Inside the Italian dressing room, the mood was tense. The air was thick with frustration, the echoes of Spain's first-half dominance lingering like a bad taste.
Players sat scattered, some catching their breath, others staring at the floor. The only sound was water bottles being squeezed and the occasional deep sighs.
Luciano Spalletti stood in the middle, his voice steady but edged with irritation.
"We're being played through too easily," he said, his hands cutting through the air. "Rodri, Pedri, and that kid—" His jaw tightened. "Izan. He's dictating everything."
Barella, still catching his breath, wiped sweat from his brow. "He's quick. And smart."
Spalletti nodded sharply. "That's the problem. He's not just some kid with flair—he's a decision-maker. And we're giving him too much space."
He turned to Jorginho. "You, cut off his passing lanes. Make him play sideways, make him hesitate."
