Redline

Beneath the helmet

The rest of the day spiraled into absolute chaos.

Rumors about the alleged brake failure had spread through the paddock like wildfire, and reporters were chasing down anyone on the team who looked remotely willing to talk. Valentina spent hours answering calls, putting out fires, and repeating the same carefully polished non-answers to keep the situation from exploding even further.

"Moreau Racing is investigating the incident."

"Dante Moreau is doing well."

"We have no further comment at this time."

Elegant lies designed to keep sponsors, shareholders, and the press satisfied.

But something inside the team had already begun to c***k, and she could feel it every time she walked through the garage.

Every few minutes, another angle of the crash surfaced online.

In some videos, the car seemed to lose stability before reaching the corner.

In others, Dante barely managed to avoid slamming head-on into the barriers.

Sports analysts dissected every frame as though they were investigating a murder, while social media flooded with increasingly outrageous theories.

"Someone tried to kill him."

"The team is hiding something."

"This looks way too similar to Luca Bianchi's crash."

That last name kept coming up.

And every time Valentina heard it, the atmosphere inside Moreau Racing shifted instantly.

Conversations died.

Voices dropped.

Mechanics glanced over their shoulders before speaking.

Even the engineers looked tense when no one was asking them questions.

And Dante had disappeared shortly after the morning meeting, refusing to speak to either the media or most of the team.

It was almost as though everyone was waiting for something even worse to happen.

Eventually, Valentina slipped away from the media center for a few minutes to clear her head.

The sun was beginning to set over Monaco's harbor, the lights from the yachts shimmering across the dark water.

From the outside, everything still looked perfect.

Music drifted from private terraces.

Models laughed beside billionaire businessmen.

Champagne flowed like water.

Photographers chased celebrities between impossible supercars and designer gowns that probably cost more than most people's apartments.

The flawless glamour of Formula One.

But inside the paddock...

It was a completely different world.

Nobody was relaxed.

Every conversation carried an undercurrent of nerves.

Every glance lingered a little too long.

It felt like far more than the aftermath of an accident.

For the first time all day, the circuit seemed to breathe.

Or at least, that's what Valentina thought—

Until a raised voice echoed from one of the garages.

"I don't care what the reports say!"

Dante's voice tore through the corridor like an electric shock.

Valentina stopped in her tracks.

The main garage door was slightly ajar.

From where she stood, she could hear every word.

"Someone tampered with that car," Dante said, barely containing his anger. "Brakes don't just disappear."

"Keep your voice down," another man replied.

Valentina recognized the Technical Director immediately.

"You want me to calm down after I almost put myself through a concrete wall?"

"Not here."

"Then where?"

A heavy silence followed.

Valentina edged a little closer, trying to listen without being seen.

"The FIA is already inspecting the car," the Technical Director continued. "If you turn this into a public scandal, you'll destroy the team."

Dante let out a hollow laugh.

"Maybe the team deserves to be destroyed."

A chill crawled down Valentina's spine.

That didn't sound like paranoia.

It sounded personal.

As though Dante had stopped trusting something—or someone—long before the crash.

She took another cautious step forward, trying to hear better.

Her foot accidentally clipped a metal storage crate resting against the wall.

The clang echoed far louder than it should have through the silent corridor.

Damn.

The conversation inside the garage stopped instantly.

A second later, Dante appeared in the doorway.

His gray eyes locked onto hers.

Dark.

Exhausted.

Far too alert.

"What are you doing here?"

Valentina folded her arms, forcing herself to remain composed.

"Working. It's a revolutionary concept. You should give it a try."

For the first time since she'd met him...

Dante didn't answer immediately.

He didn't smirk.

He didn't throw another sarcastic remark her way.

He just looked...

Tired.

The Technical Director stepped into view behind him.

The moment he noticed Valentina, his expression tightened.

"We need some privacy."

"Of course," she replied. "Because nothing inspires confidence quite like hiding people inside a dark garage."

The man didn't respond.

He simply exchanged a look with Dante before walking away without another word.

And then they were alone.

The distant sounds of the circuit continued humming around them, but inside the narrow corridor, washed in cold white fluorescent lights, the air felt impossibly heavy.

Dante rested one hand against the wall and closed his eyes for a brief moment, as though trying to gather what little composure he had left before turning back toward the open garage.

Outside, mechanics continued working around the damaged car while harsh white lights illuminated every twisted piece of carbon fiber.

Valentina watched him in silence.

Up close, his exhaustion was far more obvious than it had ever been in front of the cameras.

The shadows beneath his eyes were darker beneath the fluorescent lights.

His jaw remained locked with constant tension, as though he'd been holding himself together for hours.

When he braced his hand against the wall, she noticed the slightest tremor in his fingers before he quickly shoved them into his pocket.

At that moment...

He didn't look like a Formula One superstar.

He looked like someone exhausted from fighting something he could never control.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

A dry laugh escaped him.

"That's probably the worst question you can ask a driver after he almost dies."

"You're still awfully dramatic for someone who walked away from the car."

This time, he looked at her.

"You didn't see how close it really was."

The way he said it stripped every trace of sarcasm from the conversation.

There was no arrogance in his voice.

Only memory.

Dante looked away, his gaze settling on the wrecked Formula One car while the mechanics continued working around it in tense silence.

"When you drive at those speeds, you learn to recognize when something's wrong," he said quietly. "The car warned me... too late."

A shiver ran down Valentina's spine.

"Do you think someone tampered with the brakes?"

Dante didn't answer right away.

After a long silence, he finally spoke.

"I don't believe in coincidences."

The quiet certainty in his voice made something tighten inside her all over again.

There it was.

That tiny c***k beneath the insufferable public persona he showed the world.

Valentina leaned one shoulder against the wall, never taking her eyes off him.

"Relax. I've only been here a day. I'm still trying to figure out whether you're paranoid..."

"...or just impossible."

That earned her the faintest smile.

Tired.

But genuine.

"Have you reached a verdict yet?"

"I'm still fifty-fifty."

A quiet breath escaped through Dante's nose, dangerously close to a laugh.

The silence that settled between them no longer carried the sharp hostility of their earlier arguments.

Outside, the distant roar of engines echoed between the harbor buildings while mechanics continued working beneath the harsh white lights surrounding the wrecked car.

The tension was still there.

Alive.

But now it was tangled with something else.

Something far more unsettling.

Closeness.

Valentina hated admitting how much his presence was beginning to affect her.

He smelled of expensive cologne, smoke, and gasoline.

It was an absurd combination that should have been unpleasant...

Yet somehow, it wasn't.

There was something magnetic about him, even like this—exhausted, angry, and worn thin.

Maybe it was those tired gray eyes.

Or the way he always seemed to be carrying something impossibly heavy on his shoulders.

Dante was the first to look away.

"You should stay out of this."

"Is that a threat?" she asked.

He gave a slight shake of his head, his eyes drifting back toward the brightly lit garage.

"You have no idea what you're walking into."

"Then tell me."

He studied her in silence for several seconds before answering.

"That's exactly the problem. You keep getting closer like this is still just another job."

Before Valentina could respond, one of the emergency phones inside the garage began to ring.

The sharp sound sliced through the silence.

Dante muttered a curse under his breath and stepped away to answer it.

"What happened?"

His expression changed instantly.

Every ounce of tension rushed back into his body.

"Where?"

Silence.

Valentina watched the color slowly drain from his face.

"Don't touch anything. I'm on my way."

He hung up abruptly.

"What happened?" she asked.

Dante looked at her for only a second.

For the first time since she'd met him...

Valentina saw real fear in his eyes.

Not fear of the crash.

Something worse.

"They found something inside my car."

Her stomach tightened.

"What did they find?"

He held her gaze for a long moment.

There was no arrogance left in his eyes now.

Only a cold darkness that sent a chill through her entire body.

"A part that doesn't belong in my car."