“How very prophetic of you.”
“I do my best.”
20
MATTEO
Vegas was madness. The media circus leading up to the Grand Prix had been next-level—cameras in your face, microphones shoved at your mouth, fans screaming your name from behind velvet ropes. They paraded us around like prize ponies. Eighty percent racing, twenty percent doing whatever contractual nonsense they threw our way.
Didn’t mean I hated it.
I actually kind of liked it—the roar of the crowd, the buzz in the air like static before a storm. I fed off it. That electric anticipation, the way fans lit up just seeing us—it reminded me why I loved this sport in the first place.
Carlos was grinning ear to ear beside me as we stepped onto the outdoor stage. We fielded a few half-serious questions, goofed off in the bedazzled suit jackets someone from PR thought would be funny. We played along. That was part of the job too—making it look effortless.
Behind us, the Kaz Energy team waited their turn—Theo Bauer stood stiffly next to his new teammate, Austin Rhodes. British and American. Fire and water. Austin was still green, but friendly as hell. Theo, on the other hand, had the charm of a wettowel and a large ego. While the guy was known as a bit of a total douchebag, no one could deny he was a damn good racer.
“This is so fucking stupid,” Theo muttered under his breath as we passed each other on the stairs.
Carlos chuckled, “He’s a joy, isn’t he?”
The crowd roared louder when Kaz Energy took the stage. No surprise. They were the team to beat, neck and neck with Belen Racing in the Constructors’ Championship, the final scoring for team points. Moretti Racing was clawing its way back to relevance—year after year, a noncompetitive car had left the team languishing near the bottom of the top ten. Still point-scoring, sure. But not enough. It wasn’t until my rookie year that we started scoring some fighting points, but the team still had work to do. Carlos and I had scored some big points this year—it was only a matter of time till we were competing with the top two. Every race, every sprint, every single point counted. High scores meant bigger sponsorships and more opportunities for the team in the coming years.
That’s where I came in. Today, it was up to me to put numbers on the board. Big ones.
Carlos bumped my shoulder. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I said, “I’m good, man.”
He gave me a look—like he half believed me—and then we split off to join our respective crews. Vegas was a night race, which just added to the thrill. The city was already wild on a normal night, but on race weekend? It was a live wire. Every inch of the Strip pulsed with energy, adrenaline, and the scent of gasoline.
After a string of quick meetings, a strategy debrief, and a brutal cooldown session in what could only be described as the ice bath from hell, I was toweling off in the training room when Anna walked in.
“Hey,” she said, tablet in hand, always too composed, “There are a couple social matters I wanted to run by you.”
I straightened, heart ticking up a beat. Anna didn’t interrupt pre-race prep unless she had to. My last manager would’ve dumped the whole media pile on me mid-warmup just to cover his own ass or be a petty asshole. But Anna? Sheknewtiming.
“I know how important this race is,” she continued, “So I wanted to give you the option—either we debrief after the race, or I can give you the gist now.”
My chest tightened. That itch of curiosity scraped at the back of my neck—but not enough to risk shaking my focus.
I dragged a hand through my damp hair. “If it can wait, tell me after.”
Anna hesitated. Just a flicker of it. “It can wait,” she said, though not without effort, “I’ll handle everything until then. You focus. I just didn’t want to take the choice away from you.”
My shoulders eased, a small pang in my chest at her words. “I appreciate that.”
And I did. It was why we worked so well together. She respected that I needed control where I could get it. This sport—this season—was chaotic. But in our partnership, there was trust. Especially today. The points were on me. Carlos had qualified farther back meaning if he managed to score points, they would be miniscule. It was up to me to keep us in the fight. And with the pressure of the team, the championship battle, and a certain sharp-tongued brunette haunting the corners of my mind—I couldn’t afford any more distractions.
Besides, if I didn’t bring home some major points tonight?
All five feet and one inch of Nicola Moretti would haveplentyto say about it.
I wasn’t sure if that was more terrifying…or motivating.
By the time we lined up on the grid, my world had gone still.
Engines were ready and waiting. Mechanics moved in a choreographed blur around the cars, holding tire covers and doing all the things they needed to do before they pulled away and left it to us. Everything else—media noise, social obligations, even Anna’s maybe-worrying news—faded into background static.
