“Good job, DeLuca,” the radio crackled.
“Fucking brilliant, Matteo!” The team principal’s voice crackled through the radio. It filled me with pride; it was rare he got on the radio, but Moretti was on the up and up. And it had been too far between podium finishes lately. But here I was clawing our way back. Securing fifteen points toward the championship final. Moretti was looking like it just might sit in third for the Constructor’s Championship after all, which felt like a huge win.
The moment I pulled in behind the P3 marker, I punched the air, helmet still on, adrenaline surging like wildfire through my veins. The team was screaming in my ears, my engineer half-laughing, half-cheering.
I shut my eyes for half a second, just breathing it in.
Third place.After the season we’d had—after everything—this wasn’t just a trophy. It was proof. That the car was back. That I was back. That we could still fight.
I killed the engine, unclipped my belts, and climbed out of the cockpit to a sea of noise—cheering, roaring, music already pumping from the speakers around the finish line. The Vegas lights painted the tarmac in gold and neon, making everything look surreal.
“Matteo!”
I turned just in time to catch Alexander as he barreled toward me, still in his race suit, grinning like a maniac.
He pulled me into a hug so tight I nearly dropped my helmet.
“Fucking proud of you,” he said, voice rough in my ear. “That was a masterclass.”
I laughed, clapping him on the back. “You didn’t think I could do it, huh?”
“Ialwaysthought you could,” he said, pulling back to squeeze my shoulders. “You just needed the right moment.”
This was it. Thiswasthe moment.
The Moretti crew had pushed up to the barriers, red flooding the fence line—mechanics, engineers, pit wall, all cheering their hearts out. I jogged over and threw myself into their arms. Arms slung around me. Someone handed me a team flag. There were shouts of“Matteo! Matteo!”
I looked up at the crowd, eyes scanning for my familiar faces. My sister, Gianna, and Nicola.
Alexander had slipped away from the celebration—just for a second—but it was enough. He was walking over to my sister.
She was cheering and smiling brightly. Her eyes bright and wide as she watched him come toward her like nothing else existed.
He didn’t hesitate.
He cupped her face in both hands and kissed her like the whole damn world had gone quiet.
The crowd around them cheered even louder—Belen crew who had put the pieces together, fans who lived for that kind of ‘love story in real time’ moment. But all I saw was the way her hands found his jacket, tugging him closer like she couldn’t help it.
My chest squeezed. I was so fucking happy for them. For the way Alexander looked at her like she was gravity itself. For the way she softened around him, like he’d carved out a space in her armor only he could reach.
I wanted that.
21
NICOLA
Music thudded from the speakers. Red, white, and gold confetti rained down and clung to the pavement like glittering footprints of victory.I stood toward the back of the crowd, watching the team’s celebration from a modest distance. My father was at the front near the mechanics, laughing and clapping Matteo on the back with pride. Gianna was perched on Lucia’s hip, bouncing with excitement, her tiny hands mimicking the waving flags around her.
The awards ceremony came after. Alexander stood tall on the top step, beaming as the anthem played.
And just to his left—Matteo.
Third place. A stunning drive. The kind of race that had everyone on the edge of their seats until the checkered flag dropped.
Across the crowd, over the heads and cheers and roaring team pride—he found me.
Our eyes locked.
