I smirked. “Oh please, she’s far too sweet to pick upallmy bad habits.”
“She just threw a stuffed animal at my face.”
I shrugged. “In her defense, it worked.”
8
MATTEO
Race day mornings were almost always the same.
There was rhythm to it, like muscle memory laced with adrenaline. Wake up early. Hydrate. Light workout. Media duties. Team briefing. Suit up. Then, the shift—the one that happened when the helmet is in my hands and suddenly, nothing else matters.
Except that day, my brain was a little too busy to shut off.
The Moretti Racing garage buzzed with activity. Screens flickered with telemetry, engineers speaking in clipped, rapid tones. I nodded through it all, hyperaware of the weight in my chest that had nothing to do with the car.
Lucia was over at the Belen Racing garage today, which wasn’t anything too crazy. She’d been over there since they’d struck up a fake dating scheme to help Alexander’s image and secure a contract for next year. I wouldn’t be losing my mind about it if it wasn’t my baby sister and my best friend. The whole ‘my two favorite people ever dating’ thing made my insides twist. It could be great, but it could also be horrible. I exhaled, flexing my fingers as one of the mechanics passed me my gloves.
Before we started prepping for the race, I had seen her at the Belen Racing garage. Lucia was laughing at something one of the engineers said, holding Gia on her hip. Gia had on her little earmuffs, custom made smaller for her. She had identical Moretti red ones too.
And then, just like clockwork, Nicola appeared.
She looked extra dressed up today, and I took a moment to take it in: a matching power suit and heels that made her reach my chin today. Effortless, smug, and unreadable as ever.
“You ready to score some points today?” She smirked, arms crossed.
“Wow, so supportive. Really warms a guy’s heart,” I shot back, grinning.
She shrugged, strolling closer, and lowered her voice just enough for only me to hear. “My dad sent me over to talk to you about an event but I know you’re about to start your prep so we can talk later.” She paused. “Good luck, DeLuca.”
Something soft flashed behind her eyes. It threw me for a second. I nodded, mouth suddenly dry. “Thanks.”
She walked off without another word, and I didn’t even pretend not to watch her go.
Bloody hell.
I shook my head and grabbed my helmet, heading toward my private room. On the way, I FaceTimed my parents. One of my favorite traditions.
“Ciao, Amore!” Mama’s voice filled the screen, bright and familiar.
“Matteo!” Papà waved, already wearing his Moretti Racing cap, seated at their kitchen table back in Italy. “Focused?” Papà huffed from beside her, adjusting his glasses. “He looks nervous. Are you nervous? Drink water. And carbs! Did you eat carbs today?”
“Ciao, ciao!” I said, laughing. “I’m fine. I promise.”
Mama leaned closer. “Is Lucia with you?”
I hesitated. “She’s with Alex. At the Belen garage.”
Papà frowned. “Why?” My mother raised an eyebrow and smiled.
“She…it’s complicated.”
They exchanged a look I knew too well. Mama softened first. “She’s allowed to live her life, Matteo. And Alexander has always been good to her.”
“I just don’t want her to get hurt,” I admitted instead.
“She’s stronger than you think,” Papà said. “And you don’t always have to fix everything. Just race your race. Make us proud.”
