He turned to me then, and I braced myself. “DeLuca, you’re a valued part of this team. You’ve earned your place here. But this situation—it complicates things. You understand how the media spins a story. They’ll say you’re leveraging the relationship to your advantage.”
I opened my mouth, but he held up a hand.
“If you’re serious about Nicola—aboutthis—then we will go public on our own terms. Make your first formal appearance at the end-of-season gala in Rome. Until then, I expect both of you to stay focused. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I said immediately. I wanted to say more. I wanted to sayI would never hurt her. I would never exploit her or thisteam.But I had a feeling he already knew that. He just needed to hear me agree to the plan.
Nicola straightened. “I think the gala debut makes sense. But from a PR standpoint, we should also consider announcing Matteo’s contract extension early. Get ahead of the speculation.”
I blinked. That…wasn’t part of the plan.
But Gianfranco nodded. “I agree. And in fact, Matteo”—he turned back to me—“the board and I have already approved the extension. Should you accept, we’ll move the official announcement to tomorrow.”
For a second, I forgot how to breathe. The blood in my body surged all at once, pounding in my ears.They were extending me.They were locking me in.
“Thank you,” I managed, trying not to sound too stunned, “I didn’t expect to hear so soon.”
“No point in delaying the inevitable,” he said with a shrug, “We’ll send over the documents. I trust Anna will handle the rest.”
I nodded quickly. “Absolutely.”
Then he turned to Nicola, and the air in the room lightened just a little.
“And how areyou, my dear?”
Her smile was soft but proud. “Good. The Rome event is on track, and last weekend’s campaign broke records for race day donations.”
I watched the way his face shifted, that rare glint of fatherly pride shining through.
“I’m very proud of you,” he said, “I know the gala will be a triumph. I’ll see you at the board meeting for the Foundation later today. I’m excited to see what you’re presenting.”
She lit up under his praise, and damn it, I lit up with her.
Because this—this was the part the media didn’t always see. The family behind the legacy. The heart behind the headlines.
25
NICOLA
We didn’t say much as we walked back to the lobby.
The kind of silence that wasn’t awkward—justfull. Like the air between us was buzzing with everything we didn’t say in front of my father. I expected the same town car to be ready to pick us up, but instead there sat a red classic 60s Moretti GTO. One I knew was Matteo’s from the license plate ‘22 Zoom.’ He bought it after his first Formula One paycheck, which made quite the statement. My eyes twinkled at it, the 60s were my favorite versions of the Moretti sports cars. My grandfather had owned the same one and was rather fond of it. Matteo shot me a smile, a wicked one that said ‘Surprise.’
“Thought we could go for a drive,” he said as he opened the door for me. I sat in the passenger seat, eyes out the window. The city was quiet, still too early for many to be out.
He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console, fingers drumming like he had too many thoughts to sit still. Which, fair. I had approximately four hundred thoughts all trying to be the loudest.
I looked at his hand.
Long fingers. Calloused in all the right places. Always warm. Always steady.
Just hold it, I told myself. I had done it before, and it felt grounding. I needed that.
It took a beat. Or maybe ten. But I reached over and slid my fingers through his.
Matteo stilled like I’d short-circuited his entire nervous system. Then he looked over at me—and I swore heglowed. Like the damn sun rose for the express purpose of lighting him up in that moment.
“You okay?” he asked, voice soft like he was afraid of breaking the spell.
