8. Fiat and Furious #2
My forehead creases. Over? Maybe Elio really did come home alone last night. I didn’t think he had it in him.
Elio glances at me, then back at Caleb. “I will.”
They pick up their suitcases, and Elio opens the door. As they’re filing out, Caleb turns around. “Oh, and come to a game soon, okay?”
“I said I would when you became a champ, didn’t I?” Elio winks. “I’ll make good on that promise.”
“Counting on it, man!”
We watch them get into the cab, but waving goodbye from the threshold feels a little too domestic for my taste, so I take advantage of a restroom trip to break the moment.
When I come back, Elio is leaning against the wall in the corridor. “Should I give you the full tour?”
“Sure. Can I film it for the fe ature?” I didn’t film the brunch because it felt a little weird, publishing something so personal. I only snapped a few pictures. But I am here for a job, after all.
He nods, straightening his shoulders. “Absolutely.”
At a casual pace, Elio walks me through the rest of the house.
We pass through an open living room with floor-level, minimalist furniture and a large fireplace, the kind of living space that invites you to sink into a couch and relax.
The walls are dotted with more art—abstract pieces in bold, muted tones that play with light and shadow.
I catch a glimpse of one painting that seems to shift depending on how the light hits it.
“Wow, you really like art, don’t you? These pieces are fantastic.”
He shrugs with a casual grin. “I guess. I’m not a connoisseur by any means. I just like pretty things, and I knew those would look great in here.”
I chuckle, imagining how my friend Daisy would react to his comment. She’s an architect, and art is her entire world.
He breezes through the bedrooms and bathrooms, showing me the expansive, airy spaces, each one bathed in natural light.
The large windows open to breathtaking views of the hills and vineyards below, the turquoise line of the sea peeking over the horizon at one end.
Finally, we reach the trophy room, and as soon as the door opens, I’m hit with the gleam of gold and silver.
The walls are lined with Elio’s countless awards, from racing trophies to framed photos and helmets from the teams he’s raced for.
Each piece tells a story of victory, of a career built on grit and determination.
“Now, let me take you to the best part of the house,” he says, closing the door as we continue down a long corridor. “The garage.”
When he opens the door, my jaw drops to the floor.
There must be fifteen cars in there, all of them polished, shiny, and probably extremely expensive.
The space before me looks nothing like your typical garage, given how clean it is, and the hundreds of LED lights embedded in the ceiling add another touch of luxury.
“This is not a garage. It’s a car dealership. ”
He laughs, walking inside, and I follow him. “What can I say? I love cars.”
“Do you have one for every day of the month or something?” I ask, a chuckle bubbling out of me.
“I’m getting there.” He winks. “This is my newest one, a vintage Rossi. I got it at an auction last week. Just look at the lines—so sleek for the time period.”
I must admit, it looks pretty cool. “So, which one is your favorite? I like that yellow one.” I point to the one parked next to the vintage Rossi. “It looks like something straight out of Transformers .”
“You’re right, it does,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “You have good taste. It’s also one of my favorites, and it’s probably the one I drive most because it’s so comfortable.”
I scrunch my nose. “Really? It looks cool and all, but it doesn’t exactly scream comfort.”
“That’s because you haven’t tried it yet.” His faint smile morphs into a full-on grin.
I backpedal a few steps, dropping my arms. “No, no. I’m not going for a ride with you.”
“Why not? It’ll be fun, come on.” He opens the door, and it slides upward. “You had a good time at the track.”
“Exactly. I know how it goes—me holding on for dear life while screaming and crying,” I say, the memory of that lap vivid in my mind. A record-breaking heart rate for me, if you believe my smartwatch.
“What!” He splays a hand on his chest. “I’m probably the safest person you’ll ever get in a car with! And by the way, I’m a very careful driver. I abide by all the posted speed limits. In fact, I’m actually kind of slow, and people pass me sometimes.”
I arch an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “Really?”
“When I drive a normal car, I don’t like to push it because I don’t have the same control I have on the track.
The road surface isn’t the same, not to mention the traffic, pedestrians, cyclists, and all that.
So I save the speeding for race weekends.
Plus, I don’t want my driver’s license stripped. I could lose my job.”
I shake my head, chuckling. “Who knew you were a slow driver? That’s kind of ironic. Why have such fancy cars, then?”
“I love to collect them, and these ones are comfortable. And okay, sometimes , when I’m alone on the road and the conditions are just right, I might push a little,” he says, making me laugh. “But I would never do that with you in the car. I take your safety very seriously.”
And suddenly, all the humor in hi s eyes is gone. They darken and trap me like quicksand.
“Trust me, Bella .”
I swallow hard, wanting to say no, but I know I can trust him. Plus, I did have fun the other day. “Fine. We can go for a quick ride.”
“Yes!” he exclaims, pumping his fist like a kid whose parents just agreed to take him to the arcade. “We take this one, then?” He gestures to the yellow car.
I nod, unable to suppress my smile. “Sure.”
He opens the passenger door for me, and the seat is so low, I practically have to throw myself into the car.
Once I’m in, all I can think about is how the heck I’m going to get out of this vehicle.
It’s like we’re sitting on the floor, yet the car is dripping with luxury.
The interior still has that new-car smell, and I’ve always been a sucker for leather—the feel, the smell, the quality.
I usually like it in the shape of a designer bag, but I must say, this car does it for me too.
Elio slips into the driver’s seat and buckles up.
“Um, did you say ‘normal’ car?” I ask, gawking at all the fancy buttons and features. “There is nothing normal about this vehicle.”
He frowns. “If it’s not a race car, it’s a normal car. Trust me,” he jokes. He turns on the engine, and the car rumbles beneath us, dying to be unleashed.
“Ready to go?” he asks.
I glance at him. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”