He pushed off the car and jerked his chin toward the twin superbikes parked beside it, their black frames gleaming under the dim garage lights.
The engines were silent, but there was something coiled in them—power waiting to be unleashed.
“Pick one,” he said.
I didn’t hesitate.
I stepped toward the nearer bike, my fingers brushing over the cold metal before I swung a leg over it in one fluid motion.
The seat settled beneath me, firm and familiar, the machine fitting like something I already knew how to control.
The scent of oil and steel rose faintly in the air, sharper than the enclosed weight of a car.
Renzo mounted the second bike with practiced ease, his movements smooth, unthinking.
The moment he brought it to life, the engine growled low and restrained, the vibration humming through the ground between us.
“Last chance to back out,” he said, voice carrying easily over the quiet rumble, his gaze fixed ahead.
He didn’t look at me.
“Once we leave these gates, you’re stepping into my world. There’s no safety net out there. No one to intervene. No Vincenzo to pull rank and save you.”
I pulled on the helmet resting on the handlebar, securing it with a firm click before settling my hands around the grips.
“Ride.”
That was all I gave him.
A smirk flickered across his face, brief and sharp, before he leaned forward slightly and rolled the throttle.
The bikes surged to life in unison, smooth but powerful, the sound low and predatory as we moved toward the gates.
They slid open without resistance, as though the estate itself had already decided to let us go.
We rode through.
Behind us, the boundary closed.
The road opened beneath us, winding through shadow.
In front of us lay uncertainty, danger, and the fragile possibility of a meeting that could end in diplomacy—or bloodshed.
Renzo rode ahead without speaking, his silhouette steady, controlled, never once faltering.
I followed, the rhythm of the bike grounding me, the vibration steady beneath my body, the speed cutting cleanly through the noise in my head.
And for the first time since marrying Vincenzo, I felt alive again.
Not like the version of me trapped within his walls, bound by expectations and control—but like myself.
Like Elena.
The woman who moved, who fought, who took risks without hesitation.
To hell with the consequences.
This was what I understood.
