The next F1 destination for Luca was Italy.
It had been a long ti since he’d co to the country for F1 purposes, though he’d been there twice already in the first half of the year that had just passed.
Both visits were quick, silent, and unannounced. They were purely financial pursuits that demanded his presence and nothing more.
Before much word could even spread of his arrival on those two occasions, he was already gone. Italy was no place for the Mazerunner to dwell a second longer.
Italian Grand Prix
Location: Monza, Italy
Date: Jun. 16
Ti: 1 PM
Track: Autodromo di Lombardia
Track Length: 6.5 km
Total Laps: 50
Track Type: Permanent road course
"It feels strange having an Italian GP in the middle of the year," Mallow comnted while on a call with Luca.
He sounded quippy and lazy at the sa ti. Narrowing his eyes, Luca wondered if his manager was getting too fat on his seat.
But he couldn’t help but agree with him on that.
Italian GPs in recent years had mostly been held in the latter half of the season, where every point, every race, and every roar of the crowd carried double the gravity.
It was likely scheduled that way by the FIA because the later in the year, the thicker the tension, the louder the atmosphere, and the more passionate the Italian motorsport faithful beca.
But a June Italian GP didn’t seem too bad either, considering how heated things were already getting across the championship.
"Manuela told you canceled your Race Nation dinner schedule?" Mallow asked with an edgy tone this ti around.
"Right, true," Luca answered flatly.
There was a pause before Mallow chuckled, saying, "No, pal. No can do. You’re going."
"I don’t have ti for suits and wine and pretending to care," Luca said, rubbing his temple. "And I also don’t want to go to bed by twelve."
"Listen, young man. This one is diplomatic. You’re not here to marry anyone.
Your best friend Antonio will be attending, and your BFF Jimmy will be there too. Don’t let your buddies down now."
Luca opened his mouth, but Mallow cut his words short.
"It’s an important night, chap. Be there."
With a sigh, Luca leaned back in his seat, saying, "No problem."
Luca knew very well what the Race Nation Dinner was and that he ought to attend, but he’d hoped he could slip by unnoticed.
If he hadn’t gone last year, that ant attendance wasn’t compulsory. But for the top-ranking drivers, it felt a bit obligatory to show up.
A lot of people would be there—executives, sponsors, federation officials, even world leaders if possible.
The event served as a kind of mid-season checkpoint, where the sport, its politics, and its personalities all took a breath before the second half of the campaign.
Luca wondered what the atmosphere would be like, considering what had unfolded back in Riyadh.
Two title contenders wiping each other out in flas wasn’t exactly the kind of story that faded in a week.
So, after so hesitation, he made a call to Manuela, letting her know there had been a change of plans.
~~~~~~
It was a fast-flowing week and a rapid transition for the motorsport world as the F1 community made its way to Monza.
Everything seed to move at double speed, with little ti for stretched procedures.
It was one of the swiftest itineraries so far this season; before anyone realized, the Italian Grand Prix had already beco the main headline.
Luca and Luigi’s crash beca second talk imdiately. But the fun thing about it was that it fueled the anticipation of the race.
Surprisingly, the circulating headlines of this tenth round included one: "Rennick in Italy!"
That was strange news to hype. It was obvious that every driver would attend the race, and so Luca traveling to Italy was inevitable.
Unless there was another aning to it—and Luca quickly picked up on it.
The headline "Rennick in Italy!" definitely didn’t an hocoming. Italy might have been where he was born, but it was far from what ho had ever been to him.
If anything, "Rennick in Italy!" might just be a war cry to alert everyone that the country’s sole nesis had arrived.
Sensing this too, Mallow had acted precisely to checkmate the worst possible scenarios.
From the mont Luca’s flight touched down, he had ordered and arranged heightened security—airport to car, car to hotel, and everything in between—just to ensure his driver’s safety.
The streets of Monza were already in subtle havoc; Squadra Corse banners hung from balconies, chants echoed through alleyways, and every now and then, a few choice words about Rennick found their way through the crowd noise.
Luca booked himself into the Hotel di Liviero, a magnificent establishnt in the heart of Monza, remarked by royal gardens in the district of Via Carlo Alberto.
He arrived at evening ti, so the city was calr under the dusk, filled with the soft hum of light, expensive cars, and expensive laughs.
As hoped, everything went smoothly. His reception was first-class, with attendants dressed in sharp black suits greeting him by na, their English fluent and polished.
He was handed a brochure upon check-in that detailed the establishnt’s grand anities and exclusive F1 week privileges for drivers and guests.
Luca didn’t care too much for the pampered extras, only for the section on in-room dining and soundproof guarantees.
Making himself comfortable, he dropped the leaflet on the table and slumped into the sofa.
It was a long evening, and after exhausting it, it was ti for his scheduled Zoom call with Trampos’ board and strategist.
Trampos had a specific way of organizing their Zoom etings.
They set it up in a manner that every participant’s feed was displayed in a circular layout surrounding the team logo at the center, mimicking the cockpit interface of their cars.
This way, it was more symbolic and imrsive—a way of keeping everyone, from the engineers to the drivers, "in the cockpit" together.
To Luca, however, the setup looked like a virtual command bridge.
His own video window was fixed at the top of the circular interface, directly opposite the Trampos insignia, making him feel like the nucleus of the eting.
Around him were faces of everyone and their frad na tags.
With his position, he had a perfect view of everyone’s expressions, no matter how slight.
And from his judgnt, there was an elephant in the room. The restraints in sentences were obvious, and the shifting glances were poorly hidden.
But Luca was fully aware of what the problem was. Still, he didn’t mind sitting through the formality without addressing it.
He had since found how to be super comfortable in tension.
Being an F1 driver naturally bestows one with calmness, but Luca had also trained himself thoroughly in the school of stoicism.
So, unlike him, Trampos’ board was under internal torture, as they couldn’t handle the silent tension.
"As we know, our relationship with the manufacturers has been steadily improving, and by sumr, we’ll be expecting higher tech-tier support by sumr...
That ans better integration with the chassis group and faster teletry response during runs...
It’s been a long ti coming, but this partnership is finally starting to feel like it should’ve from the start."
Surprisingly, that was the only good news Luca had received from the team in quite so ti. Everything else in the past week had been uneventful.
It appeared that Ferrari and Trampos were finally reaching concessions, with Ferrari beginning to see the promise Trampos held in the coming years.
This developnt wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially after Jackson Racing had fallen into disarray with its internal administration, following a long and ssy fallout with its trusted engineer, Matthews.
Luca couldn’t help but wonder what these "specific improvents" might be—and if they were subtle or great enough to lift Trampos to the next level.
When he looked back on how high Trampos had risen, Luca thought it was most staggering, and could actually make history.
From a humble F2 team to being in Ferrari’s favor, the Rising Suns could very well soon beco the leading team powered by one of the greatest manufacturers in Formula 1!
"Now, with these new integrations coming in, we hope the team can utilize them well—not just for on-track performance, but for a thorough improvent across the board.
From engineering coordination to car responsiveness, everything’s got to sync to the next tier.
So that we also don’t feel... COMPELLED to make... certain tweaks that cross the line.
Tweaks that not only affect points, but the unity we’ve been trying so hard to preserve."
The virtual eting continued, but a brief silence followed after the words of the Chief Technical Officer.
Luca, who was jotting so important things down, heard the words loud and clear—but he didn’t flinch or pause his writing.
Although others were shuffling papers, drinking water, or making other manner gestures, their eyes were on him.
~scribble
flip
Dropping his pen and cracking his sore knuckles, Luca looked Mr. Ojukwu straight in the eye.
His was a wolf’s gaze, while the man’s—a lion’s.
"That’s good to hear," Luca said.
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