual smile.

Over the years, there was very little talk of Carlo being involved with women in any intimate way. The only rumor Ivano remembered hearing was of an affair with Gabriella. One fool had gossiped to anyone who would listen about how often the magical toolmaker Carlo visited the vice-guildmaster in her office, and what a close personal relationship they appeared to have. It was no secret that Carlo made regular visits to Gabriella’s office, but he was never alone, and in fact, he was more often to be found in the guildmaster’s office, meeting with both husband and wife.

Ivano had been very young at the time, and the rumor had infuriated him. Honest to a fault, he’d gone and told Gabriella and Carlo what was unfolding.

“There’s an insolent fool down there spreading nonsense about you both!”

Gabriella had merely smiled silently while her fingertips caressed her engagement bracelet. Carlo, meanwhile, far from growing angry, had looked as though he’d just been called to a funeral.

“He has my deepest sympathies,” was all he said.

Ivano was left perplexed, wondering why neither of them were at all angered by what he’d told them, until the next day. He arrived at work to see the gossip on his knees in front of the guildmaster’s office, spouting apologies. Viscount Leone Jedda, the guildmaster and Gabriella’s husband, realized the man had obviously done something dreadful, but no one would fill him in on the details. Even the senior staff only answered his inquiries with awkward smiles. So, he tried asking Carlo.

“Leone, a man can love his wife a little too much, you know,” the craftsman replied with a faraway gaze.

It was enough to give Leone an inkling as to the man’s crime. For a further five days, the gossip knelt and apologized in front of the guildmaster’s office. On the sixth day, he was nowhere to be seen. At first, Ivano assumed Leone had finally forgiven him. As it turned out, however, he’d been fired after the head cleaner had complained to Gabriella about him causing an obstruction. Ivano spared him a grain or two of sympathy, but no more.

Carlo was an exceptional toolmaker, but profit was never in the forefront of his mind. Even nobles couldn’t persuade him to do a job he wasn’t interested in. Ivano had even seen him turn down invitations from the castle without hesitation.

“There are only three things Carlo cares about: magical tools, his daughter, and good drink. You won’t interest him in anything else,” Gabriella had said of him once.

Ivano had not had cause to doubt her.

When Ivano’s own daughter had been born, Carlo had not only offered his congratulations, but also detailed advice on which stores offered the best childcare products, which medicines to always have on hand, and so on. In all matters concerning raising his daughter, Ivano looked up to Carlo as a kind of mentor whom he knew he could always rely on for guidance.

One day in early summer, in this corridor bathed in bright sunlight, Carlo had suddenly collapsed. Ivano was the first one to notice and come running to his aid. Minutes before, Carlo had been filling out paperwork and chatting with the guild staff about his work, just as usual.

“’Tis the season for a crisp, cold ale,” he’d said with a chuckle as he took a break from the form-filling. “Well, almost.”

Carlo had loved to drink. Every year, he looked forward to chilled ale in summer, spirits in autumn, and hot estervino in the winter.

“You seem to love your drinks, no matter the season,” Ivano had commented one day.

“That’s ’cause they come with my daughter’s home cooking!” he’d replied.

Despite being an undeniably heavy drinker, Carlo hadn’t shown the slightest sign of illness when Ivano had drunk with him just a short time before his collapse. That was why, at first, Ivano had thought he’d only tripped or perhaps had a bout of dizziness.

“Are you all right, Mr. Carlo?” he’d called.

But there had come no reply. Carlo’s face was horribly pale and crumpled in pain as he clutched his chest, his breaths fast and ragged, muscles seizing up.

“Call a doctor!” Ivano had immediately cried out to one of the staff nearby while he knelt at the man’s side. “Mr. Carlo! Mr. Carlo!”

He called his name over and over, until he noticed, belatedly, the warmth beginning to leave the man’s body. In those last moments, Carlo’s lips seemed to be trying to form a sound—“da.” There was little doubt in Ivano’s mind that it had been the “da” in “Dahlia.” To this day, he’d never told another soul about this. It wasn’t a fitting end for a man like Carlo—racked with pain, unable even to say his daughter’s name. That was why Ivano had always said it had been a swift death, with no time for suffering nor for him to help.

On the day of Carlo’s funeral, Dahlia had stood all alone. Tobias must have been close beside her, as well as his brother, Ireneo, chairman of Orlando & Co. Many of Carlo’s friends and colleagues had gathered there, and Dahlia’s friends too, each in turn expressing their condolences to her. However, to Ivano’s eyes, it appeared for all the world as though Dahlia were standing there completely on her own as she bore her grief.

“I’m so sorry that I couldn’t help him,” he’d apologized.

There had been no reproach in the young woman’s reply; quite the opposite.

“Thank you for looking after my father. I’m very grateful,” she said in a small, soft voice.

Unable to find the words to properly express his condolences or comfort her, Ivano had simply bowed deeply. Now, he found himself at her side once again as an employee of her trading company. He was a merchant, and his decision to join her had been calculated. He was her colleague and subordinate; his role was to support her toolmaking work. He could not call himself her family or her friend. And yet, he sincerely wished to see Dahlia overcome the challenges Gabriella had spoken of and achieve true happiness. Was it because he’d known Carlo and witnessed his final breaths? Was he haunted by the sight of Dahlia standing alone at that funeral? He couldn’t help feeling that there was an element of self-appeasement in his desire to support Dahlia.

Whatever his motivation, though, there was one thing he would swear to. No matter what, he would never tarnish the name of his cherished mentor, Carlo Rossetti.

“Miss Rossetti! Miss Rossetti, may we speak with you for a moment?”

It was a little past noon, and Dahlia had just set foot inside the Merchants’ Guild when she was immediately accosted by a gaggle of female clerks. They would be in the way if they gathered in the entrance like this, and so Dahlia ushered the group to the area in front of the stairway.

“Is there something I can do for you?” she inquired.

She was already well aware of what the women wanted, but she maintained her professional facade.

“Miss Rossetti, are you in a relationship with Sir Scalfarotto?” the youngest of them asked, her eyes practically sparkling.

Dahlia resisted the urge to heave a sigh as she repeated the answer she’d given dozens of times already. “Yes, I do have the honor of counting Sir Volf among my friends.”

As a Scarlet Armor of the Order of Beast Hunters and the fourth son of an earl, Volfred Scalfarotto had considerable social standing. However, that was not the reason for his fame. The reason Volf was known throughout the city lay in his remarkable—some might say divine—looks. His hair was glossy and the deepest black, his skin as pale and flawless as marble, his features exquisitely fine. He had a long, straight nose and thin yet shapely lips.

His most stunning assets, however, were his long, almond-shaped eyes, each one set with irises like pools of molten gold, dotted at their center with midnight-black pupils. Beneath this angelic face was a tall, lean physique that could hardly befit a knight of the realm more perfectly. Many were the women who found not only their heads turned, but their hearts captured by a mere glimpse of him.

Volf, however, took no pride in the looks he’d been blessed with. They had been the source of a great deal of strife—if anything, he considered them a curse. Before meeting Dahlia, he’d had not a single female friend, and his relationships with men frequently ended up in tatters due to quarrels over women. As Dahlia had come to realize, there most certainly was such a thing as being too attractive, and it was miserable.

“Friends? You aren’t dating, then?”

“Is it...you know...a sort of relationship of convenience?” one of the clerks from the information desk asked, clearly trying to find the most polite way to say what she meant. “Or is he maybe helping your company?”

Despite the pussyfooting, Dahlia could tell precisely what the woman was trying to coax out of her—if she and Volf weren’t lovers, were they simply friends with benefits?

“He is indeed assisting me, yes, but our friendship is entirely ordinary.”

Not for the first time that day, Dahlia found herself wondering what exactly an ordinary friendship was, anyway. Volf had kindly agreed to become a guarantor for the Rossetti Trading Company; that much was true. More importantly, however, he was simply someone whom she enjoyed talking with, drinking with, and crafting magical tools and swords with. Putting all that into a brief word or two wasn’t easy.

“So you really are just friends... But you have tea and meals with Sir Scalfarotto quite often—isn’t that right, Miss Dahlia?”

Why was she being addressed as “Miss Dahlia” instead of “Miss Rossetti” all of a sudden? Why had this woman’s tone become so friendly? She didn’t recall asking to be spoken to this way. Seeing this sudden change in the clerk who’d often delivered documents to various companies for her left Dahlia with a feeling of vague, indescribable bitterness. To make matters worse, the woman’s next words were all too predictable.

“Do you suppose I could join you next time?”

“It is not my place to decide on Sir Volf’s social engagements. In case you have perhaps forgotten, he belongs to the house of Earl Scalfarotto. Please direct your inquiries to Sir Volf directly or to the Scalfarotto estate.”

Dahlia had been accosted like this frequently in recent days. Her response was always the same. It was what Volf himself had asked of her. Apparently, any hopeful letters that did arrive at the Scalfarotto estate wouldn’t go any further—Volf would never even have to hear about them.

“Now then, if you’ll excuse me.”

Having had their hopes of an introduction dashed, the women didn’t look pleased, but that was no concern of Dahlia’s. She felt no remorse as she curtailed the conversation and began to climb the stairs. She only made it as far as the landing before one of the female clerks, who’d chased after her, grabbed her by the shoulder.

“Please, wait! Could you at least tell me about Sir Scalfarotto’s interests or some things he likes?”

Her escape foiled, Dahlia found herself subjected to another round of questioning about Volf and yet another request for an introduction. It took quite a while before she finally managed to shake off the persistent clerk.

By the time Dahlia reached the second floor, she was already somewhat fatigued. She locked eyes with Ivano, who was carrying a hefty stack of papers.

“Hello, Miss Dahlia. Are you all right? You look rather tired.”

“I’m fine. I just got a little held up on the way.”

She was relieved to hear that Ivano had rented an office for the company inside the guild. With all the meeting rooms and lounges she’d been taking up lately, she’d been afraid that she might be a nuisance. Fortunately, the offices on the second floor weren’t as popular as those on the first, so finding a vacant one had been no issue. Dahlia followed Ivano to the new office right away, where he apprised her of the state of the company’s finances, the production of the insoles, and his plan to hire some clerks.

“I also received a message from Orlando & Co. earlier today. ‘The fairy glass will be arriving shortly,’ it said. Shall I go and collect it once it does?”

“I hate to trouble you, but if you’re sure you don’t mind, I’d appreciate that.”

With fairy glass, she could make a spare pair of enchanted glasses for Volf. Then, even if he happened to break his original pair, he wouldn’t need to worry about venturing out in public. She was glad to have that little worry lifted from her mind.

Just then, Ivano spoke again in a low, quiet tone. “Miss Dahlia, with your permission, I think I’d like to start using my original surname again.”

“Your surname hasn’t always been Badoer?”

“Badoer is my wife’s family name. My original surname is Mercadante. Before I came here to the royal capital, I was Ivano Mercadante. Oh, don’t worry about the magical contract I signed at the temple—it’ll still be binding even if I use a different name.”

“I don’t mind. So, it’s Mr. Mercadante... I’ve never heard that name before.”

“Yes, I doubt there are any others in this city. It’s quite rare.”

“It has a great ring to it. It suits you.”

“You think so?”

Ivano smiled. Or at least, his mouth curved into the shape of a smile. Sensing a sudden coldness in his indigo eyes, Dahlia tensed up.

“I’d like to tell you about my past, Miss Dahlia, though I’m afraid it isn’t very pleasant. I once worked at a trading company in another town. I was the chairman’s eldest son. When I was nineteen, the company folded, and I lost my family along with it. I ran away from that town with my wife and settled here. Ever since then, I’ve worked at the guild under my wife’s surname.”

“I...see.”

“My father’s company is long gone. Even so, having no living relatives bearing the name has started to bother me lately after all these years. It isn’t exactly auspicious, being the name of a failed trading company, but would you allow me to use the Mercadante name all the same?”

“But of course! Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, if anyone happened to remember the name, they might say your company’s cursed. They might ask why you’re employing the son of a failure. That sort of thing.”

“There’s no need to give people like that the time of day. Everyone knows what a talented man you are.”

There would be no end to it if they started paying heed to omens, comments from strangers, and the like. Dahlia had learned that lesson. On her way here, she’d been interrogated at length on her relationship with Volf. People poked and prodded, trying to find out whether he was her lover, something more casual, or some sort of patron of her company. As soon as Dahlia dispelled those notions, insisting that they were just friends, she found herself being begged for introductions. It was laughable.

There was nothing to be gained from valuing the opinions of strangers too highly. She would much rather place her faith in Ivano; she could see his worth with her own two eyes.

“Besides, this could be your chance to restore the Mercadante name’s honor. If we make your name famous around the city, then any naysayers will soon quiet down.”

“You have a point there. It’d be good to hear people say, ‘There’s a Mercadante at the Rossetti Trading Company.’”

Ivano closed his eyes for a moment and nodded decisively. Then, his usual gentle smile returned. He handed Dahlia the full set of registration documents that Fermo had turned in for the foaming soap dispensers. After reading through them thoroughly, Dahlia added her signature as joint developer to each one. Things were proceeding faster than she’d expected.

“Mr. Fermo works very quickly,” Dahlia commented. “He had all those prototypes made and these documents drafted in no time.”

“Yes, I was surprised myself when he handed them in. He explained what everything was, but I never expected so many with such detailed plans.”

“I’m glad we found someone with such a mind for product design. He came up with things I’d never have thought of and taught me a lot about design. I’m very grateful for his help.”

“That’s very good to hear.”

Ivano nodded again, but then his expression changed subtly, becoming hard and serious. He cleared his throat and looked Dahlia straight in the eye.

“Miss Dahlia—no, Chairwoman Rossetti. I wish to give my opinion as your subordinate. I’m afraid I may make you somewhat angry, but will you listen to everything I have to say?”

“Of course. Please go ahead.”

Dahlia straightened in her seat. Perhaps this had something to do with her newly invented shoe-dryer, or maybe there was some problem with designs she had developed with Fermo. There might even have been a complaint about her conduct at the castle. There were too many possibilities for Dahlia to pin down a likely candidate.

“With all due respect, Miss Dahlia, you need to stand up for yourself.”

“What?” Dahlia blurted out, taken aback.

“I saw those women hassling you on the stairs before you got here. You’re under no obligation to answer questions about Sir Volf. If someone is bothering you and being rude, tell them so and go on your way. I’ll see to it that the guild gives them a warning for this behavior. If staff are being allowed not only to disrespect a company chairwoman and the Scalfarotto family, but also to waste guild time with idle chatter, then there’s clearly a management problem. If anyone continues to bother you, then let me know at once. I’ll lodge a complaint as a member of your company, and as a member of the guild, I’ll ensure that the issue is dealt with firmly.”

“I will.”

“I would also remind you of our positions within your company. I may be a good bit older than you, but I am your subordinate, and you must treat me as such. It may take a bit of getting used to, but this is the way a company is run. I aim to become your right-hand man, so please get yourself accustomed to it.”

“R-Right...”

Dahlia was reminded of when, just after she’d become chairwoman, Gabriella had insisted that they address each other as equals. Although what Ivano was asking for was entirely the opposite, this too would take some getting used to.

“My next point relates to the Gandolfi Workshop. The Rossetti Trading Company provides them with orders, which they fulfill—that’s the basis of our relationship. It’s absolutely fine for you to be friendly with Mr. Fermo, but please avoid treating him like your teacher or foreman when you’re at the guild. People will get the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea?”

“People may claim that the designs you and Mr. Fermo create jointly are really all his work and he’s merely allowing you to put your name on the documents. I’m afraid that young women with a talent for invention and crafting are often the targets of intense jealousy. I’m serious about that—it’s twice, perhaps three times as bad as it would be for a man your age.”

“I’ll be careful about that.”

Given all the knowledge he’d been sharing with her, she did indeed see Mr. Fermo as something of a teacher. She’d never imagined that people might twist that respect in such a way.

“Lastly, I would ask you to exercise greater care in handling your prototypes. I heard that you handed over a magical tool in the form of a pendant to Mr. Fermo’s wife. They wish to pay you for it.”

“But that had nothing to do with the company. It was a personal decision.”

“Yes, you gave it to her out of kindness. I heard the whole story from Mr. Fermo, so I understand. However, the cost of the materials and the time you spent on that item can’t have been insignificant.”

“It wasn’t a finished product, though—only a prototype. I don’t even know how effective it is or how long its effects will last. Besides, my father taught me to never take money for a product that’s not properly finished.”

“That’s a toolmaker’s way of looking at it. I do see where you’re coming from, but you’re not just a magical toolmaker anymore, Miss Dahlia. You’re also a chairwoman. You have staff and several guarantors to consider, as well as your future clients. You have a responsibility to increase the company’s profits.”

“I understand.”

“I’m not suggesting that Mr. Carlo was wrong or that you should never give your inventions as gifts. But the person you gave that pendant to was not a relative or a friend. Given our relationship with Mr. Fermo, I think that gift will be beneficial in the long run, actually, but what if it had been someone with a mind to take advantage of your goodwill? If someone kept coming to you and begging for prototypes to solve their troubles, would you hand them all over for free?”

“Well, no...”

She was aware that, as chairwoman, she had a responsibility to prioritize her company’s profits. Perhaps it was because she’d always given her prototypes to her father and Tobias that Ivano’s argument had never occurred to her. Looking back, she’d never thought very deeply about giving these things away. All she’d hoped was that recipients would find them useful.

“Besides, as a magical toolmaker, you’re a professional, aren’t you?”

“I certainly try to be.”

“Well, I believe that a professional should follow a certain set of procedures when they give away a prototype. They should thoroughly explain its function and features, agree on the period for which the recipient should hold the item, request reports from them, and so on. If you hand these things over too casually, the recipient might feel that they’re just being given them out of pity or being patronized. Have you considered that?”

“Oh...”

Ivano’s words struck a nerve, and she felt a pang in her chest. She couldn’t respond right away. She’d just wanted to be of some help to Volf. Reminded of her mother from her past life, she’d just wanted to ease Barbara’s pain a little. She’d never meant to look on either of them with pity or condescension. But she couldn’t be sure how they’d truly felt about her gifts. The thought that her efforts to help people might have hurt them instead gave the young woman a chill.

“That is all. I’m sorry to have spoken so harshly.”

Before she knew it, Ivano was bowing down in front of her. She must have looked rather shell-shocked.

“Oh, no! There’s no need to apologize. I appreciate you telling me these things. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have thought about considering profit and other people’s feelings, making sure I give away prototypes only with the proper arrangements, getting fair compensation for finished products... I need to learn to discuss things with people properly rather than just push my idea of kindness onto them.”

“I think that would be wise. Although, of course, I may just be pushing my idea of how things ought to work onto you. As chairwoman, you will always have the final say.”

“Chairwoman... Hmm.”

“Ah, I suppose ‘boss’ would be the more modern title. I think ‘chairwoman’ suits you better, but ‘boss’ has a bit of a younger feel to it.”

“Please, don’t call me either,” Dahlia begged with dismay. While Ivano chuckled, she felt her expression stiffen again.

“Tell me truthfully, Miss Dahlia: are you thinking of stepping down as chairwoman?”

“I...” Caught unawares by Ivano’s question, she froze for a few moments. “No. There are so many opportunities that weren’t open to me before.”

“If the role ever does begin to weigh too heavily on you, we can always appoint someone to act in your name. Please be sure to tell me if you find yourself truly suffering. I know your heart’s in magical toolmaking—there’s no need to break it for the sake of the company.”

“I understand. I promise I’ll tell you if it becomes too much.”

“You can always come to me for help and advice too. If I can’t answer your questions, Madam Gabriella surely will. We can even locate specialists for you if necessary. We’ll support you however possible. If you make a mistake, we’ll find a way to fix it. Even I don’t always get things right—when that happens, don’t hesitate to reprimand me.”

Having said his piece, Ivano silently apologized to Dahlia’s father. As far as he knew, Carlo had tried to raise Dahlia so that she would never be in a position to make enemies—instead, she would be surrounded by friends who would shield her from the harshness of the world, even if it meant she might never be wealthy. Carlo had intended for her to work alongside fellow artisans while under his or her husband’s protection, keeping her light hidden under a bushel. No doubt, all he’d really wanted was for her to live her life in peace and safety. Expanding the Rossetti Trading Company would inevitably result in that protective wall breaking down. While Dahlia would feel the sunlight, she would also be exposed to the wind and rain.

Ivano could try, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to shield her from everything. All he could do was to support her as best he could in her roles as a professional magical toolmaker and company chairwoman. Dahlia would have to discover and nurture her own strength. Still, Ivano found himself praying that fate would be kind and lead her away from all the pain and trouble life could bring. Was it because he had daughters of his own? Was it because of his memories of Carlo?

“Um, Ivano, you look awfully troubled... Is something wrong?” Dahlia inquired hesitantly.

Ivano put those unanswerable questions out of his mind. “To tell you the truth, I’m not very good at giving people warnings or scolding them. Not at all. I have to gear myself up just to scold my kids at home.”

“Really? You seem like the kind of person who’d be good at telling people off when they need it and showing them where they went wrong, like a teacher.”

Ivano could tell that she was absolutely sincere and found himself slightly abashed. “That’s enough of the flattery, boss.”

“You’re actually going to call me that from now on?!”

Seeing Dahlia in such a flap, the man couldn’t help but laugh. It was far more pleasant to laugh with her than to admonish and lecture her, that was for certain. But Ivano was resolved to be straight with her and to repeat his advice as often as necessary. From now on, he would constantly keep the best interests of the Rossetti Trading Company, of Dahlia, and of Volf at heart. They would grow and strengthen the company, earn the community’s trust, and amass a fortune.

Ivano would give his all to see the day he could say with pride: “There’s a Mercadante at the Rossetti Trading Company.” That would be the day his once forsaken name would finally regain its honor.