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Sitting at the dark marble-colored bar, you stared at the aperol spritz you'd ordered, the slice of orange floating amongst the slivers of ice that still lingered at the bottom of the glass. You typically didn’t make a habit of drinking, especially by yourself, the night before a Formula 2 feature race.
However, you felt like you deserved a drink or two, especially after the insanity of the last few months.
You downed what was left in your drink and signaled to the bartender for another. The man nodded, whisking your glass, with its lone orange slice, away. You stared at the veins of the marble bar top, losing your gaze in the faint white veins running through the stone as the image of a young boy’s face filled your mind. His dark eyes were filled with tears, and his lower lip was trembling.
“You said they would accept me,” he repeated in your head.
— Y/N? — a familiar voice asked behind you.
You sighed deeply. Of course he was here. Why would he be anywhere else in the damned city aside from this exact hotel bar?
You glanced to your side and found a tall man looking at you with a serious expression on his face. It was just like that afternoon a few months ago, in that cramped garage in the Italian countryside.
The sky was gray and depressing that day, but the environment at the track was electric.
You were in Lonato del Garda for two days already, following the ROK Cup International Final 2018, one of the main karting competitions in Italy. It brought together more than 420 drivers from 21 countries, all looking for a chance in the world of motorsport. Something you could offer them.
The prancing horse embroidered on your jacket was proof of that. You worked for Scuderia Ferrari, and your job with the team was scouting talented up-and-coming drivers for the Ferrari Driver Academy. Judging by the eight laps you’d just watched, you found one, and a good one.
As you walked through the garages, looking for the number 633 in the columns, you mentally reviewed the information you had gotten about the boy by talking to other people who were there.
His name was Andrea, but everyone called him by his middle name, Kimi. His father, Marco, was a driver as well, and was extremely passionate about the sport, to the point of having founded a team with the family surname. Kimi had been racing around Europe for three years, winning championships and drawing attention for his impressive results, as well as his mature and extremely intelligent racing style.
“He’s exactly what I want”, you thought, as you strolled into the garage marked with his number. You expected to find the boy with his father and his mechanics, but to your surprise - and not a pleasant surprise - there was a tall man standing next to Kimi’s cart, his hands resting on the equipment.
— Your overtake on the third lap was fantastic — you heard that familiar voice say, with its deep and distinct accent. “Damn you”, you said mentally, as you approached the three.
— Indeed it was — you said, forcing your face into a pleasant smile.
The three of them looked up at you, each with a different expression. While Kimi and his dad looked excited to see you, the man clearly looked annoyed.
— Y/N, what a surprise to see you here — Toto Wolff said, dryly.
— Don't act like you don't expect me to be here, Wolff. You know I'm always on the lookout at these competitions — you replied in the same tone, while approaching the boy — Besides, I was told there was a boy with the name of a champion running around here. You must be Kimi, right?
The boy smiled.
— Yes, that’s me.
— I'm Y/N Y/L/N, nice to meet you — you replied, holding out your hand to shake his.
— Are you from Ferrari? — he asked, his brown eyes glued to the prancing horse on your jacket.
— Yes, I'm with the Ferrari Driver Academy. As you may know, I’m always looking for drivers that can be developed within our program, as we did with Jules Bianchi, Sergio Perez, Lance Stroll and, more recently, Charles Leclerc.
— Never mind that none of them drive for Ferrari at the moment — Toto said from behind you, his voice dry and detached
— We are not looking for talent just to feed our team, Toto, but the whole category and the sport as a whole. Better than some teams that claim to have a driver academy and haven't actually recruited any drivers yet — you spat, glancing back over your shoulder. You could see his jaw clench — But Ferrari has already nurtured the careers of several drivers in all steps of the feeder series, through Formula 1. And I would love to have someone like you, Kimi.
— Good evening, Wolff.
— Didn't expect to find you here — Toto said, sitting in the stool next to yours.
— You know I always come to watch the feeder series races, Toto.
— I was talking about this hotel, Y/N. You always stay where the rest of Ferrari stays, don’t you?
— They ran out of rooms — you muttered, nodding to the bartender as he placed your second Aperol spritz in front of you. You took a sip, and squeezed the orange slice into the drink.
— So you decided to stay here?
— Yes, Toto. Does that bother you? — you sneered.
— Not at all, Y/N — he replied — If I’m being honest, I actually prefer your presence to that of most other people’s.
His words had you looking at him with pursed lips. He was wearing a denim shirt and cream-colored dress pants. His hair was a bit mussed. He had a playful smile on his face that somehow never failed to make you feel strangely lighter.
— If Christian saw us talking like this, he’d be jealous. You know that, right?
— I hope so — Toto murmured, before waving to the bartender and ordering a beer — But I don’t care. If I could get away with it, I'd run him over with my car at the first opportunity.
— Wouldn’t we all — you muttered, before taking another sip of your drink. When the bartender set his beer in front of him, he took a generous gulp, and an uncomfortable silence stretched between you, as both of you were undoubtedly thinking about the month before.
Especially after everything that had happened.
Sitting in the Antonelli family’s living room, you knew you had won. Kimi was sitting next to you on the sofa, showing some newspaper clippings and photos, while Marco told more about his son's participation in karting competitions around Italy.
— His first real competition was the Easykart International Grand Final in 2015, at the Circuito de Lignano. Kimi won almost two seconds ahead of second place, it was fantastic.
— That was the day I knew for sure that I didn't want to stop racing — the boy said, smiling.
— And I hope you don't, Kimi — you replied, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder — You're very talented, one of the most talented boys I've ever seen.
— Toto said the same thing the last time we met — the boy said, smiling — He said that I have the potential to drive in Formula 1 someday.
The mention of Toto made you tense up, a wan smile tugging at your lips.
— I usually say that Toto doesn't know what he's talking about, but this time I'll have to agree with him. You really do.
A gleam of hope appeared in Kimi’s eyes.
— Kimi, dear, can you put these things away? — Marco asked. However, when you looked at Kimi’s father, you realized what his intention was.
— Yes, dad — he replied as he got up to take the photos back to where the family kept them. The silence lasted for a few seconds, the sound of some children's television program drifting into the room, making the silence even more tense.
— My son is very excited — Kimi's father finally said — He only knows how to talk about your interest, how he might be on the verge of becoming a Ferrari driver…
— That's excellent, Marco — you replied, smiling.
— But I can’t help being a bit worried, Y/N.
You swallowed hard.
— Worried?
The man in the armchair took a deep breath.
— We are reaching a point in Kimi's career where he needs to step up into a higher category. He wants to go into single-seaters, like Formula Renault or Formula 4, and I fully support him, and want that for him, too.
He didn't have to say another word for you to know what the problem was. Despite having a privileged and much more comfortable condition than that of many other boys, the Antonelli family was not wealthy to the point of being able to fund Kimi’s racing career themselves, especially in a category much more expensive than karts.
It seemed strange, as Marco had a racing team, and Kimi already had some sponsor backing, but nothing of that was able to guarantee that he would be racing in the following years, especially in the category he wanted.
— I know, Marco.
— I want to offer a sure thing to my son, so that he can dedicate himself to his racing career without having to worry about running out of money and having to drop out of a series mid-season. To have the backing of Ferrari would be amazing…
You smiled.
— Will be amazing, you mean. It will be.
Toto took another sip of his beer.
— I guess you heard the news, huh? — he said softly.
— What news?
He was silent for a few seconds.
— We reached an agreement with Kimi.
You raised the glass to your lips, taking a generous sip of your drink.
— Congratulations — you muttered, trying to disguise your frustration.
— For what?
— You won.
He put the beer bottle down and turned to you, one eyebrow raised.
— Won what?
You huffed in frustration.
— Won the battle. Our fight for Kimi.
— Y/N…
— It's fine to celebrate your victory, Toto. You’ve signed a generational talent, the future of motorsport. If it were me, I wouldn’t be able to stop bragging about having managed to sign him. I probably would have spent the rest of my career reminding you of it.
— Y/N, you know I was already resigned to the idea of not having him in our program.
— Were you?
— Yes. I thought it was a long shot, truly.
You sneered.
— You've got to be kidding.
— I’m serious — he said, his face set in a serious expression — I knew I was going to lose. I could have offered to fully fund his entire career myself, but I knew it wouldn't matter if you made him an offer.
— I…
— Having your attention means having Ferrari's attention, and what Italian kid wouldn't want to drive for Ferrari?
You looked back at your glass, the squeezed-out sliver of orange bobbing along the top of your drink. He wasn't wrong.
— I had already started talking to the family of another boy who was in the same championship with Kimi that weekend — Toto continued — Until you called me, Y/N. You begged me to sign with him, to take him. I… Thought it was strange, but I’m not ungrateful, but I’ve been meaning to ask… Why?
The question brought another memory back, something churning in your stomach.
Kimi's eyes sparkled as she stared at the screen that was just above the red reception desk. Looking at the images of the celebration of Sebastian Vettel's last victory, in Belgium, the previous year. Kimi was probably imagining himself in the German driver's shoes, winning trophies in those legendary red overalls. You were imagining the same thing as you went to greet him
— Good morning, Kimi! — you said happily — How are you?
— I’m fine, Y/N, looking forward to seeing everything — he replied, as his father smiled at you.
— We appreciate your invitation, Y/N, it was very generous of you to invite us to Maranello — Marco said, placing a hand on his son's shoulder.
— It was the least I could do for our future academy driver. Shall we start with a little tour?
You guided the boy and his father through the Gestione Sportiva, pleased with the absolute enchantment on Kimi’s face. He seemed interested in every aspect of the factory, asking questions and revealing a bit of his own familiarity with it all, considering he had grown up around racing cars.
However, you were most looking forward to showing him the simulator. All of the academy drivers used it, including the team’s Formula 1 drivers.Something told you he would love to try it himself, and after a few conversations with the simulation engineers, you got the go-ahead for him to do a few laps himself.
As you told him this, Kimi’s face broke into a broad smile.
— Are you serious? Like, really?
— Of course, do you think I would joke about such a thing?
— This is amazing! Thank you, Y/N — he exclaimed, giving you a hug. You reciprocated almost immediately. Your heart felt warm and full.
During your time negotiating with Kimi and his family, you couldn’t help but develop a fondness for him. It was something simple and sincere, similar to the affection you felt for the other drivers at the academy, who you were proud to call “my boys”. And you were sure that Kimi would be part of that little family that you had formed inside Ferrari.
With a generic overalls and a helmet provided by the simulation engineers, the boy sat in the cockpit in silence, while the virtual version of Monza was set up for him to do a few laps.
— Charles broke the record for this track — Ash muttered, as he typed something on the computer.
— What was his time?
— 1:20'05'' — he replied, starting the simulation.
Seeing Kimi’s speed in a kart was already impressive, but you were astonished seeing the ease with which he piloted the single-seater, even if it was just a simulacrum. It didn't take the boy long to adjust to the buttons and controls on the steering wheel and to do several quick laps, the surroundings of the circuit becoming a blur on the screen, as he accelerated through the curves.
— Fuck…
— What? — you asked, noticing Ash's surprise as he stared at his workstation.
— That’s not possible — he continued to type something into the computer, before looking at you, wide-eyed — He’s beaten Charles’ time.
You downed the rest of the drink in front of you. The memory of the boy's expression in front of you was too painful, even more so considering that you were the one who caused it.
— Well, he needed a place where he could develop— you answered, without looking at him — And Mercedes was the only place he could go.
— But…
— I took him to Maranello, back in February, with his father — you continued, your eyes fixed on your hands — He was so happy, Toto, so excited. I showed them everything I could, even the simulator. Did you know that he beat the lap time record at Monza?
— Who’s time did he break?
— Charles — you said, smiling wanly — Ash, the engineer who operates the simulator, was shocked, but I knew he could do it. It was fate. We had to get him for Ferrari, there was no other team, but… when it came time to put pen to paper, it all went wrong.
Toto remained silent, his fingers tracing the star on the beer bottle. Maybe he wasn't sure what to say at that moment, maybe it was a silent invitation to keep talking, so that’s what you did
— I had scheduled a meeting with Maurizio so we could finalize the last details of his academy contract. He already knew everything about Kimi, I had already spoken about him more than the other drivers in our program — you said, a pained smile on your face — He even told me that he was looking forward to meeting him and…
Suddenly, your eyes filled with tears of frustration, your lower lip trembling. It was as if all the feelings you had been building up inside you had found a way to escape, revealing all your anger and guilt for what had happened in the boardroom.
— We sat down with Maurizio and he started a whole speech about how he'd seen videos and numbers and had listened to me ramble on about him for hours and was really curious to meet him — you continued — After a few minutes of conversation, I asked if we had a proposal ready to present to them and Maurizio said no, because the academy would not sign Kimi.
— But you said…
— Maurizio said he was impressed, that his numbers were good and that he believed in his potential, but that Kimi was too young. He didn't want to invest in the development of a kid who wasn’t even in single-seaters yet, and the academy didn’t take on drivers that were still in karting. He just dumped Kimi, Toto — you said quietly, working up the courage to look at him.
Toto’s expression was soft, almost as if he was acknowledging that this was hurting you deeply. Then, in a move you weren’t expecting, Toto leaned over and wrapped his arms around you, in a tender and sincere hug. It made you cry even more, because he was approaching a facet of yourself that you didn’t show most people.
— You know that doesn't mean you're a bad professional, right? — you heard him say softly, close to your ear — Things don't always work out and that's okay.
Then you looked up at him.
— It’s not so much that they didn’t work out for me, Toto — you said, sniffling — It's that they didn’t work out for Kimi.
You felt dizzy as you accompanied Marco and Kimi to the reception area of the Gestione. Maurizio had never even hinted that he wouldn’t take Kimi into the academy, quite the contrary. He’d gotten your hopes up, which caused you to get Kimi’s hopes up in turn. Hearing Maurizio say he wasn't interested in signing Kimi was like being jolted from a sound sleep by being doused in a bucket of ice water. What made things even worse was that Kimi had ceased talks with other driver academies and other potential sponsors. Ferrari was what had mattered, and Ferrari simply let him go.
— Well, that wasn't the end I envisioned for our day — you started, only to be interrupted by Kimi.
— Why did you say that?
— Say what?
— Why did you say you wanted me, Y/N? — he asked. He sounded upset. The way he looked at you made something inside his chest sink.
— Because we wanted you, Kimi. I talked to Maurizio, he showed interest, he was willing, I don't know what happened — you started stuttering, your nerves getting the better of you.
— I thought you wanted to support me, that you wanted to be part of my future…
— I do, Kimi…
— Then why did you lie!? — he yelled. It made you shiver. You imagined this would look strange from the outside, a 12-year-old boy yelling at someone old enough to be his mother — You said they would accept me, I believed you!
— Son, please — Marco said, placing a hand on his son's shoulder.
— Kimi, I'm sorry, I didn't know what he was going to say — the look in his eyes made you stop talking. His eyes were full of tears, his jaw set. He didn't want to cry, but at the same time, it was like he was making every effort not to break down. Then, without saying a word, he turned and walked towards the revolving door that led to the street, without looking back.
— Sorry about that, Y/N — Marco said quickly, his eyes glued to the boy as he walked towards the parking lot — I understand your reasons, but at the same time, I can't help but feel sad to see my son like that. You know how it is for a parent, right?
The last sentence made you freeze. You didn't know how it was for a parent. You didn’t have kids. “It’s not like I’ll ever know”, you thought as the boy's father said goodbye and left you behind.
— So, you called me — Toto murmured, his eyes locked with yours.
— For some time now, I've seen these kids as more than just talent. A lot of them come to Europe alone in search of their own dreams and leave their families behind, and don’t have anyone they can count on, other than their academies and teams. When I say I see the academy drivers as my boys, it's because I mean it. I see them as my family, a part of me — you hesitated for a few seconds, wondering if you should finish your thought, but you did anyway — Like the children I'll never have.
— Don't you want to be a mother?
— It's not a question of wanting to. It's a matter of not being able to.
Another awkward silence followed, filled by the ambient conversations in the bar. Even still, it was like you’d lobbed a grenade and you were waiting for the explosion. However, Toto didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached out and brushed a lock of your hair that was falling over your eye with a strange tenderness. It was strange, considering your relationship was professional, but antagonistic, but you didn’t shy away.
— You can’t have kids?
— No.
— I'm sorry — he said softly — I'm really sorry.
Toto's expression was laden with sincerity. The way his brows were furrowed and his eyes locked with yours were ample proof that, in the midst of all your silly jockeying for talent in the motorsport world, he was a kind, caring man. And that scared you a little.
— I'll survive — you said, wiping your face and pulling away from him.
— But if it makes you suffer — he began.
— That's not what makes me suffer — you snapped.
— Y/N, you just told me that you see the academy drivers as your children because you can't have any, clearly this is a psychological response to your suffering…
You looked at him, with a serious expression.
— Are you my therapist now?
— I'm just stating the obvious here.
Your eyes went back to your empty glass. You traced the drops of condensation on the outside with your fingers as you considered his words. There was nothing to say, especially when you knew he was right. However, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of giving him another win, especially when he had already won so much from you these last few months.
You caught the bartender’s eye and ordered another Aperol spritz, neither you or Toto saying anything until another glass was placed in front of you. There was something depressing about crying to your professional rival in a bar, but then again, there wasn't much to do. These feelings had been inside of you so long that they flooded out as soon as someone asked.
— What now?
— What? — you asked, before taking a sip of your drink.
— What will you do?
— Honestly? I don't know. After what Maurizio did to me and Kimi, it just feels like I’ve been betrayed. I don’t even want to look Maurizio in the eye right now.
Toto looked at you, looking surprised.
— Is that why you’re not in the same hotel as the rest of your team? — he asked, earning a raised eyebrow in response — I should have known something was wrong.
— I’ve just gotten the feeling lately that my input isn’t… valued. But at the same time, I don't really know what to do.
— Why don't you get out of there?
— And where would I go, Toto? — you asked. In the end, that was the big question. It wouldn’t be easy to leave Ferrari, from a bureaucratic point of view. They might whine about your years of service to the team and try and guilt you into staying, or even offer you a big pay raise. But in the end, you could walk away. But then what?
— Well, Mercedes needs an academy director — he muttered. His voice was strangely casual as he picked up his beer and took another sip.
— Are you offering me a job?
— No — Toto said, a smile on his face — It’s just an observation. I’ve tried to get everything set up, but now that we have an academy in earnest, I can't dedicate myself to it the way I'd like to, because of my other obligations. I would need someone to do it and I would want someone with responsibility, intelligence, experience, and the love for what they do
— That sounds a lot like a job offer, you know that, right?
— Would you accept it if it were?
— Well — you said, but hesitated. There was one crucial detail: the first driver supported by the Mercedes driver academy was Kimi, and you doubted the boy would ever want to see you again — I don't know. I think your new driver wouldn't want to see me there…
— Kimi and his father know that you were the one who referred him to me — he said.
Your eyes widened.
— They know?
— Yes. And I believe they were very happy about it. You didn't fail him, Y/N, or destroy his dream. You gave him a chance, even if it meant he was going to a rival academy. And personally, I find that admirable.
— Is that something you would admire in an academy director?
— I appreciate the human aspect of people, Y/N. And you, despite usually being a moody thorn in my side, are a good person. That’s what I admire about you.
You felt a warmth growing in your chest. It was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. You downed the rest of your drink in one go before getting up from the stool you were sitting on.
— Where are you going?
— To my room, I have a race to watch tomorrow — you replied, arranging your bag over your shoulder.
— You didn't answer me about my offer — he said, leaning an elbow on the bar.
— You said it wasn't a job offer, Wolff.
— What if it is, Y/L/N?
— I'm going to need to think about this — you said, trying not to smile.
— Want to have dinner with me tomorrow to talk about it?
You raised an eyebrow.
— Is that you asking me on a date?
— Maybe.
— Christian will be jealous.
He gave you a smirk.
— I hope so — Toto replied — So, do you accept?
You squeezed the handle of your bag.
— At seven, here?
— Perfect.