“Okay, now you sound like Nic is rubbing off on you. That’s terrifying. But thank you, I appreciate it.”
“I mean it.”
“I know,” he smiled. We parted ways, and I headed to a meeting with my engineers to finish out the day. Qualifying tomorrow loomed. We needed to place high to get as many points as possible for the end of the season. The higher we placed, the more sponsors, the more money, the more upgrades to be able to have a shot at the Constructors’ Championship next year. The itch beneath my skin to get back behind the wheel, the taste of the track, the roar of the engine, it fueled me. I’d missed it more than I had allowed myself to admit. This was what I was made for. Racing was what made sense, my lifelong dream, and here I was racing for my favorite team. I couldn’t let my distractions bleed onto the track. So I focused on that, on my parents watching the race from their living room, my dad wearing his old Moretti cap as he did every race.
Race weekends were sort of a circus. Drivers and teams arrived like a swarm, unpacking their setups and rebuildingthe motorsport world in this new location. Seventy-two hours passed in a blur of training and meetings. Free Practice came and went, then qualifying. If you weren’t wholly focused, and everything didn’t go as planned, the outcome was brutal.
Carlos found that out the hard way. He crashed during the second round of qualifying. The impact was more than just physical; it echoed through the team. His car was mangled, forcing him to start near the back tomorrow since they couldn’t fix the car in time for Q3. It was a gut punch for all of us. Every point mattered. Now the team had to focus on getting his car repaired before race day. Vital parts of the car being crushed never had good timing.
That left me with the heavy burden of carrying the team on my shoulders and clawing back the ground Carlos couldn’t. The weight was not lost on me. I felt it during the last round of qualifying.
As I stretched my fingers and flexed my hands, I could almost feel the mental checklist ticking in my head: check the brakes, feel the grip, visualize the perfect lap. I qualified in 5th place for race day. It was a good start, but I still found myself itching for more, wanting to do better.
Tomorrow’s race was not just another weekend. It was a test, a chance to prove I was the driver this team needed. To earn the points that could keep us in contention. To remind everyone, especially myself, that I belonged here. Carlos was the more seasoned driver, but we ranked closely. I wanted to prove my worth to the team and ultimately to myself.
When I finally got back to the hotel after the chaos of qualifying, sleep didn’t come easy. My bed felt empty after a week spent sharing a room with Nicola. She wasn’t even staying at this hotel. We had all grown accustomed to being at the same hotel, even the same hall. Rallying around my sister and making sure she had support for her and G, Nicola had become a part ofour group easily. But now, being back in the thick of the racing world, I was reminded that Nicola, while part of our group, was also the daughter of my team’s owner. She grew up around this circuit. It was her damn palace.
The next morning started with a knock on my hotel door. Some small part of me—okay, maybe a not-so-small part—wished it was Nicola. But before I even reached the handle, I knew better. The familiar sound of giggles gave it away.
I opened the door to find Lucia juggling a tray of coffee cups and a paper bag of pastries, with Gianna peeking out from behind her leg like a tiny blonde tornado.
“Morning!” Lucia greeted, brightly, “We brought reinforcements.”
“Hey Luce, Gia! Wow, thanks!” I ruffled Gianna’s hair and grabbed the tray from my sister’s hands. Two large cups and a smaller one, which I assumed was a hot chocolate for the sugar monster herself.
“Grazie,Zio!” Gianna chirped before darting past me and making herself comfortable on the couch.
“Sorry for the early invasion,” Lucia said, brushing windblown strands out of her face, “She refused to let me do her hair until she saw you, so I figured I’d bring apology goodies.”
“You never need to apologize for more Gia time” I grinned and rubbed the back of my neck. “Pretty sure she’s my good luck charm. And I could use it today.”
“Are you nervous?” Lucia asked, her voice soft in that way she had when she knew I wasn’t going to admit it on my own.
“A little,” I admitted, “It’s a lot of pressure. But the car felt good yesterday.”
“That’s something, right?” she smiled.
Gianna appeared next to my knee, peering up at me with those big curious eyes. “Zio? Are you going to win today?”
“I’m going to do my very best,” I smiled at her.
She reached into her tiny sweatshirt pocket and pulled out a beaded bracelet in Moretti red, white, and black. In the center, two white beads spelled out my racing number: 22.
“I made you this!” she beamed, holding it up like it was the crown jewels.
My heart clenched. “Wow, thanks, little G. I love it.” Gianna was the best thing that ever happened to me. Alexander said that’s why I didn’t go as party crazy as he did in the beginning. Truth was, becoming an uncle kept me grounded when I first stepped into the madness of Formula One. I still loved a party, sure, but if I had to choose between a night out and flying home for family dinner, I was on the next flight.
“Matching ones were a must,” Lucia said, holding up her wrist to show me hers.
“She’s getting so grown up,” I muttered, marveling at the bracelet. “I know she’s still little, but come on. This is next level.”
“Well, I made the bracelets. She dictated. Still a bit early for fine motor skills,” Lucia laughed. “We had a girls’ night last night. Nicola brought a bracelet-making kit, and Anna showed up with sugary snacks.”
“You’ve got your own crew now, huh?”
“Kind of surreal. This time last year, I had zero friends. Look at me now.”
“You had me and Alex.”
