The night air in Cavour Square was thinning, the crowd's energy dissipating into the Roman chill. Lorenzo watched Marlena until her red dress was swallowed by the darkness, then he spun on his heel, facing Konrad.
"Alright. Out with it," Lorenzo demanded, planting himself in front of his friend. "What did you say to her? She looked like you'd told her a secret."
Konrad finished wiping a smudge of brake dust from the Mini's fender with his thumb. He looked up, his expression unreadable for a moment before a flicker of amusement crossed his features. "I told her the bet was stupid. That she wasn't a trophy to be won." He paused, seeing the genuine anxiety in Lorenzo's eyes. "And I might have mentioned that the idiot who set it all up… well, that he wasn't a complete idiot. That he just has a terrible way of showing it."
Lorenzo's defensive posture collapsed. His mouth fell open. "You didn't."
"I thought you'd appreciate it," Konrad said, a real, if small, smile finally appearing. "Saving you from yourself."
Lorenzo was about to retort, a dozen jokes and protests on his tongue, when his eyes caught movement over Konrad's shoulder. His face went slack with disbelief. All the color and bravado drained away, replaced by the pale shock of a schoolboy caught misbehaving by the headmaster.
"Lorenzo?" a familiar voice called out, laced with weary familiarity.
Konrad turned to see two older men approaching. One, who had spoken, had the tired, patient look of a family lawyer. The other…
Lorenzo seemed to physically shrink. "S-Samuel," he stammered, quickly stepping forward as if to block their view of the Mini and the scene of the crime. "This is… an unexpected surprise."
Samuel, the family friend, sighed deeply, the sound carrying the weight of a thousand past indiscretions. "Your father will have my head if he finds out I was here and didn't drag you home by your ear."
Lorenzo managed a weak, charming smile. "Then it's a good thing you've always been terrible at following orders, right?" He put a finger to his lips. "Our secret?"
Before Samuel could grumble a reply, the second man spoke. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the night air with an unnerving clarity, silencing the background noise with its sheer presence. "Samuel. Aren't you going to introduce us?"
It wasn't a request. It was a command, delivered with a calm that brooked no refusal.
Samuel immediately straightened his posture. "Of course. Lorenzo, this is Jean Todt." He turned. "Jean, this is the Moretti boy, Lorenzo."
Lorenzo looked like he'd been handed a live grenade. He just stared, his usual glibness utterly failing him. Jean Todt. The name was a monument in the world Lorenzo desperately wanted to enter.
Todt took a small, deliberate step forward. His gaze, sharp and analytical, swept over Lorenzo before dismissing him. It landed squarely on Konrad, who had been observing the exchange in silent incomprehension. The intensity of that focus was a physical weight.
"And this one?" Todt asked, his English precise and heavily accented. "I do not know this face."
Konrad didn't flinch. He didn't understand the Italian that had preceded this, but he understood power and scrutiny. He met Todt's gaze and held it, his own blue eyes calm and assessing in return.
Lorenzo, jolted back to reality, quickly switched languages. "Mr. Todt, this is my friend, Konrad Schäfer." He turned to Konrad, his voice low and urgent. "Konrad, this is Jean Todt."
The name connected in Konrad's mind with the sound of a high-revving V10 and a sea of red. The architect. The strategist. The man behind the legend. He gave a single, respectful nod. "Sir."
Todt acknowledged it with a slight tilt of his head. His eyes were dissecting Konrad, piece by piece. "What you did tonight," Todt began, his tone neutral, almost clinical. "It was not just driving. You understand weight transfer. You used the car's flaws as a weapon. Where did you learn this? Not on a track."
Konrad's reply was as factual as a technical report. "Simulators. And I am a mechanic. You learn how a car will break, and how to stop it from breaking, when you are the one who has to put it back together."
A spark, fierce and bright, ignited in Todt's eyes. "A mechanic," he repeated, and the word sounded like a title of nobility. He didn't reach for a card; he pulled a single, thick, cream-colored business card from an inner pocket as if performing a ritual.
"I am inviting you to Maranello," Todt said, extending the card. "To the Ferrari Driver Academy. For a proper test."
Konrad looked at the card, then back at Todt's face. The reality of the moment seemed to hit him not as a dream, but as a logistical problem. A wry, almost helpless smile touched his lips. "Mr. Todt," he said, and his voice was full of respect, but also a firm, practical resolve. "That is… an incredible offer. But I am a mechanic from a small town in Germany. I have a return ticket I can barely afford. I don't have the money to walk through that door, even for a day."
Lorenzo made a choked sound, as if he were being strangled. "Konrad," he hissed, a desperate whisper.
Samuel stared, utterly aghast. He had never seen anyone refuse Jean Todt. It was like refusing gravity.
But Todt didn't look insulted. He looked fascinated. He held up a hand, a simple gesture that commanded absolute silence from both men.
"You misunderstand the nature of the invitation," Todt said, his voice dropping into a more confidential register. "Everything is taken care of. The flight, the hotel, the car at the airport. All of it." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "There will also be a fee for your time. An appearance bonus."
Konrad was silent, his mind working through the variables. This wasn't arrogance; it was the caution of someone who had never been given anything for free. "How much time would you need?" he asked, his focus entirely on the practicalities. "I have responsibilities. A job I must return to."
"One day," Todt stated, no room for negotiation in his tone. "Be at the Fiorano Circuit tomorrow. Nine in the morning. We will see what happens when you are given a proper tool to work with." A faint, challenging smile finally broke through his professional demeanor. It was the look of a master chess player offering a pawn. "Can you find it, or do you need someone to hold your hand?"
Konrad's back straightened almost imperceptibly. He met Todt's gaze, the wry smile returning, now edged with a hint of steel. He had spent his life finding his own way.
"I'll find it."