“Thank you,” she began, voice steady and clear, “For being here tonight, for believing in something bigger than ourselves. The Moretti Foundation was born from the belief that the Formula One community is more than just a sport—it’s a family. A global one.”
A pause. A breath.
“And tonight, thanks to your generosity, your belief, and your unwavering support, we didn’t just meet our fundraising goal. We surpassed it. By over a million euros.”
The room erupted in applause, cheers echoing off the vaulted ceilings. My heart swelled. Pride, awe, love. All of it tangled in my chest.
Nicola smiled, emotional but composed. “These funds will support families in need around the world. Many who have been displaced, struggling, or living below the poverty line in the very cities our sport visits each year. From São Paulo to Silverstone, from Las Vegas to Melbourne. Every stop, every story matters. And because of you, we can do more. Wewilldo more.”
She thanked the teams, the drivers, and the Moretti Foundation members. She was graceful and articulate, her passion shining through every word. But to me, it wasn’t just what she said. It washowshe said it. With her whole heart. Like this mattered more than any legacy or title or spotlight.
Across the table, Alexander grinned and leaned toward Lucia, who murmured something in his ear that I couldn’t quite catch. He kissed her temple, pride softening the sharpness of his usual expression.
When Nicola finally stepped down from the stage and returned to the table, the applause still echoing in the background, I rose to meet her. I didn’t care that we were in front of half the paddock. I pulled her into my side, arms tightaround her waist, and whispered into her hair, “I hope you know how fucking incredible you are.”
She looked up at me, eyes a little glassy but still fierce, and smiled. “You’re biased.”
“Not biased. Just lucky,” I murmured, brushing a kiss to her cheek. “So damn lucky.”
The rest of the night passed in a blur of goodbyes and congratulations. People clapped me on the back, gave Nicola hugs, and asked about next year’s gala. My parents said goodbye to hers like they were old friends. And just before we stepped outside, Mr. Moretti found me.
He extended his hand.
“Matteo,” he said, giving me a firm shake. His eyes—always intense, always measuring—held something softer now. “Welcome to the family.”
I didn’t have words. Just a quiet nod. A stunned, grateful smile.
Later that night, with Nicola’s heels dangling from her fingers and her head resting on my shoulder as we sat in the back of the car, I looked out at the city lights blinking by and thoughtThis is it. This is everything.
And somehow, in this wild, fast, unpredictable world—we found each other.
She reached for my hand. I held it tight, ready to spend all the moments with her. Each heart-racing moment with the girl of my dreams.
EPILOGUE: MATTEO
About Two Years Later – DeLuca Vineyard, Italy
The sun was setting low over the hills of Tuscany, bathing the vineyard in warm, golden light that glinted off the wine glasses, the stone walls, the rows of grapevines swaying gently in the breeze. It was the kind of evening that felt like a dream.
Nicola stood barefoot in the grass just a few feet away, the hem of her linen dress brushing her ankles, hair pulled into a messy knot at the nape of her neck. She had a glass of red in one hand and was swaying gently to the music playing from the old record player in the courtyard, humming under her breath.
Nearby, Lucia sat on a patio chair with her newest baby girl in her arms—only a few months old, cheeks round as peaches. Alexander hovered close, stealing glances at both his girls like he still couldn’t believe his life was real. Gia chased fireflies barefoot, giggling as Nonna called out from the kitchen window that dessert was almost ready.
It was chaos in the warmest, most beautiful way. And all I could do was watch Nicola.
God, I loved her.
“You’re staring again,” she said without turning around.
“I’m allowed,” I said, walking up behind her.
She leaned into me when I wrapped my arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder.
“Are you ever going to let the kids win in the three legged race?” she teased, her voice soft. It was a family tradition: a day of games, competition. One of my favorite days, and I’d not be going easy on any of the kids, no matter how cute they were. Gianna had been my partner this year; at five years old she was a firecracker. But her little legs moved too slow, so I picked her up and ran us across the finish line. It was a mixture of cheers and boos this year. The house was packed with friends. Anna was here with her kids, a few other drivers staying the weekend with their families as well. The DeLuca Vineyard had expanded, my sister’s passion project. With all the land, she had cottages built around the vineyard and turned the winery into a mini luxury resort. During the off-season, we let the drivers have first dibs. The DeLuca Vineyard was rather popular these days, much to my mother’s happiness. She loved hosting and had cooked enough food for a small village; a permanent smile etched on her as we all gathered together in the sun. I had even convinced Nicola’s parents to come down for the day, since it was averyspecial day.
I looked at Nicola, nerves in my stomach at the box pressed into my jacket pocket. I kissed the curve of her neck. “Only if you’re the one waiting for me at the finish line.”
She turned then, brows raised. “That was dangerously close to cheesy, DeLuca.”
