"Fun?" I circle the car, running my hand along the smooth lines. "Wow! What is this?"
"Ferrari 488. Had it in storage." He opens the passenger door for me. "Haven't driven it in three years. Seemed like a good day to remember what it feels like."
I slide into the leather seat, breathing in the smell of the expensive car. The interior is all carbon fiber and red stitching, designed for speed.
This is not a car for cautious driving.
This is a car for living.
Renato settles into the driver's seat and the engine roars to life with a sound that vibrates through my entire body. He catches my expression and something almost playful flickers across his face.
"Buckle up and hold on," he says.
Then we're moving.
Fast.
He takes the mountain roads like he was born to them. Smooth acceleration through the curves, perfect timing on the shifts, the kind of controlled aggression that comes from skill and confidence. The trees blur past us as we climb higher into the mountains between Lake Maggiore and the Swiss border.
I should be terrified. The speeds he's taking these curves at would normally make me grip the door handle and beg him to slow down.
Instead, I'm laughing.
Actually laughing. Deep, genuine, surprised-by-joy laughter that I haven't felt since before the cathedral. Maybe even a long time before that. The adrenaline, the speed, the pure freedom of it all combines into something that feels almost like flying.
Renato glances over at me, and when he sees me laughing, something transforms in his expression. The careful control drops away and he smiles, really smiles, not the sharp dangerous smile I've seen before but something real and unguarded.
Then he laughs too.
The sound startles me so much I almost stop laughing myself. It's rich and warm and completely unexpected, nothing like the cold businessman or the violent killer or even the careful man who makes me breakfast. This is... a man enjoying making someone happy.
Enjoying me being happy.
"Faster," I hear myself say, and he responds immediately, pushing the Ferrari through the next series of curves with even more confidence.
The world becomes a blur of green forest and blue sky and grey mountain road. My heart is pounding but not from fear, from exhilaration. From feeling alive in a way I haven't felt in years.
From being with someone who understands that sometimes you need speed and the kind of reckless joy that comes from trusting someone else completely while they push every limit.
We drive for an hour like that, him taking the curves with increasing confidence, me laughing at the pure thrill of it, both of us existing in this bubble where nothing matters except the road and the speed and the unexpected joy of being together.
Eventually, he pulls into a small parking area near a mountain café that overlooks the valley below. When he cuts the engine, the sudden silence is almost shocking after the roar of the Ferrari.
"That was incredible,” I tell him, still smiling.
"You weren't scared?" He's watching me carefully, like my answer matters more than it should.
"I wasn't scared at all. I trusted you." The admission slips out before I can analyze it, and I can tell it pleases him. "You're a very good driver."
"Learned young. Had to." He gets out of the car, coming around to open my door. "When you grow up the way I did, you figure out how to take what joy you can find."
I accept his hand. "Is that what this is? Joy?"
"Yeah." He looks almost surprised by his own answer. "It’s what it feels like to me."
The café is small and rustic with stone walls, wooden beams, and a terrace overlooking a view that stretches for miles. Mountains in every direction, the lake glittering far below, Switzerland visible in the distance. It's breathtaking.
We take a table on the terrace, and sit in comfortable silence for a moment, just taking in the view. The coffee is perfect. Strong and rich, exactly what you want at a mountain café.
