My Formula 1 System-Chapter 617: Mansions

Morning arrived seven hours later. Isabella woke to the dry rustle of a leafless tree scraping against the window. By instinct, she pulled the sheets over her naked self as she took in the unfamiliar size of the room.

A moment later, Luca entered back inside from wherever he had ventured, holding a handful of nails and a hammer, while wearing just his vest and the chinos. He wanted to repair the window on the left to stop the whistling sound that disturbed their night.

As Isabella watched him work, she replayed the night in her mind.

What made everything feel more incriminating was that she hadn't been drunk, but she wondered if she might've been, because the old her would never have agreed to that kind of recklessness.

Wandering through an abandoned house. Playing and joking in the dark. And then, sleeping together on a dusty, thirty-year-old bed. Sure, Luca had found new wrapped sheets, even flipped the mattress, but that didn't change the fact that the two of them had bordered on insanity last night.

Now that all the fun was over, they had to find their way back home. Luca told Isabella that when she was ready, she could take his car and leave, while he would stay behind a while longer and call his team to pick him up later.

Isabella was concerned, but she agreed. An hour later, she was dressed again, but not as kept as when she arrived. Her hair was messy like a furball, and her clothes had lost their order.

Finding their way back to the courtyard took some minutes. Once they made it, Luca introduced Isabella to the driver's seat of his Jaguar. It was her first time behind the wheel of his car, and the weight of that privilege wasn't lost on her.

The GPS and built-in maps Luca set would accurately guide her back home. When everything was ready, he stepped back and watched as she slowly reversed out of the courtyard and then the iron gate.

Once aligned with the road, Isabella inhaled deeply, her hands trembling, but she steadied herself and drove forward into the morning.

~~~~~~

Headquarters of Squadra Corse/ Sede della Squadra Corse, Bergamo, Milan, Italy.

Squadra Corse drivers had begun their newly restructured regimen, a.k.a. an imitation of what Trampos had built around Luca. They tweaked it for improvement, but the main framework remained largely intact, because the team feared adjusting a lot would ruin the subtle elements that made it effective.

What was the deal about it, really? And why would a giant like Squadra Corse put such faith in a borrowed regimen?

The answer is because of its alien nature. Their Fitness Director had never seen anything like it. He called it a marvel, estimating it could account for at least twenty percent of Luca's dominance. He even researched Trampos' Fitness Director, trying to understand the mind behind such innovation, not knowing that Luca's system is the source.

Luca regularly provided the fitness department with out-of-nowhere training directives without explanation, and Trampos simply implemented them without any questions. So, not only were the proportions outlandish, but the entire thing was originless. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

This must've added to how hard it was to adapt. Marko and Luigi struggled badly with the tempo of the drills Luca handled with ease. However, this struggle served as proof that validated their belief in its effectiveness.

But belief wasn't enough. If they wanted results, the program couldn't remain labelled "short-term." Squadra Corse had to decide between committing long-term and trusting the process, or abandoning it and returning to what they already knew.

Mixing both was the only sensible option.

This afternoon, after failing to push through the third rep out of twelve, Luigi dropped onto a bench and picked up his performance pad to take a closer look.

'This son of a bitch. You aren't real,' he mused resentfully as he watched the CCTV footage of Luca training alone, lifting and pressing like he was a cyborg. It was clear that in a fist fight, Luca would turn him into paste. Luckily for Luigi, the F1 championship wasn't decided that way.

A senior crew member entered the training room looking for him. Spotting Luigi on the bench, he stopped and joined him, both men watching the young man on the screen, Luca, wipe sweat from his brow, his thighs tight as he reset for another set.

"I wouldn't let my fiancée near that one," the crew member muttered, bending a metal rod absentmindedly. He glanced at Luig, who sighed. "You won the Chinese GP without all this. Why torture yourself now?"

"Because the paddock is very competitive now," Luigi answered. "If it were just Luca, I wouldn't care."

Luigi stood up. The room hummed with machines in the silence.

"I'm running out of time, Dough. I can feel it."

"I can't defend this championship."

~~~~~~

By evening, Luca was already on his way to Norfolk. His PT had picked him up from the dilapidated mansion and driven him back into the city. While driving to Norfolk, they passed the area again. At this point, Luca was certain he wanted to buy it.

It wouldn't be difficult for him at all. Influence traveled faster than paperwork and even "bigger money." After all, the owner was affiliated with the same empire he was under—Hawthorne.

The D night was here, and Luca was eager to see just what the old billionaire intended to tell her partners in a private gathering.

When Luca arrived, he was surprised by the number of people dressed for a formal dinner outside the buildings. They weren't much, just more than the exclusivity he had expected.

"Welcome, Mr. Rennick," one of the ushers greeted him. "We're honored by your presence this evening. Please, follow me this way. Master Adrian waits for you."

Luca raised an eyebrow. Adrian? He didn't know he was back yet. Looking around at the people in the courtyard who stared back at him, Luca exhaled before following the usher.

The walk to the loggia at the south back was time-consuming because of how big the mansion was. Standing about three to four times bigger, it dwarfed the haunted house Luca wanted to buy. But both structures might have been erected at the same time bracket, given their similar architecture, facade, and masonry.

Luca finally met Adrian, who sat alone at a crescent wooden table, facing the wind over the creek. He looked like a blond Timothée Chalamet with his black shirt open at the chest.

"Do you have a registered gun?" Adrian asked.

"Why ask that?"

"Just answer."

"No, I don't," Luca said, hands in pocket.

"So, what happens when you get burgled?"

"My fist is enough," Luca joked. He imagined the scene of him beating up criminals.

"A bullet travels at 800 meters per second, and human reflexes are a fraction of that. You wouldn't see your death coming," Adrian explained with a grin.

"And why are we talking about violence all of a sudden?" Luca followed up. "Does this gathering have anything to do with it?"

"Of course!" Adrian exclaimed, slightly drunk. "War's coming, my friend. You should see my arsenal of rifles—haha!"

His antics drew the attention of others nearby. From the looks on their faces, it was clear Adrian wasn't an heir the majority approved of. Sensing this, Luca stepped closer and lowered his voice.

"So… if we're going to war, is it just an arsenal we need? What about influence? Capital? Logistics? Information? Allies? I think you've had too much to drink, but this war you're speaking of, we don't need guns, only leverage."

Adrian laughed at Luca's words as if he weren't the absurd one. After a moment, he stood and tapped his friend on the shoulder. "If we didn't have all of that, would we be where we are today? Look around—some of these people were once rivals, now subjects." Leaning, he giggled into Luca's ear, "Don't tell me you haven't seen your best friend."

Before Luca could respond, Adrian skidded away to get another bottle for both of them.

'Best friend?' Luca wondered.

He decided to brush it away since Adrian was clearly drunk, but as he turned toward the creek, leaning on the railing, a figure caught his eye.

A tall male stood at the bank, hands in pockets, posture mirroring his own. The evening breeze picked at the stranger's short hair, his presence strong.

Luca froze in shock, confusion, and recognition.

'What the heck?'

Marcellus?