Chapter 25 #2
I glance at the track again and then turn my attention back to the gift.
Still half afraid, I pull off the ribbon and then lift the edge of the wrapping paper.
A ripple of pleasure instantly goes through me as I see the corner of a small book with a brown leather cover.
Tearing off the rest of the paper, I uncover part two of a collection of poems by Torquato Tasso—the companion book to the one that Marco gave me shortly after we were married.
I bring it to every race for good luck. Now I have the complete set.
“A book?” Frankie says, wrinkling her nose. “I hope it’s a good one.”
“It’s love poems,” I admit sheepishly. “In Italian.”
“Ugh, that is sickeningly romantic,” she says, laughing a little. “I’m jealous.”
Opening to the first page, I see Marco’s handwriting. He’s transcribed a few lines that I recognize right away from the Italian opera Falstaff.
Come ti vidi, m’innamorai, e tu
Sorridi perche lo sai
When I saw you, I fell in love
And you smiled, because you knew
My throat tightens with emotion as I run a finger over the words.
Even though I love the gift, I can’t help feeling like it’s a premature goodbye in case he doesn’t make it.
Something for me to remember him by. Before I have a chance to fall apart completely, the sound of car engines roar to life below us.
This is it. I get a rush of adrenaline as the starting gun fires and I watch Marco’s car fly forward.
It feels like he’s at the first corner in an instant, and before I can take a full breath, the first lap is over.
Pietro keeps in line with Marco for the first few laps, even pulling ahead of him a few times.
My entire body is an anxious, jittery mess and all I can do is press the Tasso poems to my chest as I breathlessly follow the race.
Every so often, I hear Armani audibly reacting with grunts or groans.
When he curses under his breath, I squint hard at the track to see what’s wrong and realize that Pietro’s fallen back behind Marco’s car—not because he’s actually letting Marco get the upper hand, but because he’s about to do something shady.
My stomach churns as I see Pietro’s car lurch forward and slam into Marco’s bumper, jostling him off the edge of the track.
“Motherfucker,” Dante grinds out.
Marco pulls hard to the right, trying to shake Pietro, his car careening toward the wall. I stare in horror, fully expecting him to crash or spin out, but he corrects his trajectory at the last possible second and powers ahead of Pietro again.
Unable to sit still any longer, Dante stands beside Frankie, one hand on her shoulder.
Behind us, Armani is pacing. The tension in our box palpable.
When Marco suddenly drops back for no apparent reason, all four of us gasp.
My heart sinks as Pietro and two other cars race past Marco and take the lead placements.
“What the fuck?” Armani yells.
He moves closer to stand next to Dante. Both men lean over the rail. Frankie reaches for my hand, and we share a worried look as Marco falls behind yet another spot, and then pulls into his pit box. His crew rushes over to do some work on his car. It’s taking forever. He’s never going to catch up.
My knee is jiggling nervously, and I’m squeezing Frankie’s hand so hard that I can’t feel my fingers. Finally, finally, Marco zooms back onto the speedway.
“Jesus Christ. This is bad. Very, very bad,” Armani says, rubbing his hands over his face. “We’re gonna lose everything.”
By some miracle, Marco manages to slowly gain on the leading handful of cars, steadily closing the twelve-second gap with every lap, one fraction of a second at a time. Until—
“I don’t fucking believe it,” Dante murmurs, awed.
Down on the track, Marco catches up to Pietro, who’s in third.
Now it’s Marco’s turn to play dirty. Before he can get the chance, however, Pietro jerks to the left, trying to cut Marco off—but taking out a blue car instead.
Tires squeal as Pietro and the other car go spinning across the track together.
The whole crowd seems to leap to its feet as Pietro’s car finally separates from the blue one and barrels straight onto the grass before coming to a full stop.
The caution flag is waved, and all the cars slow to a crawl.
Pietro and the blue car manage to right themselves, and then the race resumes.
But something seems to be wrong with Pietro’s car.
It sputters and can’t seem to accelerate.
It’s his turn to pull into the pit lane.
While Pietro’s car gets worked on, Marco maneuvers like a madman around all the other cars.
My chest goes tight as I watch him fight to regain the lead.
He’s nearly overtaken the second-place car when Pietro races back onto the track, locked and loaded once more.
“NO!” Frankie shouts.
The next three laps are a neck-and-neck fight. I get out of my seat and push between Armani and Dante, gripping the rail with white knuckles as I watch the final two laps play out.
The fate of this family rides on these last few seconds.
Pietro cranks his car sharply to the right, intending to bump Marco again. But Marco must sense him coming, because he arcs out of the way. He loses some momentum in the process, though, and ends up behind Pietro, who now has the lead.
The flag for the final lap is dropped.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Dante chants like a prayer. “You got this.”
“You got this, bro!” Armani yells.
I feel Frankie push between me and Dante, and then her arm goes around my shoulder. I’ve never been so glad to have her at my side.
“Come on, Marco!” she shouts. “Let’s go! Last lap!”
Marco is half a car-length behind. Every time he tries to pull up closer to Pietro’s car, Pietro skitters to the side to push Marco back.
When another car suddenly comes up hard and fast and tries to squeeze between them, Marco makes his move.
He taps the center car just enough that it spins out, crashing into Pietro.
Both cars careen to the left and Marco makes the risky move of accelerating in the center of a curve.
His car fishtails, and for a second, I’m certain he’s about to crash into the wall.
But he holds on, keeps the car steady, and accelerates into the final stretch with everything he’s got.
Pietro never gets his tires back on the track before Marco blasts past the checkered flag, taking first place with a lead of just .
008 seconds. The spectators are going wild, the stands are shaking like an earthquake with the stomp of feet, and I think Frankie and I are both screaming.
Tears are streaming down my face and I can’t stop jumping up and down.
Armani leans over the railing as if his knees have given out. Dante slaps him on the back, lets out a relieved breath, and then turns and pulls me into his arms. Frankie joins us in the hug and to my surprise, so does Armani.
It’s over. It’s really over.