—Natasha's POV—
The garage had become a pressure cooker. The usual symphony of tools and engines had faded to a tense, background hum, every ear subtly tuned to the confrontation unfolding in its center. Zane had been a prowling shadow around Enzo’s gleaming silver machine, a critic circling a masterpiece he deemed too fragile for the real world.
“It’s a testament to engineering, Valenci,” Zane remarked, his voice a low, carrying purr that silenced the nearby conversations. He trailed a single, grease-smudged finger along the bike’s flawless fuel tank. “Precise. Polished. Perfect for a showroom floor. But the Full-Moon Run…” He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the captivated audience of mechanics and riders. “The Run demands a beast, not a show pony. It requires an appetite that this
