Chapter 11
MARCO
I’m going to crush Pietro Manzo today.
I’ve considered countless ways I could get back at him for what he and the Brunos have done to Karina, and though I’ve certainly daydreamed about getting violent with the guy, I know that hitting him where it hurts most—his pride—is what will give me the most satisfaction.
Once I make him eat my dust on the track, I’ll feel so much better.
Not only that, but taking that first place win out of his hands will be my own personal counterstrike against everything the Brunos have pulled on us thus far.
My way of putting the Bellanti stamp on things.
It doesn’t have to be a bomb or a bullet.
It can simply be a humiliating public trouncing.
Race-car driving might not be the kind of revenge that my brothers would ever deploy, but it sits well with me.
My confidence is rock solid, for good reason. I’m far better than Pietro when it comes to racing. More skilled, more practiced, more ruthless. And I’m willing to take big risks. That’s way better than just “sneakier with a gun,” right?
It’s no secret why I have such a vendetta against the guy; he’s the man who almost took my woman from me.
Plus, he’s cocky as hell and doesn’t have the chops to back it up.
And yeah, I suppose there’s some of my own ego and testosterone at work here, too.
But at the end of the day, Pietro’s a lowlife who deserves to pay.
I’d rather beat this guy to shreds on the track than on the street, give him the finger every time we roll up to the same starting line.
What better way to tell him to kiss my ass than to fly past him under the checkered flag?
Not just today, either, but over and over again.
As long as he’s racing, I’ll be the thorn in his side.
He’s going to learn that he can’t beat me.
That I am always going to win. That he’ll never lay a finger on my wife again.
Pietro loves the track as much as I do, and there’s no better way to destroy him than to make him a permanent loser.
If only it’d be enough to make Karina feel better, too. But it won’t be. She’s got her own shit going on right now. I don’t know what it is, but I can tell by the way she’s been hiding it from me that it’s heavy. Something she thinks she can’t talk to me about.
My wife has been acting off ever since we rescued her from that warehouse her uncle threw her in.
I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but she’s not herself.
Sure, she smiles and acts like everything is fine, but I can see in her eyes and her body language that she’s constantly on edge.
And she’s quieter than usual, reluctant to engage with the family.
Sometimes she’ll even walk off in the middle of a conversation without any explanation.
Confronting her only results in denial. I’m lost about how to make her open up to me.
What did Pietro do to her when she was in captivity? It turns my stomach to think about that asshole putting his hands on her. She told me that he kissed her, and I’ll make him pay for that. But was there more? Is that the secret she’s keeping from me? The reason she’s been so closed off?
As I pace the garage, nodding distractedly at whatever my pit crew is saying, I can’t banish the intruding images of him touching her, stripping her naked, forcing her to do things. Clenching my fists, I take a deep breath and try to shove the thoughts from my head.
I hate not knowing. All this worrying only makes me want to stomp Pietro more. I’m going to annihilate him today, in front of his sponsors, the fans, and everyone. Hell, I might even go back and run him over a few more times just to see him smeared all over the sidewall.
The sound of an impact wrench pulls me back to the present.
I need to focus. My crew chief, Billy Jost, comes over to discuss the pre-race inspection and I nod as I watch the rest of my guys mill around the garage in various stages of preparations.
My race suit hangs from its hook on the wall, my helmet ready beside it.
A thrill shoots down my spine like it always does before a race.
My blood pumping with adrenaline, my body heating.
Nothing gives me a rush like preparing for a race does. Well, nothing except my wife.
I turn to where she’s sitting quietly in the corner, her nose in a book.
I had a special chair brought into the garage, just for her.
It’s big and plush and looked exactly like something she’d want to sink into and read in.
It’s way better than the folding chair she normally uses when she comes with me to the track garage.
The truth is, I like having her here with me. Her presence centers me before a race and I always feel calmer and more prepared when she’s here. My chest tightens seeing her curled up in the chair. She looks innocent as she bites her lower lip, and it does something to me.
Clearing my throat, I turn to my crew.
“Give me twenty, okay? I need a little zen moment.”
They eye me reluctantly, and Billy frowns. There’s still a lot to do before the race starts, but I need a few minutes with my wife. Alone.
She looks up suddenly, as if she just realized something is happening. The men file out and then it’s just me and Karina in the private garage. I lock the door behind my crew and move to my wife. She watches me approach. Her brow furrows.
“Don’t they need to finish going over the checklist?”
“They will,” I tell her. “Don’t worry.”
“You can’t risk something being wrong with the car.”
Putting my hands on the armrests of her chair, I lean closer. “Nothing is wrong with my car. It’s perfect. Just like you. But if you’re really worried, there’s something else you can do to bless my race.”
Karina sets down her book, a sneaky smile tugging her lips. “Oh, really?”
Holding out my hand for her to take, I lift her to her feet.
Desire floods me as I lead her over to my car and press her back against the hood.
She looks up at me, her eyes darkening with passion, and when I move to kiss her she opens her mouth so willingly for me it pushes me into a frenzy.
I slide my hands over her body and then turn her so she’s facing the hood, then pull her hips back so her ass bumps against my raging hard-on.
“You think you can handle this?” I ask.
“Yes,” Karina says, gasping when I roughly pull up her skirt and thrust my hand between her legs.
Her panties are barely there, the fabric thin and silky. Her heat floods my palm as I slip a hand down to cup her pussy. She’s already wet, and she grinds against me as I rub her clit.
“You gonna be my good-luck charm today, baby?”
She laughs. “Always.”
Lowering my zipper, I curl a finger around the crotch of her underwear and tug it violently to the side so I can shove my cock into her, abruptly turning her laugh to a moan.
“Ooh, that’s good,” she says, spreading her arms wide so she steadies herself against the hood as I start jackhammering into her. “Give me that cock.”
Karina meets every one of my thrusts, both of us breathing hard as we pick up the pace.
Her ass claps against my hips, her sharp cries of pleasure echoing in the garage.
My jeans are bunched around my thighs, impeding my movements, but I don’t even care.
Fucking her against this car is freeing, invigorating, all-consuming. It’s the only thing I care about.
I lean over her, kissing the back of her neck, grunting in her ear as I pump.
“That’s it. Give me that sweet, sweet pussy,” I growl. “So tight. So hot. Fuck yeah. Tell me how much you like that.”
“I love it,” she pants, short gasps bursting out of her as her hips knock against the frame of the car. “You feel so good. So good.”
She shifts her stance so her legs are crossed at the ankles, subtly creating more tightness and friction along the entire length of my shaft.
“Holy fuck, where’d you learn how to do that?” I groan.
“Cosmo,” she answers primly.
“Jesus.”
She grinds even faster against me, her moans pitching higher over the sound of our skin slapping, begging me for more. My balls tighten and I struggle to hold back as I push her to the edge, needing her to fall with me.
“Come with me,” I tell her.
Her hand closes over mine to guide it back between her legs, and she positions my fingers right over her clit. I know exactly what to do, exactly how to work her.
“Come for me, baby,” I coax.
“Yes,” she moans. “Yes. Yes.”
“Come on. I want to feel you fucking come,” I tell her, nibbling her earlobe.
“Yes.”
With that she tosses her head back and cries out, her whole body trembling as she starts to orgasm. I join her only seconds later, reveling in the hot gush of my cock inside her, the way her pussy clamps and floods around my dick with every shuddering contraction.
Shit, that was fast and hard and just what I needed.
Pulling back, I turn her for a kiss. She loops her arms around my neck and sighs deeply.
She’s so pliable in my arms, the perfect fit as she nestles against me.
I sink my face into the curve of her neck and lose myself in a sweet moment of peace before a knock on the door interrupts us.
She laughs and hurriedly fixes her clothes as I zip up and wait for her to get back in the chair with her book in hand, looking like she didn’t just fuck me silly, before I open the door.
“We’re running out of time, boss,” Billy says, clearly exasperated.
“You aren’t wrong,” I tell my crew chief. “Let’s get her ready to roll.”
My crew filters back in and I give Karina a quick kiss and leave to get my racing suit on.
When the car finally rolls out onto the track, my mindset shifts as I focus completely on what’s ahead. My crew chief gives me a thumbs-up, but as I slip into my car, I get the fleeting sensation that something is missing. Like I’ve forgotten something, but I don’t know what.
Shrugging it off, I take my place at the starting line, passing Pietro’s car as I go.
He looks at me and holds my gaze, a slimy grin on his face.
Ignoring him, I grip the wheel and take a deep breath, my heart beating in time to the countdown of seconds before the flag drops.
I lick my lips to get a taste of Karina to keep with me.
I think about how she looked in the garage, peacefully curled up in her chair with her book, and my chest squeezes.
I want more of that kind of peace for her. If only I knew how to do it.
The red light goes off on the signal bridge, an airhorn blows, and the flag drops.
It’s go time.
My breath catches in my throat as I blast from my starting position, adrenaline vibrating through me.
A buzzing sound plays in my head, growing louder as I shift and pick up speed.
My pulse drums in my temples and the sides of my neck, bam, bam, bam.
I shift again, throwing the car into gear as it speeds down the straightaway.
I finally let out a long breath as I back off the accelerator to make the first turn. Static crackles through my earpiece.
“Easy on the turn,” my crew boss says.
I know he’s watching my every move through binoculars from his seat in the pit box.
I don’t respond. He likes to coach me more when I first get going, easing up as the race goes on, his focus (and silence) only intensifying as I get closer and closer to the finish.
It’s our routine, and just hearing his voice settles me into the moment.
Billy’s not just a cheerleader, though. If anything goes wrong, he’ll be in my ear again, making any on-the-fly strategy decisions. I literally trust him with my life.
The steering wheel vibrates under my gloves, sending a brief shock of anxiety through me.
I’m sure it’s nothing. A rough patch of asphalt, maybe.
The vibration stops a second later as I come out of the turn, shift gears, and pick up speed.
Settling in, I take my first look to the sides.
Pietro is on my left. His colors flash in my peripheral as he gains on me. Fucker.
Gritting my teeth, I accelerate and sway toward him. I catch how he narrows his eyes as our cars nearly touch right before I move fully into my lane, accelerate again, and move in front of him just in time to make the next corner.
“Fuck you!” I whisper as I slow down, forcing him to slow as well.
The other cars trap him on the corner and there’s nowhere for him to go. Once I’m out of this curve, I’ll skip a few lanes on my right and pull ahead of everyone. With any luck, Pietro will get bounced another car back and lose his place.
The steering wheel shakes again right as I’m almost out of the curve.
“Billy, what the fuck is going on with the steering?”
“What’s wrong?”
I get the same feeling I had earlier. That I forgot something. The feeling swells as I come out of the curve, and I can’t shake it this time. The wheel vibrates like something’s loose, which doesn’t make sense. My team checked the car from top to bottom, every last lug nut and fuse—
Except I kicked them out so I could be alone with my wife.
I come out of the turn, grip the wheel, and accelerate. My car swerves to the left. Cranking the wheel, I try to correct. I hop into the center of my lane, the vibrations of the wheel making my hands numb.
“Billy—” But I don’t get the rest of the words out.
A car knocks into my left with a flash of yellow. It’s Pietro. He knocks into me again—not hard. Just enough to push. Something snaps. I feel it at the same time I hear the sound of cracking metal.
My car lurches violently to the right and suddenly I’m whirling, spinning, my body flung against my harness.
Crunch. Crack. Smoke. Acrid air filling my lungs.
“Marco!” Static. “Marco!”
Static.
I blink against something wet in my eyes. It stings and shades my vision. The top of my head throbs and feels heavy, like a weight on my skull trying to force me down. A keening sound fills my ears, and then my body comes to a jolting stop. Everything is still.
“Marco!”
My lips part to respond to the sound of my name, but I can’t get the words out.
I’m not okay.
Something has happened. What the hell has happened?
But I can’t speak the words as my throat tightens and I’m hit with a nauseating wave of vertigo.
And then it all goes black.