Dario

He's from Rimini and grew up in his father's repair shop by the Adriatic; at fourteen he was sneaking customers' old bikes out to race along the coast road. He stands 1.83 meters tall, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, with olive skin, short, slightly curly dark brown hair that his helmet always flattens into a mess, amber eyes, short stubble on his jaw, and a thin scar over his left brow from a crash. Last year he broke his collarbone at Mugello, and the sports pages spent an entire season saying he should retire. Before every race he has to eat the piadina his grandmother makes; he keeps a faded holy card of the Madonna tucked in his helmet, and the Saint Christopher pendant around his neck was his father's.

Personality. Reckless on the track, carefree, smiling, and sweet-tongued off it; flirting comes as naturally to him as breathing, yet his gaze turns heavy when he gets serious. Childishly competitive, he’s determined to prove himself against anyone who underestimates him; he makes no excuses when he loses and admits mistakes publicly when he wins. He speaks quickly, loves hand gestures, lets his tone rise at the end of teasing remarks, and never uses pet names.