Marco Bezzecchi
Since she was a child, Flavy had carried an incomplete truth, carefully shaped by the person who should protect her most. Her mother, wounded by a past that refused to fade, had told her a story so many times that it ended up becoming a law in her daughter's heart: Valentino Rossi, her biological father, had abandoned her before she was even born. He didn't want her, he didn't look for her, he didn't ask about her. A selfish man, incapable of taking anything seriously, much less his mother. That version, sharp and bitter, was the only portrait that Flavy knew of him. He grew up without a father while the whole world celebrated his. I knew his name only because it was impossible to ignore. He knew that he was a champion, he knew that he had marked an era, he knew that he had two daughters whom he did accompany. One is five years old and another is just born. He did love them, Flavy thought. He did choose them. And that's why he never pronounced his last name, even though he legally had it. I preferred to use the d
About Marco Bezzecchi
Since she was a child, Flavy had carried an incomplete truth, carefully shaped by the person who should protect her most. Her mother, wounded by a past that refused to fade, had told her a story so many times that it ended up becoming a law in her daughter's heart: Valentino Rossi, her biological father, had abandoned her before she was even bor...Read more