Levi's POV
The atmosphere on the second day of the race was tense, especially with Kevin and Seth starting from the back row. The weather forecast predicted a 60% chance of rain during the race at the Baku Circuit in Azerbaijan, adding to the uncertainty. The console showed updates of the weather map, setting a serious tone among the teams as we braced for unpredictable conditions.
Thirty minutes before the race, the documentary crew stuck to me like shadows, cameras ready to capture every moment. The pressure was immense; this race could define my tenure as Ferrari's new manager. I sensed the weight of expectations, knowing that how I handled this could sway public opinion.
In the hotel restaurant, Isabella and other team members watched the live broadcast, occasionally glancing at me with concern. They were eager to witness my response, anticipating a moment that could sway public opinion.
Isabella voiced her frustration as I entered the lobby, the camera crew trailing closely behind. Even amidst the chaos, her voice stood out to me.
"Must they follow him so closely?" Isabella's tone was sharp with irritation, her gaze flickering between me, the intrusive camera crew, and Mark. I could feel her tension even as I spoke with the team.
I moved closer to where she was sitting, but not too close to avoid disturbing her. I wanted to hear her clearly without causing her any trouble.
"They're just trying to rattle the Boss, can't you see?" Mark chimed in, his eyes narrowing at the unwelcome intrusion.
Isabella nodded knowingly. “It's exhausting. I wonder what they're really after?”
“Do you think someone is sabotaging us?” Mark asked skeptically.
“Whatever the reason is,” she replied, glancing at me.
Our eyes met briefly, and we both looked away.
Her words made me feel understood. I had been considering the possibility of sabotage, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions. If Isabella thought there might be something to it, perhaps there was.
She had a keen sense of media tactics, having navigated the press and public scrutiny alongside me through numerous challenges. Isabella was astute, and I trusted her judgment.
“Levi, did you catch that?” a team member interrupted, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Could you repeat that?” I replied curtly, keeping my hands in my pockets to appear composed and focused, though I longed to sit down with Isabella and discuss the situation.
After exchanging brief words with my crew, I strode out of the lobby, feeling annoyance simmering beneath the surface, particularly for the tension Isabella was experiencing.
I should have been seething over the unexpected setbacks, yet my concern was more for Isabella. I hoped the stress wasn't overwhelming her. I felt equipped to handle it better than she could. She shouldn't have to endure all of this.
As we moved towards the race front, the team fell into step behind me, our collective focus shifting towards the impending challenge on the track.
"The race will commence in five minutes," the announcer's voice echoed through the paddock, signaling the imminent start.
I led the way to the starting grid, my team following closely behind, my strides purposeful despite the palpable nervous energy around us.
As expected, Kevin and Seth faced difficulties again, struggling on the demanding circuit. They lost yet again.
The disappointment was palpable, yet my thoughts were elsewhere. I glanced back at Isabella, her face a portrait of concern and determination. Unlike me, she wore her emotions openly.
"If there truly is a traitor, I need to find them soon for the sake of all of us."
My focus shifted from her when the media eagerly pounced on my drivers, their questions like sharp daggers aimed at making them lose control. "Why did you not overtake Magnus, Kevin? Why couldn't you defend the position, Seth? Why did Ferrari miss the podium again?"
They asked more questions, but I remained at my drivers' backs, silent. I just wanted them to know I was there.
The interviewers' inquiries weren't just about results; they hungered for rage from one of them, believing the audience thrived on seeing public figures lose control.
But I wouldn't lose control. Not in front of them. Not in front of Isabella.
The previous night, Isabella had meticulously prepared me for the impending interviews. She had crafted detailed responses and strategies to navigate the anticipated onslaught of probing questions from the media. Her efforts were proof of her foresight and dedication, ensuring I was equipped to handle the media storm with tact and precision.
I respected her expertise in media relations but remained firm in my decision to respond authentically, not simply reciting prepared answers. This wasn't just about defending Ferrari's performance; it was about upholding the integrity of our team amidst the relentless pressures of competitive sport and public scrutiny. It was also about proving myself and safeguarding my family's legacy.
Soon, the interview room was suffused with the tension of unasked questions, each one a blade aimed at my composure.
"Mr. Levi, as the son of Ferrari's largest sponsor, do you see your appointment as CEO as another form of sponsorship from your father?" The question cut through the air, leaving a palpable silence hanging.
"Do you know who I am?" I shot back, leaning closer to the microphone on the table in the interview room. The interviewer seemed taken aback by my response, as did the other team members sitting around the table.
"Yes, Mr. Levi," the female interviewer finally replied.
"Have you bothered to read about me?" I asked again, this time leaning back in my chair, my expression blank as I scrutinized her.
"Y-yes," she stammered.
"I doubt that. If you had, you would have seen my qualifications online," I paused, my expression remaining stoic as I chose my words carefully. "I've earned this position through merit and dedication to Ferrari's vision. While my father's support is significant, decisions are based on merit and strategy. I have earned my place at this table. Is that understood?”