I turned just in time to catch the blur of movement.
Luca Moretti shoved me with both hands. I stumbled backwards, skidding a few feet in the rain.
“What the—” I caught myself and raised my hands instinctively.
He ripped off his helmet, water dripping from his curls, eyes blazing like someone had lit a match inside him.
“You absolute fucking liability,” he snarled. “What was that, huh? You trying to kill us both?”
“I was holding the line—”
“Bullshit!” he roared, closing the distance again. “You’re a fucking joke, Volkov. You don’t deserve the front row!”
“Back off.” I held a hand out, trying to defuse this before it spiralled. I didn’t want this. Not now. Not here.
But Luca wasn’t listening.
His fist flew—quick, savage, full of fury—and clocked me square across the jaw.
Pain exploded. My head snapped sideways and I staggered back, tasting blood.
The crowd behind the barrier screamed.
“Oi! That’s enough!” one of the marshals yelled, vaulting forward.
Another lunged between us, catching Luca around the waist as I planted my feet, fists clenched, everything in me screaming to retaliate.
But I didn’t.
Barely.
The red mist pulsed behind my eyes, my chest heaving. Every camera on the circuit would’ve caught that. Live.
He’d hit me. In front of the entire fucking world.
“Get him out of here,” someone shouted.
Another pair of marshals pulled Luca back as I took a shaky breath and wiped the blood from my lip with the back of my glove.
He was still yelling as they dragged him off—something about sabotage, something about respect—but I tuned him out.
I didn’t need to hear it.
The headlines were already writing themselves.
Chapter Eighteen – Shanghai Fallout
F1 Pulse Broadcast: Race Day, Shanghai International Circuit
MARTY: And—oh! Oh no, no, no! That is a huge shunt into Turn Fourteen! Yellow flags waving—Volkov and Moretti are both off! That was heavy.
TARA: Jesus, what just happened? Sorry—sorry. Uh, looks like... replay now—yeah, Volkov dives up the inside and—oof—makes contact. Front wing to rear tyre. That is a massive collision!
MARTY: That’s not a tap, folks. That is a serious impact. Moretti’s car is backwards in the runoff and Volkov’s is buried in the barrier. Debris everywhere.
TARA: And this’ll be the headline: both drivers are out. Lap fifteen. No points. No podium. No mercy.
MARTY: Let’s hope they’re okay. The safety car’s out. Medical car on route—Moretti’s moving. Volkov too. Good signs. But the carnage—
