My Formula 1 System

When Isabella heard about the shooting in George Park, the Australian Grand Prix, her heart flew out of her body. She was trimming stray strands of her hair with scissors when a coursemate called her and told her about it.

Naturally, her thoughts went from ground level to the stratosphere, wondering: was it near Luca? Could he be hurt? A thousand "what-ifs" knotted her stomach with discomfort.

Her friend didn't even offer any reassurance about her boyfriend's safety on Sunday; she only came with fragmented bad news. She only knew of the shooting, no details, and not sure if anyone was hurt.

The uncertainty left Isabella dreading, but she believed that if Luca was truly hurt, then that would have been the first thing on the news, not even the shooting itself.

Still, she had to be sure for herself, so she called Luca instantly at 10:30 AM.

No response, as usual, recently. A reminder that Luca wasn't easily reachable anymore, a reminder that she still had an objective to accomplish.

After no response from the second call, Isabella decided to switch to the browser instead and search for authentic information.

To her relief, every headline she found mentioned the shooting in George Park, but none of them hinted at Luca being harmed. The only snippets Luca was mentioned in were about his P2 finish behind Jimmy Damgaard.

Isabella's anxiety dropped, although she was still a bit cautious. To clear her doubts, she had to open her dial pad again, but this time, she called Luca's PA line.

She and Manuela hadn't had any form of communication since that discord sparked in Monaco after she refused to let Manuela into Luca's room. Both parties had mentally decided to ignore the underlying tension as if it had never happened.

But without addressing it, it might just stay unresolved.

Manuela didn't hesitate to pick up the call, always treating everyone related to Luca as an extension of him.

She was happy to hear Isabella's voice, and also happy to assure her that Luca was fine, saying he was very far from the shooting spot.

With all doubts cleared, Isabella exhaled in relief, thanking Manuela for the assurance as they laughed over her anxiety. While they laughed, Isabella fought the urge to ask Manuela where Luca was, as this would answer why he didn't answer her call.

Asking Manuela such a question would no doubt surface that underlying tension, so Isabella restrained herself to her very best, even though she currently had the power to ask and know.

This left a long, uneasy gap in the call from Isabella's side, and that tension still emerged anyway.

Using the opportunity, Isabella decided to apologize.

"Heyy… about Monaco. I was wrong in Monaco, Manuela. I acted jealous and rude, and you didn't deserve that. I'm really sorry."

When Manuela heard this, her heart warmed instantly. She never expected Isabella to apologize, because she herself was preparing to apologize too. "Thank you, Isabella. This really means a lot."

At the end of the call, Isabella believed this was one of the most relieving moments of her life. From the relief of Luca's safety, to the comfort of finally making amends with Manuela, lifting off heavy weights.

Now, she had a loosened chest and a clear mind to carry out her operation to make Luca happy, as she put it.

There were a couple of things Isabella had planned to carry out, and she had no doubt that this would make her boyfriend see her just as she wanted him to.

Happy with the lightness she now felt, Isabella straightened her hair neatly in the mirror, slung her handbag over her shoulder, and set off with a small smile, ready to attend Monday morning's lecture.

But Isabella wasn't as smart as she thought she was. Little did she know things would get difficult the more she pressed.

Not only was staking her claim on Luca in Monaco a bad move, but softening into an apology now was much worse. Isabella's actions had just stirred something in Manuela, as if her attachment to Luca had painted him in brighter colors, making him a prize worth desiring to other women around.

As she dropped her phone on her table, recalling Isabella's apology, Manuela's feminine instincts had subconsciously begun to shift toward Luca.

~~~~

Three days after the Australian GP, everyone made haste to leave the country for their respective bases, except the hosts, Outback Performance.

The shooting that occurred after the race left a very severe psychological effect on the paddock, making everyone converse a bit quieter, and every gathering carried an undertone of unease.

Luca was one of the most disturbed people because he was one of the very few who saw the spark of gunfire. The first and second shots turned his head, while the third was the one he saw.

With his hands behind his back as he appreciated the early morning nature in the hotel's backyard, Luca recalled Sunday afternoon, a soft frown on his face.

Fortunately, no one died from the gunshots. If someone had, then things would be different right now. The very fabric of Formula 1 might have shifted; the news headlines would be different.

But someone was severely injured—a certain Vaughan French, who was supposedly the target of the assassination.

Contrary to his name, Mr. French was very much an Englishman, not French. He was chairman of Rosso Capital Investments, a private equity firm that worked hand in hand with Ferrari and all Ferrari-powered teams.

So yes, the shooting had happened right in the VIP suite. This was hard to believe because the suites were supposed to be untouchable and difficult to access since they were insulated from the chaos of the grandstands.

A VIP suite was supposed to be the safest spot in the entire circuit, reserved for the highest class of elites, so for bullets to fly in there was a mystery.

The shooter was 46-year-old unmasked Armando Lopez. He had blended himself in with an angular tuxedo, but most importantly, he also blended in a Glock 19.

How Armando, a simple bachelor Spanish civilian, had made it across the globe to Australia, made it through the security of George Park, and into a VIP suite, was a question that baffled everyone.

For all the cunning—bypassing security and infiltrating a suite—it was quite underwhelming for the same man to flop the assassination, leaving the target surviving.

Luca heard that security had actually spotted Armando before the shots rang out, and perhaps, in their rush to subdue him, a scuffle must have broken out. This scuffle might've been the reason Vaughan French hadn't taken a lethal hit.

But the hits the investor did suffer were still the kind no one would wish for. The first gunshot pierced his lower abdomen, and the second grazed through his shoulder. The third gunshot was a total miss.

Mr. French was left in a very critical condition as he was rushed to Melbourne's Royal Hospital. He was still there to this day, his life still in danger.

Armando Lopez, on the other hand, was wrestled by security, and within minutes, he was in police custody, handcuffed and dragged out of George Park under a storm of flashing cameras. It was a spectacularly failed assassination, and this one was hitting the world because it happened on F1 grounds.

Luca couldn't help but wonder if Armando had ever truly planned to walk out of George Park unarrested. Firing a weapon inside a VIP suite was the loudest alarm one could ever ring, prompting security to close in within seconds, no matter how clever the disguise.

Luca had heard of things like suicide assassins, who accepted capture or death as part of their mission. He wondered if this man was that kind.

RING! RING!

Luca turned his back on the garden he was admiring to go answer the call that had been ringing nonstop on his bed.

The caller was Mallow, and he wanted to personally set up a meeting time and date with Luca concerning investing relations, contract versatility, and expansion. It wasn't a pressing part of his schedule when compared to other things, but Mallow, who had become more proficient in his field, wanted to begin planting seeds here and there.

Luca agreed on anytime between now and the weekend, as team drills would become more strict the following week.

Mallow happily agreed to it.

At the end of the call, Luca returned to making the finishing touches to his packed belongings; bags and all. Tired of staying in hotel after hotel, Luca remembered his big lonely property here in Germany, and he wanted to go there right now.

The hotel room was emptied, and with time, he was rolling his bag out of the private suite, Manuela tagging along as usual.

Whenever Luca was in Berlin, he often lowered his guard. He realized it might be a subconscious act, a way of feeling closer to the city and the country as a whole.

Maintaining the same level of security in the UK and in Germany wouldn't exactly feel patriotic.

Walking around with that same kind of security in Italy, and still in Germany? Now that was simply unthinkable.

Gripping the wheel of the Jaguar, Luca had to switch his mind that he was in a standard car, not a single-seater. He turned on the silent engine, asking Manuela where Vance could be.

Manuela, who was entering the passenger seat, answered that Vance had attended the radio station interview in his stead.

Luca totally forgot that he had even accepted something as unimportant as that. He wondered just how unhappy Vance was, sitting as the guest in the radio station, answering questions.

As he drove, he smirked, reaching for the car's dashboard to select the radio station.

"Let's hear him, shall we?"

Seated in the passenger seat, Manuela watched Luca search for the radio station with one hand, his eyes still on the road.

From her view, he looked manly and capable, with his plain black shirt that accentuated his physique.

Taking a deep breath, her heart pounding, Manuela uttered something quickly before Luca could find the radio station and shatter the energy in the car.

"Luca, I want to tell you something."