He didn’t need her or anyone’s validation. He was Tazio De Rossi, and nobody warranted an explanation of his behaviour. Besides, would anyone believe that his running into Meredith at the club had been a coincidence? Probably not, but he would never havechosento spend four hours listening to her talk about Alex. Seven years had passed, but to Meredith his death had happened yesterday.
And that was why he normally avoided her, and why he never displayed any pictures of Alex, not here or at any of his houses. He couldn’t stand reminders of the brother his father loved so much. All his life he’d been compared to Alex, with his father telling him he wasn’t as smart, as nice, as charming or as good-looking. That he would never be as good a driver…
When he died, Alex was feted as the darling of the racing world, a devoted fiancé, a super-involved philanthropist and a regular on talk shows where he was renowned for his wit and charm. Taz wondered what his legions of fans would think if they knew the truth…
On the surface, it was simple: a horrible, tragic accident, something no one could’ve predicted. The press had recounted the events accurately: During the F1 summer break, Alex flew to New York City for a long weekend, while his long-time fiancée Meredith attended a bachelorette party in Rome. While staying at the family’s brownstone mansion Alex, wearing socks, rushed to answer his ringing phone and slipped. On his way down, he cracked his head on the sharp corner of the Italian marble slab covering the island in the gourmet kitchen. He died on impact.
Everyone, F1 fans or not, agreed Alex’s death had been heartbreaking.
Later that night, Matteo De Rossi had suffered the first of a series of strokes. The last one would take his life just two years later.
When Taz visited his father in hospital the day after Alex’s death, Matteo’s high-priced lawyer briefed him. There had been a breakdown of communication between Matteo and Alex: Both had thought the house would be unoccupied that weekend. Matteo heard a woman screaming and came downstairs to find a half-dressed teenager on her knees next to Alex, her hand on his chest. He’d seen rows of cocaine on the island counter and liquor bottles on the coffee table in the lounge area adjacent to the kitchen. The girl—still a month short of eighteen—was Mount Everest–high. Knowing Alex was dead, Matteo called his lawyer instead of 911 and the police. The lawyer arrived and removed the girl, the drugs and all traces of their private party.
Only when the brownstone was clean and empty, the threat to Alex’s reputation neutralised, were the police called. The story Matteo told was simple: He’d come downstairs for a drink, saw Alex and called 911. He held himself together, and at three in the morning he collapsed while talking to his lawyer and was rushed to hospital.
When he regained consciousness days later, his first and only demand was that Alex’sindiscretionshad to remain a family secret. And so it did. Five years had passed since Matteo’s death, but only he and the lawyer knew the truth about that night. After going through Alex’s phone and laptop, they discovered that drug-fuelled orgies with under-age girls was a favourite pastime. Given his high profile, how he’d never been outed was a complete mystery.
Was Taz’s anger and bitterness compounded by the fact that his father, even after Alex’s death, continued to denigrate and dismiss him, while extolling Alex’s virtues in public and in private? Alex, a larger-than-life figure before his untimely death, became almost godlike in death. Taz often fought the urge to scream the truth, to tell the world that the perfect Alex was anything but. But he kept quiet and remained in the shadows cast by his brilliant brother.
Taz scrubbed his hands over his face. Something had shut down in him the night of Alex’s death. Years had passed, yet he still felt like he was encased in ice, watching the world from a distance and unable to break free. And the only way he could step into the light was to beat Alex’s record of three driver championships in a row. He knew he’d never be as popular, as universally adored, as his brother. He didn’t need to be. But if he beat Alex’s record, the world would see him as the better F1 driver. In the competition between him and Alex, it was the only prize up for grabs.
But he’d torpedoed that goal by losing his temper with the rookie driver. What thehellhad he been thinking? He knew better than that! Hewasbetter than that. But he’d been caught in a storm of resentment, fear and fury. The kid had been a handy target…
His actions in the pit were wholly unacceptable. Not only was he one of the senior drivers on the circuit but he was also a role model to the younger drivers. And the owner of a team. He was, not for the first time, ashamed of his actions. He needed to apologise privately to his colleague and publicly to the racing world and his fans.
He’d messed up before, but nothing as serious as this. And it had happened because he’d allowed his attention to wander to his press liaison officer.
Taz shoved his fingers into his hair. He’d put his championship in jeopardy, and he’d risked everything he was working for.
It was completely and wholly unacceptable. And it stopped right now.
He put his hand on the arm of the chair and tried to push himself up but nearly fainted as hot, searing pain rolled from the tips of his fingers, down the back of his hand and into his wrist. He sat again, and when the black dots disappeared from behind his eyes, he lifted his injured hand and noticed his swollen blue-black fingers and bloody knuckles. The bruise extended down his hand and covered his wrist. He’d broken a finger, maybe cracked his hand, his wrist.Shit.He was in a world of trouble here.
Pushing himself to his feet, hissing from the pain, he walked over to the door, flipped the lock and eyed the group waiting in the hallway. His CEO, his technical director, the team’s long-time race engineer and, behind them, his PR team. Including Millie.
He gripped the door-frame and caught the sympathy in her purple-blue eyes, along with a healthy dose of exasperation. He could brush off his team’s frustration and anger—he didn’t care about their approval or disapproval—but for some reason, he cared what his press liaison officer thought about him. It was not an emotion he liked or was familiar with.
He kept his expression cold. ‘I take it my actions made the news?’ he asked sarcastically.
His race engineer was the first to speak. ‘Alex would never—’
No, he couldn’t deal with any references to Alex right now.
‘Not now, Len,’ he snapped. No matter what he did or how long he lived, he’d never manage to live up to Saint Alex’s legacy.
He looked at his CEO. ‘Any word from the disciplinary committee?’
‘Nothing official, but it’s not going to be good.’
Taz looked down at his rapidly swelling hand.
‘You do realise that you have wiped out any advantage you had, don’t you?’ Len persisted. ‘You will have to win most of the races going forward and hope your competitors mess up.’
Yes, he’d already run the scenarios and reached that conclusion. He rubbed his uninjured hand over his face, met Millie’s eyes and saw the worry in hers and the way they kept darting to his swollen hand. He considered his predicament. Not least how he was going to navigate the next few weeks of his life one-handed—without allowing anyone into his inner sanctum. He would never do that. Even when he slept with a woman, he always went to her place, and his driver room and hotel suite were solidly off-limits to everyone, his safe spaces. That was why he was holding this meeting in a hallway.
But he needed professional help to navigate the bad press heading his way. This wasn’t a situation he could fix on his own. The thought settled like a wet, heavy blanket, unfamiliar and deeply uncomfortable. Relying on others wasn’t in his nature. He thrived on self-sufficiency, answered to no one and carved his own path. That’s what happened when your father and brother thought of you as surplus to requirements. He was perfectly content in his emotional isolation.
But this situation needed PR expertise and someone he could trust. He recalled the way Millie had considered the photo of him and Meredith. Instead of jumping to conclusions, she’d looked deeper. Given him the benefit of the doubt. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done that. He needed someone in his life who could look past his reputation and his brother’s achievements, someone who sawhim. Someone he could work with…
