CHAPTER 3
1906 Words
ROMEO
Rain hammered the windshield hard enough to blur the world into streaks of silver and red. Romeo sat at the starting line gripping the steering wheel while the GT-R vibrated beneath him like a living thing desperate to be unleashed. Across from him, Kane’s Mustang snarled through the storm. The crowd pressed closer behind barricades and parked cars, phones raised high, engines revving around them like war drums. Underground racing wasn’t just speed.
It was reputation.
Respect.
Territory.
And tonight every pair of eyes in the port district watched Romeo Valenti.
Some with admiration. Some with jealousy. But most, with curiosity.
Because legends in Melbourne’s racing scene usually came with stories.
And Romeo’s had become almost mythical.
The Builder.
The Ghost of the West.
Valenti.
Nobody knew exactly when he’d started racing. Only that when he appeared, people lost.
Consistently.
Violently.
And unlike most racers chasing attention, Romeo disappeared the second races ended. No social media. No interviews. No desperate need to be seen. That mystery made him dangerous.
The blonde starter girl stepped between both cars, arms raised high.
Rain soaked through her jacket instantly.
Romeo tuned everything else out.
The crowd disappeared.
The noise disappeared.
Even the pressure crushing his chest from the construction company faded into static.
This was the addiction.
Not applause.
Silence.
At high enough speed, his brain finally shut up.
The starter dropped her arms.
Both cars launched like gunfire.
The GT-R exploded forward with brutal traction while twin turbos screamed alive beneath the hood. Romeo shifted instantly, eyes locked ahead as rainwater sprayed violently behind him.
Kane’s Mustang stayed beside him for the first few seconds.
Then Romeo felt it.
The edge.
That razor-thin moment where instinct overtook thought completely.
Third gear.
Boost climbing.
Streetlights blurred into streaks.
The GT-R clawed ahead.
The crowd roared somewhere behind them.
Kane swerved suddenly. Deliberately.
Romeo saw it instantly. “Dirty bastard.”
The Mustang drifted toward his lane aggressively, trying to force him into stacked shipping barriers.
Luca had warned him.
Romeo didn’t panic.
Didn’t flinch. Instead, he downshifted violently and threaded the GT-R through a gap so narrow sparks exploded from the passenger side mirror scraping concrete.
The car fishtailed.
Caught traction.
Then launched forward again like hell itself shoved it.
The finish line flashed beneath him seconds later.
And the port district erupted.
Romeo eased off the throttle slowly while adrenaline detonated through his bloodstream hard enough to make his hands shake.
God. There was nothing else like this.
Nothing.
Not money.
Not success.
Not power.
For ten perfect seconds he felt free.
Then reality returned.
Kane’s Mustang screeched to a stop nearby. The driver climbed out furious. “You cut me off!”
Romeo stepped from the GT-R calmly despite his pulse still pounding. “You drove into my lane.”
“You got lucky.”
Romeo laughed once.
That irritated Kane even more.
The crowd surrounded them instantly, people shouting, arguing, replaying phone footage.
But Romeo noticed something more important.
Nobody looked surprised he won.
That was street credit.
The most dangerous currency underground.
People expected him to dominate now.
And expectations created pressure.
Nero emerged through the crowd slowly clapping.
“Well done.”
Romeo ignored him.
Kane shoved forward aggressively. “Run it again.”
Romeo wiped rain from his jaw. “You already lost once.”
“You scared?”
That finally earned a reaction.
Not anger.
Amusement.
Romeo stepped closer until Kane’s towering frame meant absolutely nothing.
“No,” he said quietly. “I’m bored.”
Several nearby racers burst out laughing.
Kane’s face darkened instantly.
Before the situation could explode further, a black Holden Commodore slid aggressively into the lot beside them blasting old-school hip-hop through open windows.
The driver leaned halfway out before the car fully stopped.
“There he is!”
Romeo shook his head immediately.
“Of course.”
Dominic Russo climbed out first.
Loud.
Expensive.
Chaotic.
Everything Romeo wasn’t.
Gold chain hanging over a fitted black shirt despite the rain. Sharp fade haircut. Confident grin permanently attached to his face like God personally designed him without shame.
Behind him emerged Charlie Bianchi carrying takeaway food and visible disappointment.
“You started without us?” Charlie demanded.
Romeo raised an eyebrow. “You’re late.”
Dominic pointed accusingly. “Traffic.”
“It’s midnight.”
“Exactly. Prime traffic.”
Charlie handed Romeo a burger casually. “We brought a peace offering.”
Romeo took it automatically.
Because this was routine.
Dominic walked straight toward Kane, looked him up and down dramatically, then turned back toward Romeo.
“This the guy?”
“Yes.”
Dominic winced theatrically. “That’s unfortunate for him.”
Kane glared. “Who the hell are you?”
Dominic placed a hand against his chest. “I’m offended you even asked.”
“That means nobody important,” Kane snapped.
“Ouch.” Dominic looked genuinely wounded. “Romeo, he hurt my feelings.”
Romeo bit back a smile.
Barely.
Charlie sighed heavily beside them. “Can we not start another fight? I just got here.”
Unlike Dominic’s loud confidence, Charlie carried calm naturally. Lean build. Dark curls. Quiet eyes that noticed everything.
Where Dominic escalated situations, Charlie survived them.
The three men had grown up together.
Brothers without blood.
Bound through loyalty more than friendship.
Romeo trusted them more than almost anyone alive.
Which said dangerous things about his life.
Dominic glanced toward the GT-R admiringly.
“She sounds angry tonight.”
“She almost kissed a barrier,” Romeo admitted.
“That’s romantic.”
Charlie rubbed rainwater from his forehead. “Please tell me you didn’t race Kane through wet streets.”
“Kane made poor decisions.”
Kane stepped forward again aggressively. “You got something to say?”
Charlie immediately raised both hands.
“See? This is exactly what I meant.”
Dominic grinned.
“You know what your problem is?” he told Kane. “You’re emotional.”
The crowd laughed again.
Romeo finally stepped between them before Dominic got stabbed for entertainment.
“We’re done here.”
Nero appeared again smoothly beside them.
“Actually,” he said, “we’re just getting started.”
Romeo’s expression cooled instantly.
Dominic noticed.
So did Charlie.
Both men straightened slightly.
Nero extended a hand toward Romeo.
“Drive for me.”
“No.”
“Million-dollar circuit.”
“No.”
“International crews.”
“No.”
Nero smiled faintly. “You always this stubborn?”
“Yes.”
Dominic leaned toward Charlie quietly. “I already hate this guy.”
“Me too.”
Nero ignored them completely.
“There’s a title race coming.”
That changed the atmosphere instantly. Nearby racers fell quieter. Watching carefully.
Because titles mattered underground.
Not official ones.
Street ones.
King of the Strip.
Night King.
Fastest in the West.
Names earned through fear and consistency.
And currently?
Nobody held the top title securely.
Melbourne’s underground scene had fractured recently after several top racers disappeared from the scene entirely.
Rumours varied.
Crashes.
Police.
Debt.
Nobody knew truth from mythology anymore.
Nero studied Romeo carefully.
“You win the circuit,” he continued softly, “and every crew in this city answers your name.”
Dominic muttered under his breath.
“That sounds incredibly illegal.”
“It is incredibly illegal,” Charlie replied.
Romeo folded his arms.
“I already have a company to run.”
“And yet here you are.” Rainwater dripped steadily from Nero’s coat while industrial lights reflected coldly across his face. “You don’t come here for money, Romeo.”
Romeo stayed silent.
Because Nero wasn’t entirely wrong.
“You come here,” Nero said quietly, “because this is the only place you feel alive.”
That landed exactly where Nero wanted it to.
Dominic’s grin faded slightly.
Charlie watched Romeo carefully.
Because they both knew something most people didn’t.
Romeo had been different since his father died.
Before that?
More relaxed.
More human.
After?
Everything became responsibility.
Bills.
Workers.
Survival.
Pressure.
Construction hardened him young.
Racing became the only thing that still belonged entirely to him.
Romeo stepped closer toward Nero.
“One race,” he said quietly. “That’s all tonight was.”
Nero smiled slowly.
“We’ll see.”
Then he walked away into the rain.
Dominic watched him leave. “I’m getting mafia vibes.”
Charlie nodded. “Definitely murders people.”
“Right?”
Romeo looked toward the black GT-R.
Engine ticking quietly while steam rose from the hood into cold night air.
The crowd still lingered nearby watching him carefully.
Respectfully.
That feeling spread through his chest again.
Street credit.
The title.
The reputation.
Dangerous things for a man already carrying too much ego and too little peace.
Dominic tossed an arm around Romeo’s shoulders.
“You know everyone here thinks you’re basically Batman.”
Romeo looked unimpressed. “Batman doesn’t commit felonies.”
“Minor detail.”
Charlie opened the passenger side of the Commodore and grabbed drinks.
“You realise this gets worse from here.”
Romeo accepted the bottle.
“It always does.”
A younger racer approached nervously then.
Maybe nineteen.
“Yo… you’re Valenti, right?”
Romeo nodded once.
The kid looked starstruck immediately.
“I saw your Calder run last year. Against the R34.”
Dominic pointed proudly. “Historic moment.”
Charlie deadpanned, “You cried.”
“It was emotional.”
The kid looked at Romeo carefully.
“You really built that car yourself?”
“With help.”
“You think I could see the engine setup sometime?”
Romeo studied him briefly.
Young.
Hungry.
Obsessed with speed already.
Reminded him too much of himself.
“Focus on learning to drive properly first,” Romeo said. “Horsepower means nothing if panic controls the wheel.”
The kid nodded instantly like receiving scripture.
Then hurried away excitedly.
Dominic smirked. “Look at you. Mentoring youths.”
“I hate youths.”
“You are a youth.”
“Tragic.”
Charlie leaned against the GT-R quietly.
“You ever think about stopping?”
Romeo looked at him.
“Racing?”
Charlie nodded.
Rain softened around them now.
The crowd beginning to thin.
Police attention would come eventually. It always did.
Romeo glanced toward the city skyline glowing faintly beyond the industrial district.
Tower cranes.
Buildings.
Responsibilities waiting only hours away.
Then back toward the road stretched ahead beneath warehouse lights.
Freedom waiting too.
“I don’t know how,” he admitted honestly.
That answer lingered between them.
Because Dominic and Charlie understood something nobody else really did.
Romeo wasn’t addicted to racing.
He was addicted to escape.
There was a difference.
A dangerous one.
Dominic finally clapped loudly once.
“Anyway.” He pointed toward the Commodore. “Who’s hungry enough to commit crimes against kebabs?”
Charlie immediately nodded. “Now this is a cause I support.”
Romeo shook his head faintly.
But followed them anyway.
Three friends disappearing into Melbourne’s underground night while engines echoed across wet asphalt behind them.
And somewhere else in the city, Mya Taufua sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor helping her youngest brother finish homework while gospel music played softly from her phone.
Two completely different worlds.
One built on adrenaline and danger.
The other built on faith and sacrifice.
Neither ready for what would happen when those worlds finally met.
- Writer
