Redline

The burden of fear

The team's private jet took off just before dawn.

Although the inside of the aircraft was wrapped in silence, Valentina could still feel the constant noise of everything that had happened in Monaco pounding inside her head.

She hadn't slept more than an hour since the middle of the night.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the photograph inside that evidence bag.

The words written in red ink burned into her memory like a warning she couldn't ignore.

YOU'RE NEXT.

The atmosphere inside the cabin did nothing to help.

Engineers stared at screens filled with technical data, their focus far too rigid for that time of the morning. Some mechanics pretended to rest in their seats, while others spoke quietly, convinced no one could hear them.

Nobody laughed.

Nobody seemed truly calm.

The entire team revolved around the same problem, even though no one dared say it out loud.

Dante.

He sat by one of the rear windows, still dressed entirely in black, reviewing technical reports ever since the plane had taken off.

From a distance, he looked composed.

Almost cold.

But Valentina was starting to recognize the small signs he couldn't hide.

The constant tension in his jaw.

The way his fingers tapped slowly against the armrest.

The way he looked up every time someone walked past him.

Paranoia...

Or survival.

Valentina looked away and unlocked her phone, trying to distract herself.

The news was still exploding everywhere.

"Major Crash at Moreau Racing."

"Sabotage Inside Formula One?"

"Dante Moreau Leaves Monaco Under Security Escort."

Thousands of comments filled every article.

Some were worried.

Others were cruel.

"Someone finally put that asshole in his place."

"Moreau always needs to make everything about himself."

"This is probably just an excuse to cover up a disaster."

Valentina felt an unexpected discomfort as she read them.

Until a few days ago, she had believed the same version of Dante everyone else did.

The arrogant driver.

The unbearable man.

The perfect villain for the media.

But after seeing him in that garage, completely destroyed by something that had clearly haunted him for years, everything had become far more complicated.

She slowly locked her phone and looked back at him.

The first rays of dawn filtered through the aircraft windows, illuminating part of his exhausted profile.

For the first time since she had met him, he looked more tired than angry.

Valentina hesitated for a few seconds before speaking.

"Have you slept at all?"

Dante barely lifted his eyes from the documents.

"No."

The answer was blunt, but not hostile.

She glanced at the pages covered in diagrams and technical notes resting on his lap.

"Are you still reviewing the car?"

"I'm looking for something that makes sense."

"And did you find anything?"

He held her gaze for a brief moment.

"Not yet."

The plane hit a small patch of turbulence.

Several passengers instinctively looked up, but Dante barely reacted.

He continued staring at the same report until one of the mechanics approached from the other end of the cabin.

"The FIA wants to speak with you when we land."

Dante didn't even look away from the page.

"They can wait."

Valentina slowly put her phone away and looked at him again.

"There are going to be cameras waiting for you the second we arrive."

He placed the documents down and raised an eyebrow.

"There are always cameras waiting for me."

"Yes, but usually they don't think someone tried to kill you."

That finally made him look at her.

Valentina held his gray eyes calmly.

"If you're going to speak to the press, you need to listen to me first."

Dante leaned his head back against the seat.

"Are you going to tell me what I can and can't say?"

"I'm going to try to stop you from turning this into another media disaster."

A tired smile appeared briefly at the corner of his mouth.

"Très autoritaire, princesse de presse."

She let out a small, amused breath.

"And you're impossible when you don't sleep."

"That implies I'm charming when I do."

"Let's not exaggerate."

The tension between them no longer felt purely hostile.

The electricity was still there.

But now it was mixed with something else.

Something unfamiliar.

Almost like comfort.

Valentina adjusted her blazer slightly before continuing.

"Don't deny what happened. People notice when someone is lying. But don't mention the symbol. Don't mention Luca. And don't mention the hotel until we know exactly what we're dealing with."

Dante watched her silently for several seconds.

"And what exactly am I supposed to say?"

"The truth."

She paused.

"Enough of it to keep control. Tell them there was an incident. That the FIA is investigating. That you're focused on racing this weekend."

A quiet laugh escaped him.

"You sound like a politician."

"I worked with worse egos than yours."

"That's hard to believe."

"Trust me, Moreau. You're barely in my top five."

That earned another small smile from him.

And Valentina hated how much she noticed it.

Because when Dante smiled for real, even if only for a second, the darkness surrounding him seemed to disappear slightly.

But it never lasted.

His expression slowly hardened again as he looked out the window.

"If this really was sabotage..."

He paused.

"This is only the beginning."

The certainty in his voice made the knot in Valentina's stomach return immediately.

Hours later, when they finally arrived at the hotel in Barcelona, the chaos outside was even worse than Valentina had imagined.

The entrance was surrounded by reporters, photographers, and fans standing behind security barriers.

The flashes began before they had even stepped out of the vehicles.

"Dante!"

"Was it sabotage?"

"Who tried to get into your hotel room?"

"Are you afraid for your safety?"

Security moved quickly, creating a path through the crowd as the team headed toward the entrance.

Valentina walked beside Dante, trying to ignore the deafening noise of cameras and shouted questions surrounding them.

Then she heard something different.

"Dante, we're with you!"

She turned slightly and saw a small group of fans holding black signs with the number 7 printed on them.

Some of them looked genuinely worried.

Dante slowed for just a moment.

His eyes moved toward them before returning forward.

One of the younger fans held up a miniature helmet, hoping for an autograph.

For a second, Valentina thought he would keep walking.

But Dante stopped.

He took the marker, signed the helmet, and handed it back without saying a word.

The boy smiled as if he had just won a race.

"Thank you, Dante."

He gave a small nod before continuing toward the hotel.

The entire moment lasted less than ten seconds.

And yet, somehow, it was enough to disrupt the image Valentina had built of him all over again.

They finally entered the hotel under heavy security, and silence immediately fell over them inside the private elevator.

Valentina leaned back against the metallic wall while Dante stared straight ahead, exhaustion written across his face.

"I didn't know you had fans that loyal," she murmured.

A quiet, humorless laugh escaped him.

"They're not loyal."

"They looked worried."

"People always love a tragedy."

Valentina frowned slightly.

"That's a surprisingly optimistic view."

"It's realistic."

The elevator doors opened, revealing several security members already waiting in the hallway.

"Your room has been moved to another floor," one of them informed him. "We've increased security measures as well."

Dante nodded absentmindedly.

Valentina looked around.

Guards were stationed at every corner.

Restricted access points.

Constant checks.

This was no longer the normal routine of a Formula One driver.

It looked more like presidential protection.

Before entering his room, Dante finally looked back at her.

"Don't go out alone."

She blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"Until we know who's behind this."

His tone had changed again.

There was no arrogance.

No teasing.

No challenge.

Only seriousness.

"I can take care of myself."

Dante held her gaze for several seconds.

"That doesn't mean you should have to."

The comment caught her completely off guard.

Because, for the first time since she had met him, he wasn't trying to impress her.

He wasn't trying to intimidate her.

He wasn't trying to argue.

He sounded genuinely concerned.

Valentina tried to ease the tension.

"Do you always assume everyone is trying to kill you?"

A bitter shadow crossed his face.

"Lately?"

He paused.

"Yes."

The honesty in his voice left her without an immediate response.

For several seconds, they simply stood there in the quiet hallway.

Then Dante opened his door.

But before stepping inside, he looked at her one last time.

"I'm serious, Valentina."

His voice was low.

"Be careful."

And then he disappeared into his room, leaving her alone in the corridor with the strange feeling that, without realizing it...

She had just crossed an invisible line between them.