CHAPTER 576: EGGS AND TOMATOES

Nighttime in Monza was always cool and seemly.

On the night of the Race Nation dinner, it was a half-moon night and a city more active by 8 PM than at any other time of the day.

Luca’s Cadillac was his ride to the Race Nation dinner.

It was a very ceremonial and orthodox gathering, and even his Cadillac might have been the least luxurious vehicle parked in the glittering line of supercars and limousines at the venue’s garage.

The venue, Centro Armonia, meaning "Harmony Center" in English, was a wide, crystalline edifice of modern architecture.

At the edge of the Viale Lombardia district, its glass panels and sleek geometry could be seen reflecting the surrounding city lights like liquid silver.

It was the venue’s virgin event, having only been completed a few weeks ago.

Such a marvel would instantly draw the attention of the country’s elites.

Now, luxury and wealth poured into it; people from far and near, bound by passion, influence, and investment.

"This is some crowd," Luca said while in his ride.

As they approached Centro Armonia, it was clear how dense and chaotic the surroundings were.

On the streets were groups and groups of people waving flags, and unlisted reporters with cameras and microphones.

It was normal for people to gather wherever motorsport drivers appeared, but Luca was convinced this one was too overwhelming.

Perhaps it was just how Italy always was—different, unpredictable, and volatile, both in its glee and its grief.

"Nothing to worry about, everyone’s just excited," Manuela piped from his side as she watched.

Luca laughed, hoping that was the case.

He had, however, seen a few things lately that made him want to scratch his armpits in unease.

There had been far too many Luigi posters scattered around the city—on walls, billboards, and windows. If his guess was right, the entire country was drenched in them too.

Even the Avenire Tower and the Viliero Tower in Rome had Luigi’s image printed across their HUD surfaces.

These two massive projections had just been looping through booth photos and victory poses from his championship win.

Luca had asked a few trusted sources if those displays had always been there, and they said no.

That was enough to confirm his suspicion that they’d just been set up for this tenth round.

It must’ve only been done to proclaim territory, and to intimidate.

If the goal were to unsettle Trampos as a whole, the entire Squadra Corse lineup would’ve been plastered across those towers.

But no—it was Luigi specifically, showcased like Italy’s chosen son.

There was no doubt about it, the real target was Luca himself.

The country wanted him to feel small, unwanted on its own soil. And realizing this, Luca just laughed harder.

Manuela was pricked by Luca’s absent laughter. Turning slightly in her seat, she frowned. "What’s the problem?"

Luca leaned back with a half-smile. "Manuela... where’s my dad from?"

"Come again?"

"My dad," Luca repeated. "His hometown."

"Uh... Turin," Manuela finally answered, a bit hesitant.

"And my mother?"

"Florence," she replied, her voice growing.

Chuckling under his breath, Luca asked, "And where was I born?"

"Naples," she said with more confidence.

Luca turned his gaze to Manuela, still smiling. "And so, what’s my nationality?"

Manuela’s chest rose slowly. She turned her face away from him, saying quietly, "Italian, Mr. Luca."

Luca wanted to thank the heavens that there was still some recognition that he was not just Italian but 100% Italian, and not German or English.

Not that he particularly liked the country or wanted anything deep to do with it, but it simply wasn’t right to feel unsafe in one’s own motherland.

He might have a reason to raise his own child here—or if life would one day circle back and pull him home, as it always seemed to do with every man eventually.

Hopefully by then, this invisible friction between him and his homeland might’ve finally lubricated, and the tension that shadowed his every Italian visit would ease.

But by shaking hands with the German government and accepting their citizenship—which would be formally certified by the end of the year—Luca had already written his own undoing.

Even though both Italy and Germany recognized dual citizenship, things were never that simple when national pride and rivalry were in play.

"Ermm, Mr. Luca..." Manuela whispered anxiously after her gaze had been fixed along the window for a while.

She had been watching the growing crowd outside, their numbers swelling with each passing minute.

The sidewalks directly leading to the Centro Armonia were filled with restless bodies that the barricades and security struggled to keep in check.

People pressed against the barricades, shouting, waving flags, and trying to peek at the line of incoming vehicles.

"This doesn’t look safe," Manuela finished, sitting upright.

"I thought as much," Luca muttered, scanning the area as the octagonal lights of the outstanding edifice began to spill into the car’s interior.

As the vehicle gradually slowed, Manuela’s eyes darted forward. "We’re stopping here?" she asked quickly.

"Yes, ma’am," their trusted driver replied, glancing through the rearview mirror. "The line’s at a halt."

Exchanging glances, Luca could see how wary Manuela was compared to his calm.

With a small shrug, he reached for the door handle while Manuela swiftly phoned his guards in the car behind them.

The moment Luca’s polished oxfords touched the ground, the crowd erupted.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

The noise surged like a wave—cameras flashing and voices roaring—as the majestic Luca Rennick stepped out of a Cadillac.

Luca took a moment to steady himself as camera flashes began assaulting him, dazzling and blinding.

The ushers spotted him. In sleek black suits, they hurried forward to receive him.

"There he is!"

"Luca’s here!"

"Rennick’s here!"

"There he is!"

Two of the male ushers greeted Luca warmly, one shaking his hand while the other gave a courteous tap on the shoulder to guide him toward the entrance.

But then—

SPLAT!

An egg came flying out of nowhere and exploded against the second usher’s face.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

The crowd went absolutely berserk.

Stunned, Luca stood frozen, looking around at the chaos as the usher clutched his hurting cheek.

But Luca didn’t remain in his spot for long. He was shoved low by Dino and Chico, who were summoned by Manuela.

Shielding and flanking him from the mob, they hurriedly pushed Luca toward the entrance of the building.

Another egg splattered violently against the Cadillac’s tinted window—right where Luca’s face had been!

It wasn’t just a crowd anymore; it was a full-blown horde, and the majority of the people had come just for this moment—to attack Luca.

With eggs and tomatoes flying, people also attempted to make it over the barriers more than before.

Those who were successful were still pinned down by security, bringing about more chaos.

"Are you guys okay?" Luca asked once they’d finally made it past the entrance doors.

Dino and Chico gave firm nods, both still scanning the surroundings with sharp, watchful eyes like wolves on alert.

Looking down at their suits, Luca noticed the splattered mess of egg yolk and tomato stains across their shoulders and sleeves.

They had protected him well because his tuxedo was still spotless and untouched.

Looking back through the glass at the raging crowd under the night sky, Luca couldn’t believe the absurdity of it all.

He was going to have a serious word with the organizers about how unsafe the vicinity of this supposedly prestigious event was.

He remembered a similar chaos breaking out during the livery unveil earlier in the year.

And now this... only far worse. What would the next one be?

Guns? Shooting like in May?

Luca believed it was about time the FIA admitted that things weren’t as smooth and harmless, and that proper adjustments needed to be made to ensure drivers’ safety off the track as well.

Eggs and tomatoes—this was a shameful attack!

If he thought Dino and Chico had taken a hit, then Manuela had taken the full storm!

There she was, arriving a few moments late, her once-neat corporate outfit now smudged and stained, her hair slightly tousled and out of place.

When the mob had realized they couldn’t reach Luca, their fury was redirected to the next visible target—the slower, unguarded Manuela, his personal assistant.