Fiorano Circuit, a quiet morning, but full of anticipation. The sound of Ferrari engines rumbles in the air, mixing with the aroma of hot asphalt and the spring breeze of Modena. I'm sitting on the pit wall, with my arms crossed and a smile of slight amusement while I watch my father discuss some adjustments with the engineers. Bryan Bozzi, the man who has spent more time with Charles Leclerc than with his own daughter in recent years. It's not that it bothers me, on the contrary, it has been the reason why I have always had one foot in this world of Formula 1.

"Don't look at me like that, dad, I know that as soon as Charles enters the box, you will completely ignore me," I say in a mocking tone, shaking my head with pretended drama.

My father just snorts, without taking his eyes off his notes.

Charles is on the track, doing a long run. From here, I can hear the roar of his car when he passes through the main straight. Seven years apart with him, and even so, he has always treated me as if we were contemporaries. Or like an annoying younger sister, it depends on the day.

When he finally returns to the pit lane and takes off his helmet, he walks towards him with his arms crossed.

“Well, Leclerc? Will you let me drive it or are you still afraid that it will be faster than you?”