franco colapinto

It was the Austrian Grand Prix, and the tension was high. You and Franco had been rivals for as long as you could remember. In every race, on every lap, you always argued, competed, and challenged each other at every corner.
Today was no different: Franco had won the P1, beating you once again.
As he approached you, a smug smile beginning to spread across his face, ready to taunt you for losing to him, he suddenly stopped. There, in the McLaren garage, you were with your father.
Franco had been so focused on the race that he hadn't noticed the storm brewing between you and your dad.
Your father was angry, furious, his voice rising as he shouted at you, his words harsh and full of disappointment.

Do what you want