The cars lined up.
I took a sip of champagne, forcing myself to focus. This was what I needed: proximity to drivers. A chance to listen. Observe. Ask the right question at the right moment.
But I felt Luca’s gaze shift back to me.
“You’ve got something in your eyes,” he said softly.
I looked up.
“Curiosity,” he added. “It suits you.”
My heart gave a small, treacherous stutter.
I was supposed to be here chasing leads.
But at that moment, the lights on the gantry blinked off, and the cars launched from the grid with a scream of power.
And Luca Moretti didn’t look at the track.
He looked at me.
He leaned closer to speak softly at my ear despite the volume of the track. “You’re chasing the wrong tail.”
“I’m sorry?” I turned to look at him but he swiftly manoeuvred himself back to my ear.
“Your story has legs. I know it does. But you won’t find anything sniffing around the Obsidian garage. Do you reallythink they’d pull off any kind of tampering under parc fermé conditions without someone at the FIA helping them?”
“Do you know something specific?” I asked, barely able to contain myself.
“I wish I did, I’m just trying to point you in the right direction. It’s where I’d look, if it were me,” he said, lifting his glass in a mock toast. “But what do I know? I’m just the guy who drives fast.” He stepped back, sipped his drink, and turned his attention to the track as Miranda Sterling came screeching past at a hundred and fifty miles per hour.
Chapter Seventeen – Shanghai Grand Prix
Aleksandr Volkov – Post Qualifying
The car was moved away to be supervised under parc fermé and I hadn’t seen any signs of tampering. But would I even recognise it when it happened? I hated the doubt, the mistrust. I had to focus on driving at my best, that was what I had control over and control was everything.
I stepped out into the heat and rubbed my face, sweat drying under the collar of my fireproofs. I’d missed the entire post-qualifying media circus. Ross would probably have something to say about that, but right now I cared more about my car.
The Academy race was starting soon. No point hovering now. I stripped out of my race suit and ducked into the showers behind the driver lounge. Quick rinse. Cold. Brutal. Effective.
Ten minutes later, clean and in black jeans and my team polo shirt, I followed the noise toward the upper balcony, wherethe hospitality suites overlooked the track. The race was about to get underway. I stepped into the Obsidian suite, grabbed a drink from a passing server, more to keep my hands busy than anything else, and scanned the terrace.
The next balcony along belonged to one of the sponsors and was packed with media people. I couldn’t help it, I scanned faces for her. I didn’t really believe she’d be there, but it was a compulsion I couldn’t ignore.
My stomach plummeted when I caught sight of her leaning against the railing. Behind her was her friend, Caroline. But next to her was the last person I could stand to see her with: Luca Moretti. He was leaning way too close to her, bodies almost touching, whispering in her ear. Her mouth curved into a smile I’d been aching to see again—only it wasn’t for me.
Red mist descended over my eyes.
Someone called my name but I ignored them. I dumped my glass down on a table and stormed from the lounge. Cold but curious eyes tracked my departure. I descended the stairs two at a time and stopped at the bottom. A strong urge to go back up, barge into the media lounge and pull them apart was warring with my desire to get far, far away.
“Fuck,” I hissed under my breath. A couple of passers-by looked warily at me. I glared at them and thankfully my better nature prevailed. I set off at a brisk walk up the paddock and retreated to my hotel room. It was expected that I’d stick around, do some press, talk to sponsors, but I couldn’t face it. I needed to cool off and shed this ridiculous jealousy. I had a race to win.
Race Day – Shanghai International Circuit (Wet Conditions)
By Sunday, the sky had opened.
The grid shimmered beneath a steady curtain of rain, the slick tarmac reflecting floodlights and chaos. Marshals darted between umbrellas. Engineers worked fast under canopies. Water beaded on visors and carbon fibre. Every breath tasted of ozone and nerves.
