Luca was beginning to understand something about this monotony of modern life.
Even back when he worked at the steel factory, things didn't feel this way. There was a certain rhythm to it, a connection to the streets that led him there every morning, to the hunchbacked TV he and his grey-bearded coworkers huddled around during breaks, watching old comedy shows. If a Formula racing segment ever came on, Luca wouldn't even glance at it—he'd just get up and find something else to do.
At least back then, life felt big, full of open roads and endless possibilities. He worked from morning till night, sure, but there were other moments in between. Some days, they had nothing to do but sit around and talk.
He loved listening to the old men's jokes and life stories, soaking up lessons they had learned the hard way.
Some of the lessons were how to avoid the pitfalls of arrogance, how to keep a level head, how to treat people with respect and how to never take a woman for granted.
Then, was anything but this existential numbness he was feeling now.
Wasn't it just yesterday he was packing his bags for Paris? Now, here he was, doing the same for Milan.
With a tired groan, Luca shoved more clothes into his suitcase, trying to get it over with as fast as possible.
Mallow and Sara wouldn't be arriving for another three, maybe four days. This flight had come out of nowhere. Trampos had been able to pull some strings to get him on a quick one, but for normal civilians like Sara and Mallow? That wasn't an option.
Not to mention, even the Hawthorne jet hadn't been ready for something this last-minute.
Luca expected the 12th and final round to be the longest, so he packed enough supplies to last a month, accounting for his extended stay.
Before leaving, he stopped at the gate and turned back, taking a good look at the house. He studied its condition, noting the leaves scattered on the ground, the height of the lawn grass, and the general state of the place.
He wanted to compare it to how it would look when he returned, to see how much the leaves would pile up, how much taller the grass would get, and what other signs of neglect would appear. It would give him a clear idea of how fast maintenance was needed and to what extent.
After making his observations, Luca walked through the gate with his luggage, locked up, and got into the private car waiting for him.
Luca hoped that the next time he walked through that gate, he would be walking in with the F2 Drivers Championship trophy.
Mr. Ammermann and Mr. Ruben were the two top Trampos staff accompanying Luca on this early flight.
Mr. Ammermann was coming along because they'd be dealing with medical procedures again, while Mr. Ruben was needed since Luca would have to drive and train before the rest of Trampos arrived.
A few other crew members were also joining them. Their main job would be to keep the single Dallara Luca would be using in top condition, act as his pit crew, and handle any technical issues that came up.
As Luca thought about it, he started to realize this trip might actually be fun and memorable.
It would just be them in whatever FIA facility was assigned to them for the 12th round. And considering they were in Italy, the facility was bound to be big, meaning the place would feel empty as they practiced. His car's roar would echo through the track with no one else around.
Even last night, before going to sleep, Luca had remembered that Isabella was still in Milan. Getting there earlier meant he'd get to see her again, and no doubt, she'd probably stay all the way through to race day on the 28th.
When he first realized this, he hadn't really processed how lucky he was to get a quieter, more personal time with Isabella. He had still been too irritated about the FIA and their theatrics. But now, as he settled into the cab, his mood softened.
He wanted to call her like usual, but given how early it was, he decided to just send her a text about his sudden flight to Milan.
The cab arrived at the airport five minutes earlier than Luca had expected. He stepped out, adjusting the black nose mask on his face, and paid the driver before making his way through the crisp early morning airbase.
His steps were steady, his gaze scanning the quiet surroundings as he moved toward the area where Mr. Ammermann and Mr. Ruben would likely be arriving. The airport was relatively calm at this hour, with only a few scattered personnel and passengers moving about.
Luca spotted Mr. Ruben near one of the private boarding zones, arms crossed as he checked his watch. He approached and greeted him, but before he could say much, Mr. Ruben snorted and tossed him his own luggage before gripping Luca's shoulders.
"When we get there, get all this stress done, and you turn out positive, what do you think I should do to you?"
His thumbs pressed into Luca's clavicle, making him twitch. "Uh... roast my feet and eat them?"
Mr. Ruben paused before letting go. "That was exactly what I was going to say. How did you know?"
Luca sighed, adjusting his mask. "You say it to everyone," he muttered, shifting his eyes toward a mini-bus pulling up. "They're here."
The sleek, polished Trampos bus rolled to a stop, and its doors slid open. Mr. Ammermann stepped out first, followed by a small team of crew members. They moved quietly and efficiently, carrying their bags with that mastered ease of those who were used to constant travel.
Luca didn't waste time, grabbing both his and Mr. Ruben's luggage and hauling them along. No one needed to exchange many words—just a few nods and glances as silent greetings. They were all familiar with each other, and at this point, the routine was second nature.
Mr. Ruben and Mr. Ammermann gave a final rundown of the flight details. The jet they'd be taking was a small 80-passenger aircraft, exclusively for them—no civilians, no distractions.
With everything in order, they made their way toward the jet, their footsteps echoing on the pavement, then the tarmac. The sun had begun its slow rise, casting a soft golden hue over the quiet morning.