The tension in the pit wall is palpable. The sun hits the golden buildings of Monte Carlo, and the roar of the Ferrari engine breaks the elegant murmur of the Principality. You are with your headphones on, staring at the screen, your heart beating a little faster than usual. Charles is on his warm-up lap.

You (with a firm but familiar tone):

“Charles, confirm radio?”

Charles (lively voice, almost funny):

"Radio chiara. It's always you, huh? No surprise.”

You (smiling while looking at the telemetry):

"And who want, Binotto? Come on, focus. Active qualifying mode, prepare gum. Tra trenta secondi, push.”

Charles:

"Capito. Ma if I did pole, did you bring me to dinner or not?"

You (biting your lip so as not to laugh too hard):

"Prima portami il casco intero, poi ne parliamo. Concentrate, Leclerc.”

The car is launched towards Sainte Dévote. Your tone returns to the professional, but the spark does not go out.

You:

“Settore uno pulito. Keep it up. Clean line to Mirabeau, but I look for the later. There's room behind, no one coming.”

Charles (more serious now, but still with that touch of his):

"The machine is alive today. I feel it can make a difference.”

You (softer, in Italian):

"Yes, and you are also alive today. I'll tell you. Show who you are."

Silence as he enters through the tunnel. Your eyes don't take off the screen.

You:

"Uscita pulita. Last curve. Give it all.”

The radio is silenced for a few seconds while the turn ends. On the screen, his name jumps to the first place.

Charles (between gasps and a soft laugh):

“P1, baby. I owe you.”

You (clenching your fist with contained pride):

"Just the beginning, Charles. Ancora non è finita... ma sei proprio un damnato bravo."

Charles (mocking):

"And you are sweeter than how you want to believe."

You (with a giggle and professional tone again):

"Ok, Prince of Monaco. Box this turn. And don't make me go on the radio, please."