Adriana

The fire looked like it was alive, wild orange flames clawing at the broken shape of Matteo’s car.

The heat hit my face even from up here, a wave of burning air that stung my eyes and blurred everything in smoke. My body felt locked, paralyzed in my seat as the crowd shrieked and scattered around me.

Then I saw movement from the corner of my eyes; it was Marco and Lorenzo. They were already on the track, sprinting through smoke with a fire extinguisher between them. They didn’t hesitate. They aimed at the hood, blasting white foam across the fire until it hissed and sputtered and died in thick smoke.

The car sat there afterwards, steaming and broken. It didn’t even look like a car anymore; it was just twisted steel crushed flat, deflated like some monster had chewed it up and spat it out.

Tears burned my eyes before I even realised they were falling. My chest cracked open, raw sobs climbing up my throat. My hands shook so badly I could barely grip the railing. Then, like snapping awake from a nightmare, I moved.

My heels pounded against the stairs, sharp and uneven, every step a jolt in my bones. I shoved through the crowd, through hands reaching to stop me, through whispers of pity and fear.

People stepped aside without a fight. I felt their eyes on me, not the way they had before, not hungry or curious. This time it was heavier, softer, like they were watching a funeral before it even happened.

The track opened in front of me. Marco turned just as I reached them, his arm shooting out to block me. His chest was heaving, his face pale. He didn’t want me to see. He didn’t want me to get closer.

“No,” I gasped, my voice shaking. “No, let me go, let me go!”

I fought against him, pushing, clawing, and somehow his grip slipped. I tore free, stumbling forward, my heels sliding on the oil-slick asphalt.

“Matteo!” I screamed, the sound ripping from me so raw it shredded my throat.

The car crew swarmed the wreckage, metal groaning as they pried at the door; their hands were frantic. Sparks fell as they cut through twisted steel. I stood there shaking, my body numb, my chest splitting open with every second he didn’t come out.

Then they dragged him out.

I fell to my knees as they lowered him onto the asphalt.

Matteo.

My Matteo was unrecognisable. His body looked broken, covered in blood, his face pale beneath streaks of red. His dark hair was matted, sticky and wet with it. His eyes were closed. He wasn’t moving.

“No,” I wailed, crawling forward, clinging to him. My hands smeared with blood as I held his face, his chest, as if I could force him back just by touching him. “Matteo, please, please, no”

Marco knelt beside us, his face twisted with panic. He grabbed Matteo’s wrist, his fingers pressing deep into the skin. For a moment, he stayed still, his jaw clenched. Then he looked at Lorenzo.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice low, broken.

Lorenzo’s eyes went hard. He stood and shouted for the ambulance, his voice echoing like a gunshot: “Call the Daivolli ambulance! Now!”

I collapsed against Matteo, rocking him in my arms, his blood soaking into my clothes. My lips pressed against his face, his forehead, his mouth. I didn’t care that it tasted of iron.

“Ti amo,” I whispered against his skin, the words spilling out between sobs. “Ti amo, Matteo, please don’t leave me…”

The crew backed away, giving us space, their faces grim. The crowd that hadn’t run away was silent now, watching from the podium with wide, horrified eyes.

The ambulance roared in minutes later, its lights slashing red and white across the smoke. Medics rushed toward us with a stretcher. They lifted Matteo from my arms, and I felt my soul tear apart as they laid him down. I scrambled to follow, stumbling, reaching for him as they wheeled him toward the doors.

“You can’t come in,” one of them snapped, blocking me with his arm.

“Yes, she can,” Lorenzo barked, his voice carrying more authority than theirs. One hard look from him and Marco’s sharp nod made them move aside.

I climbed into the ambulance, heart racing so hard it felt like it might break my ribs. The doors slammed shut behind me, and the siren wailed as we tore into the night.

The ride was chaos.

I held his hand, squeezing it tight even though it was limp and cold.

The medics worked fast, strapping tubes, wrapping gauze, and injecting fluids. The smell of blood and antiseptic filled the tight space. The monitor beeped unevenly, each pause like a blade in my chest.

The city blurred outside the small window, neon lights and streetlamps streaking past as the ambulance screamed through intersections. Every bump in the road jolted Matteo’s broken body, every turn threatened to throw us sideways. My nails dug into his skin, my sobs uncontrollable.

“Stay with me,” I begged, my forehead pressed to his. “Stay with me, Matteo. I don’t care what happens, just don’t leave me.”

The hospital lights hit us hard and white as the doors burst open. Medics rushed him out, and I stumbled after them, nearly falling in my heels but not letting go of his hand.

They dragged me into the emergency room with them, shoving equipment into place, cutting through his shirt, laying bare his broken body.

The world narrowed to doctors barking orders, machines screeching, blood spilling onto the floor. I stood at his side through it all, gripping his hand, whispering prayers I didn’t even know I believed in. They cut, stitched, pushed air into his lungs, pumped blood into his veins.

Hours blurred. Minutes bled into one another until I lost count of time. My whole world was the sterile brightness of the room and Matteo’s fragile body beneath their hands.

Finally, a doctor pulled down his mask, his face tight with exhaustion. He looked at me, then at Marco and Lorenzo standing grimly behind me.

“He’s alive,” he said. My heart lurched, hope sparking until the next words crushed me. “But barely. He has multiple broken bones, severe internal bleeding. We’ve stopped what we can, but he’s lost too much blood. His chances…” He hesitated, then finished, “They are very slim.”

My knees buckled, but Marco caught me before I hit the floor.

I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. “No. No, he can’t, he can’t die.”

They let me in when the chaos calmed. Matteo lay pale, silent, wrapped in bandages and tubes. Machines beeped steadily at his side, each one sounding like a borrowed heartbeat.

I crawled into the narrow bed beside him, curling up against his battered chest. My cheek pressed against the cold hospital gown, my hand gripping his even tighter.

“I’m not leaving,” I whispered. My eyes burned, heavy, but I forced them to stay open until they betrayed me.

The exhaustion pulled me under, my tears dampening his skin as I fell asleep clinging to him, praying he’d still be alive when I woke.

And at that moment, I knew.

I knew that I loved Matteo.