Adriana

The night wrapped around me in a way that made it hard to breathe. Thick with the smell of gasoline, sweat, perfume. It clung to my skin, soaked into my hair, made every step louder than it should have been.

My heels clicked against the cracked asphalt, the sound cutting through the noise of the crowd as we moved toward the glowing stretch of light where the race was set up.

Matteo walked beside me, and even without trying, he commanded every space he stepped into. Black pants that fit just right on his big frame, a crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease, and that black leather jacket that looked like it had been made for him.

And then there was me.

Matteo had dressed me, knowing exactly what kind of attention it would draw, but even so, the way the crowd’s eyes followed me made my skin buzz.

The black leather mini skirt was shorter than I usually dared to wear. It stopped mid-thigh, though every step threatened to pull it higher. I kept tugging it down, but it was useless; the leather had a mind of its own.

The white lace corset clung to me tightly, shaping my chest in a way that felt both bold and reckless, and the cropped leather jacket I’d thrown over it didn’t hide much of anything.

My legs looked impossibly long under the harsh lights, balanced on the thin straps of my black stilettos. Every step I took in them felt like an invitation I hadn’t exactly meant to extend.

I could feel the eyes on me, sharp and hungry. Men’s conversations faltered when I passed; I caught the quick glances, the not-so-quick ones too, the way their gazes slid over my body without shame. Some smirked, some whispered to each other like I couldn’t tell they were talking about me.Others just stared.

The women weren’t any kinder. Some looked me up and down like I was cheap, like I was a showpiece to be displayed. Others held that glimmer of jealousy in their eyes, though they’d rather die than admit it. Their stares burned almost as much as the men’s.

And through it all, I forced myself to keep my chin up, to pretend I wasn’t drowning in the weight of being looked at. I told myself I wasn’t some pretty accessory for Matteo, even though I knew that’s what they saw.

I was more than that. I was his equal, whether they could see it or not.

Marco and Lorenzo flanked me as we reached the special row at the front, right at the center, where the view of the track stretched like an altar.

They looked lethal in their black, Matteo’s most loyal men. When I sat between them with their solid shoulders boxing me in, I knew it wasn’t just to protect me. It was to remind the world I was untouchable.

I crossed my legs, the skirt flashing a scandalous glimpse of thigh, and the crowd rippled with murmurs. Marco’s jaw flexed beside me, his gaze darting to the men who stared too long. Lorenzo smirked, as if amused at the chaos my body created without effort.

And across the way, Matteo leaned against his car, watching me.

His stare was the only one that mattered. He didn’t look at me like they did. He didn’t imagine. He knew. He owned every inch of the skin they fantasised about, and the half-smile on his mouth told me he relished their hunger. He liked that they wanted me and could never have me.

The announcer’s voice ripped through the speakers, calling the racers to their sports cars. The crowd surged with excitement, cheers and whistles blending with the roar of engines firing to life. Heat prickled over my skin, my heart already racing even though I wasn’t the one behind the wheel.

Matteo's car was a black sports car, low to the ground and gleaming under the neon lights. The hood stretched long and smooth, the kind of design that looked fast even when it wasn’t moving. Dark-tinted windows hid everything inside, giving it a cold, secretive edge. It wasn’t just a car; it was an extension of him.

His hands gripped the steering wheel like he was born for it. The leather jacket stretched across his shoulders, and the neon glow lighted his profile. God help me, he looked so damn hot I'd take care of him tonight, that was for sure.

The cars crawled up to the starting line one by one, their noses inches from the strip of paint on the race track. The engines of the cars revved so loud I felt the sound shaking in my ribs, deep and raw, like thunder trapped in metal. Smoke curled from spinning tires, the air thick with the stink of fuel and burnt rubber.

My fingers dug into the arm of my chair without me even realising it, my pulse raced as the flag girl strutted to the front, every step dragged out the tension.

The flag dropped and all the cars launched so fast.

The noise was deafening, the kind that shook your bones and made your teeth clench. Smoke blasted up behind them, swallowing the start line in a haze as they roared down the strip.

Matteo’s car jumped ahead fast, his reflexes sharp, steering smooth like his hands were wired to the machine. A blue car tried to edge him out, slamming into his left. And my breath caught, but Matteo jerked the wheel, cutting right, slipping between two rivals with barely an inch to spare.

The crowd went insane, a wave of screams crashing over the barricades. I couldn’t move. My nails dug into the armrest, and my stomach twisted as I watched.

They hit the first corner hard. Three cars bunched together as their tires shrieked, rubber peeled off in strips. One driver pushed too much and spun out, his car fishtailing before slamming into the barrier.

The crowd roared at the crash, but my eyes stayed locked on Matteo’s black car. He drifted wide, smoke pouring from the back tires, then straightened out clean, shooting forward like he’d planned it all along.

“Jesus,” Marco muttered beside me.

“He’s eating them alive,” Lorenzo said with a grin.

I barely heard them. My pulse was in my throat. Every move Matteo made was inches from disaster, but he looked untouchable.

Another car tried to clip his bumper from behind, but Matteo hit the gas, making the engine scream louder, and the back of his car jerked just out of reach. The rival swerved too late and scraped the guardrail. Sparks flew all around as the metal screeched. The sound made me flinch, but Matteo didn’t lose speed. He drove faster.

Then the final lap came. The straightaway opened wide, and Matteo surged to the front, his car a streak of black lightning under the lights.

The crowd knew it.

I knew it.

He was going to win.

And that’s when everything went wrong.

From the shadows beyond the barricades, SUVs rolled onto the track. They were matte black beasts that didn’t belong to the race. Their headlights blazed brights with their engines heavier, slower, built for something other than speed.

My blood froze.

Gasps tore through the crowd, then screams. The racers swerved violently, horns blaring, brakes shrieking. Matteo’s car barely dodged the first SUV that barreled into the lane.

“Riccardo,” Marco hissed, half rising from his seat.

I clutched the armrest, my body stiff with terror. The SUVs spread across the track like a net, blocking the racers, cutting them off, and forcing chaos. Tires screeched and cars collided, the sound of metal crunching and glass shattering echoing through the night.

People were screaming, pushing, running. The crowd surged in panic, bodies slamming against each other. smoke and blood filled the air.

I couldn’t breathe.

Matteo’s car spun sideways, inches from impact, his headlights swinging wildly before he regained control. My heart stopped, then kicked again in a sickening lurch. He was still alive. Still fighting.

But Riccardo’s men weren’t here to race. They were here to kill.

Gunshots cracked, sharp and merciless, lost in the thunder of engines and shrieks. Sparks jumped from the barricades as bullets ricocheted. I ducked instinctively, Marco dragging me down, Lorenzo pulling his gun in one fluid motion.

Matteo’s car darted between the chaos, weaving past wreckage, headlights cutting through smoke. Every second he survived felt like stolen time.

I forced my eyes open, desperate to keep him in sight. His car skidded around a wreck, only to meet another SUV charging straight for him.

“Matteo!” I screamed, but my voice was swallowed by the roar of screams.

The last SUV came straight at him, with no hesitation or mercy. Its headlights cut across the track like knives. It was twice the size of Matteo’s car, a wall of black steel thundering forward.

I couldn’t breathe.

Matteo yanked the wheel hard, his car screaming as the tires lost grip. The SUV skidded sideways.

For a second, it looked like he’d slip past. For a second, I believed he would.

But the SUV slammed into Matteo so hard, I didn't think he could survive it.

The sound was catastrophic, like a bomb going off. The SUV slammed into Matteo’s front corner with a bone-crushing force, the black car spinning from the impact. The hood crumpled in a spray of sparks, glass shattered everywhere.

The SUV didn’t stop.

It shoved forward, grinding against Matteo’s car, the shriek of metal on metal drowning out every other sound. His car spun again, once, twice, then slammed sideways into the barricade with a sickening crunch that rattled the stands.

Flames burst from the hood, lighting the night in orange.

The shockwave hit me in the chest. I felt the heat, the bite of smoke burning my throat. Marco yanked me down, covering me, but my eyes stayed locked on the track, on the mangled black shape that had been Matteo’s car.