Ever since meeting Mantovani, Dejan Lu and Monica had not had a moment alone together.
The Sampdoria chairman was clearly taking his transfer very seriously.
He had already known Sampdoria was a good club, but over the past two days, Dejan Lu had learned even more about them.
Mantovani was a chairman with an excellent reputation.
He had always been generous toward players, treating them like family, yet he had never done anything like Moratti's wiretapping of players.
He mainly retained players through the force of his character.
That had been the case when Milan tried to buy Vialli.
And precisely because Vialli had not gone to Milan, the others had also chosen to stay.
This might have been a good thing for Milan, or else Van Basten would never have joined them.
Moreover, he was not eager for quick success. He often chose to unearth experienced but unknown young players—those who had spent years in the lower divisions, had potential, but had never encountered the right tactics.
After retiring, Lippi had spent three years coaching Sampdoria's youth team, laying a solid foundation for the club.
The current manager was Boskov, a Real Madrid legend. After retiring as a Yugoslavian international, he had led Real Madrid to a league-and-cup double in La Liga, though they had lost to Liverpool in the European Cup final.
He was also a manager in the mold of Sir Alex Ferguson and Wenger.
It was just that the young players he developed were stars from before the internet boom, like Roberto Mancini, Vialli, and Chiesa.
The owner and manager alone were already outstanding, not to mention Sampdoria's remarkably strong squad.
Monica secretly opened her eyes and saw Dejan Lu lying there with his hands behind his head, lost in thought. At last, she breathed a sigh of relief.
If this continued, she feared she would die of dehydration.
She wondered whether that thing could replenish water as well as protein.
Knock, knock, knock—
At the familiar knocking, Monica immediately got up to change.
Once they had both changed, they indeed found Paolo Mantovani standing at the door. Over the past two days, the old man had come to block them at the hotel every day.
"Dejan, if you want to dispose of your assets in Reggio Calabria, I can help."
Mantovani said.
"Forget it, Mr. Mantovani. I'll handle that myself. If you could help us find somewhere to live, that would be enough. We can't stay in a hotel forever."
Dejan Lu said.
The two of them were not badly off financially, but hotels in a tourist city were far from cheap.
"That's easy. Single players can even live at the club. Roberto and the others did that before... That boy Roberto has a bit of a bad temper. I hope you can be patient with him, but he isn't a bad person."
Mantovani said with a smile.
The person he meant was Roberto Mancini.
Though Roberto Mancini appeared refined and easygoing as a manager, he had been temperamental and quick to anger in his youth. His personality had also made his international career less than smooth.
His good friend Vialli, on the other hand, had a much better temperament.
It was said that the two had met at the Coverciano training center for Italy's youth national team when they were seventeen. Roberto Mancini, who had already decided to transfer to Sampdoria, thought Vialli was a good player and suggested that he join Sampdoria as well.
Later, the two really did become teammates.
The three walked downstairs and onto the street together. Mantovani said, "I've already found a lawyer. If possible, we'll sign the contract today. The salary probably won't be high, but considering you have your beloved with you, I can have the club pay you eighty million lire a year to start."
"That is very generous of you, Mr. Mantovani."
Dejan Lu said.
Eighty million lire was roughly equivalent to 400,000 yuan, or around 45,000 Pound Sterling.
That amount was about one-tenth of what Falcao had earned when he went to Roma in 1980. At present, some players in Italy were already earning the equivalent of twenty to thirty thousand Pound Sterling a week, over a hundred thousand dollars.
But considering he had just moved from Serie C to Serie A, this salary was quite good.
Paolo Maldini's second contract two years earlier had also been worth eighty million lire.
Last year, Italy's per-capita GDP ranked sixteenth, behind Britain, at 15,744 dollars. As a nation supported by manufacturing, textiles, and jewelry, Italy's per-capita disposable income was even lower than that, much like a resource-intensive region.
This salary could ensure that Dejan Lu and Monica lived comfortably in Genoa. It was nowhere near as extravagant as the earnings of later football stars, but it was still above that of Italy's ordinary middle class.
Paolo Mantovani was indeed very sincere.
He took them both to a law firm, where his lawyer had already drafted the contract.
It was only a three-year contract.
In those days, players generally had little desire to transfer, so contracts did not need to be extended excessively. After all, there was always the possibility that a player would not make it; even one of the Three Musketeers had once been loaned out after becoming famous.
Monica took the contract and examined it carefully.
As a former law student, she was highly professional in such matters.
"There's a signing bonus too?"
Monica exclaimed.
"Yes, this is a gift for you." Mantovani shrugged. "If Dejan doesn't live well, I'm afraid it might cause an international dispute."
The old man was quite humorous.
Dejan Lu glanced at it and said, "Could we reduce the signing bonus and use it as my transfer fee instead? My contract with Reggina will end at the end of the month, but Reggina is in a difficult situation. I hope to leave them some money."
"Of course!"
Mantovani looked at Dejan Lu with great admiration.
He had discovered another virtue in this young man.
Having feelings for one's former club was not a bad thing. Compared with selfish players, players like this were more likable.
"Then I have no objections."
Dejan Lu said.
Monica prepared a pen for him, and Dejan Lu signed his name directly.
"Welcome to Sampdoria. I'm afraid you can't have the number ten shirt—that's Roberto's number. How about choosing another one?"
Mantovani asked.
If Dejan Lu insisted on the number ten, he would go persuade Roberto Mancini.
This gentle club chairman was exceptionally skilled at dealing with players. He truly exchanged sincerity for sincerity, and he was confident he could convince Roberto Mancini.
But that would make Dejan Lu's start extremely difficult.
Roberto Mancini was hardly good-tempered.
"It's fine. I can choose an available number."
Dejan Lu said.
For an attacking midfielder or forward, the number ten was indeed more suitable.
But if you played well enough, even wearing number one could make you a legend.
"That's wonderful. I suppose you're tired of this old man too. Tomorrow, I'll take you to look at houses. As for the manager, there's no rush—Vujadin isn't in Italy at the moment."
Mantovani said.
After parting with the old chairman, Monica could not help saying, "He seems like a very good person."
"Yes, that's why Sampdoria has what it has today."
Dejan Lu said.
During the era of the Seven Sisters, every Serie A club chairman had a few tricks up his sleeve.
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