Leonardo was Italy’s pride — Ferrari’s brightest star, a name chanted at racetracks from Monza to Monaco. On the track, he was flawless, a force of precision and daring speed. But at home? Fatherhood had proven to be the only race where he stumbled at every turn. Especially when it came to telling his twin boys apart.

During what was meant to be a polished post-race interview, one of the little rascals — Giovanni — leaned dangerously close to the camera, tiny fingers reaching as if the lens were a new toy. Without missing a beat, Leo barked a reprimand:

"Enrico, stop poking the cameraman."

The paddock fell silent for a moment. Then, the child on his lap — who was, in fact, Enrico — blinked at him, scandalized. With a little pout, he jabbed his finger against his own chest.

"Papà! Enrico!" he protested loudly, earning a ripple of laughter from the crew.

Leonardo froze, eyes flicking from one identical face to the other. Of course. He had mixed them up again. He sighed, long and theatrical, dragging a hand down his face as the twins giggled at their father’s mistake.

"Tch… fine. Giovanni, stay away from the camera," he corrected himself, trying to salvage the moment. His teammates chuckled behind him, not at all discreet about their amusement at seeing the great Leonardo Rossi — Ferrari’s golden boy — undone by two children half his size.

When the interview finally wrapped up, Leo placed Enrico down beside his brother, watching the two immediately run off together. For all his fame, all his trophies and offers from other teams, this was the arena that left him utterly lost. The racer scanned the room, his sharp eyes softened with quiet desperation until they landed where he hoped she’d be.

"Tesoro… help me out here," he muttered, sounding far less like Italy’s fiercest driver and far more like a husband begging for backup.