Chapter 24 Matteo
MATTEO
Ihad showered and dressed by the time the click of the hotel door caught my attention.
I slightly let my brain spiral into stress in the time since Nicola had left.
Was I about to be cut from my dream team?
Probably not, but a lecture was imminent.
That alone made my anxiety spike. I’d yet to have confirmation about my contract renewal.
Moretti Racing typically renewed in even years, two- or four-year contracts.
The first contract was two years, but I had hoped I was proving myself, earning enough points, bringing in sponsors, and putting in the work to get a four-year contract like Carlos was on.
I had a few other teams reach out, trying to vie for my attention with pretty prices and promises.
But Moretti Racing was my home, my childhood dream, one that I wasn’t done fulfilling.
A team I wanted to take to the top, to win a championship, to get a first-place podium finish.
And doing anything to piss off the boss was just straight up stupid.
Yet here I was, head over feet for his own daughter.
Did I think that through?
Probably not.
But from the moment I met her, I was no better than a moth to a flame. I knew I would get burned, but I just kept flying closer.
“Hey,” a soft voice jarred me out of my endless thoughts.
“You look lost in your head,” she noted, walking up to me, her hands finding my arm, drifting up to my cheek.
“Come back out of there.” She smiled. Her smiles were soft with me, unlike any I’d seen outside in the world.
Like they were real and reserved for just me.
It made me want to scream from the top of the rooftops like some lovesick sap that I was the luckiest bastard to exist, to have her here with me, to have her be mine.
“Hey,” I replied and leaned in for a kiss. She met me halfway; her lips were soft and warm and felt like home. “Got caught in the cobwebs is all.”
“Don’t stay up there too long.”
“You tend to pull me back.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You have quite the effect on me, Moretti,” I sighed.
“You’re nervous?”
“Trying not to be? But yeah, I was hoping for news of my contract renewal this year, not to be sitting down with my girlfriend’s dad for the first time.”
“Woah” She put up her hands at the ‘G’ word, playfully. “What happened to slow, DeLuca?”
“Sorry, not girlfriend,” I smirked. “The woman I want to spend every day with who’s also my boss’s daughter. Better?” She rolled her eyes at me in response.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting to have my father meet my not-boyfriend today either, but here we are.”
“Not-boyfriend, huh?”
“Something like that.” She kissed me. “Let’s get out of here.”
While walking to the car, Nicola surprised me by slipping her hand into mine before we left the lobby doors.
It was such a small act, but it felt like this huge thing, like blocks placed together, perfectly matched.
The flashes and shouting of paparazzi was not surprising, especially since the bombshell exclusive that dropped last night.
“Matteo! Nicola!” the crowd shouted. Nicola held her head high, shoulders back, and smiled to the crowd.
“You two made up after last night’s fight?” someone shouted. I followed Nicola as she confidently walked the short way to the car, ignoring the comments and holding onto my hand tightly. I opened the door for her, letting her slide in first, before I followed suit.
“What did we fight about, you think?” she asked, cracking a smile and raising her eyebrows. I rolled my eyes.
“Who the hell knows.” The media spun things however they wanted to—it was chaos transformed into catchy headlines that sold.
“Oh!” she sang, turning her phone to me. “Big fight apparently!”
The new couple already on the fritz, Moretti Heiress and her new beau, Moretti Racing Driver, Matteo DeLuca, fighting after a podium finish!
Nicola won’t share the spotlight with up-and-coming Formula One driver Matteo DeLuca.
“You’re such a spotlight hog,” I poked at her.
“Sorry I thought we were broken up, who are you?” she threw back. I tipped her head up, hand on her chin, and then pulled her to me.
“I’m the best damn lay you’ve ever met,” I smirked and crashed my lips to her.
“Damn right.” She let her head fall back in laughter. A throat cleared from the front of the car.
“So sorry, but where are we headed this morning?” the driver asked.
“The Langlin Hotel, please,” Nicola replied. He nodded then the divider began raising into place, giving us back some privacy. I did my best to keep it light in the car. Our usual jabs were softer now, more playful.
“Your sister is in love, by the way.”
“Obviously,” I replied.
“You knew?” she gasped.
“Yeah, I’m not blind. They were. The fake dating charade was hilarious though. Alexander’s had eyes for her since the first time I brought him to the Vineyard.” I shrugged.
“What?” Nicola shrieked. “How long ago was that!”
“Years ago, when she was engaged to the asshat. She came to a good amount of home races with my parents too, and back in the F2 days. I mean Alex got pulled up faster than me, but yeah, the heart eyes started early.”
“That didn’t bug you?”
“Nope, I just want her to be happy. She and Gianna deserve the world.”
“They really do,” Nicola sighed. “Their love story is kind of magical.”
“Nicola Moretti believing in love?” I gasped.
“I believe in love!” she shot back, offended. “I just thought maybe I ran out of luck. I had my chances and nothing stuck. How many chances does one get at real love?”
“You deserve love, just as anyone does.”
“I am loved. I have my family, my friends. I just, I don’t know.
Romantic love seems different, ya know? Like it’s this ultra-rare thing, someone to love every part of you as you are, in all your different phases and ways.
My parents love each other in this really unique way.
They’re totally different people but they still work.
Something about that is kind of amazing.
To the outside world, they don’t fit. And while my dad shows maybe no love on the outside, he shows up for us in every way that counts.
He’s really never let me down, which is also an incredibly fortunate thing.
Having parents that are still married feels insane these days.
But they didn’t even marry till they were in their forties, so who knows. Maybe it’ll find me eventually.”
“It will,” I nodded, sure of it. Hopefully it would be me, but I was positive that she would find that ‘sweep you off your feet’ love.
“I’m a Moretti after all—apparently even you’re using me for my name.” She batted her lashes at me and gave my cheek a kiss. My heart hummed at the contact.
“You being a Moretti is the least interesting thing about you.”
“Um?” She shot me an unsure look.
“You’re a force, don’t get me wrong. But not because you’re a Moretti, because you’re Nicola.
Because you sing when you get ready in the morning and do a little happy dance after your first bite of food, and because you care about people in a huge, life-altering way.
When you put your mind to something, you dedicate everything you have to it.
Like the programs you’re collaborating with for the Foundation.
You’re scary on the outside—” She glared again.
“But you’ve got this huge heart. The most interesting thing about you is that you are you. ”
She stared at me, her eyes looking a little glassy before she leaned in for a soft kiss. Not rushed or heated or frantic, but slow and soft. I wanted to collect all the versions of the way she kisses. Every single damn one.
The car pulled to a stop outside the Langlin Hotel. If I thought the hotel Anna placed us at this weekend was nice, this one would blow it out of the water.
“Damn,” I said looking through the window.
“Pretty right? And I get this one too.”
“Excuse me?” I said looking over to Nicola.
“My family owns the Langlin Hotels,” she said like it was an obvious thing.
“Holy shit, what doesn’t your family do?”
“My grandfather bought a small resort in London when he was in his twenties. It was foreclosing and everything, but he turned it into what the Langlins are today. I asked him for the Vegas one, my brother will get the London one, and my father has the other four.”
“I repeat: holy shit,” I said, too stunned to form any other words.
“It’s not that big of a deal.” She gently slapped my arm. “We have access to them on our thirtieth birthdays. I’m very excited, I want them to be the premier spot for Moretti Foundation events too!”
“That’s amazing Nic,” I said, squeezing her hand, then cracked a smile. “What’s it like being richer than me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, according to the tabloids, you’re the one using me, remember? For all my fame and fortune.”
“Do you think I can get another Moretti G8 series but in one of those custom colors?”
“Might be under the tree at Christmas,” she winked. I coughed out a laugh. “Alright, let’s get in there. We can’t be late. Gianfranco would not approve.”
The mere mention of Nicola’s father had me adjusting my jacket like it could somehow armor me against the oncoming storm.
I wasn’t sure what was worse: Gianfranco Moretti being my boss and a living legend in the F1 world or him being the father of the woman I was falling for.
He was the kind of man who built dynasties and dismantled egos without blinking.
You didn’t mess with Gianfranco. You didn’t even breathe around him without double-checking your form.
I stepped out of the car and tried to mirror Nicola’s calm confidence, but honestly, the nerves were tap-dancing in my stomach. My usual charm? Useless here. My smile? A minor annoyance to a man like Gianfranco. What I did have was a solid track record and the work ethic to back it up.
I walked around to open the door for her. Nicola stepped out, shorter than usual without her heels, but no less powerful.
“We’ve got this,” she said as we approached the front door.
I wanted to believe her.
The door creaked open, and Nicola led us through the polished corridors of the lounge.
She waved at the bartender—because of course she knew the bartender—and then we slipped behind the bar like some secret agents on a mission.
The man casually pressed against a shelf of liquor, and suddenly, it swung open to reveal a hidden door.
My jaw dropped. “Respectfully? This is some mafia-type shit.”
“Shut up,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.
But I caught the curve of a smirk as we stepped into the dimly lit room. It looked like something out of a film: leather chairs, dark wood, floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with books that looked older than the sport itself. And at the back sat Gianfranco Moretti.
He stood the moment Nicola entered, his face softening instantly as he opened his arms. She walked into his hug without hesitation.
Then his eyes shifted to me, and the warmth vanished like it had never been there.
“DeLuca,” he said, extending a hand.
I took it. Firm shake. Almost a bone-crusher. A message disguised as a greeting.
We sat. A bartender entered with three cups and a steaming kettle of chamomile tea. I blinked. Not what I expected from a man who could command a room with a single look, but then again, this was Gianfranco Moretti. He didn’t need whiskey to be terrifying.
“So.” He poured the tea with quiet precision. “You two are together now?”
Straight to it. Damn.
I glanced at Nicola, offering her the lead. It was her father. Her call.
“Yes,” she said, clear and steady, and then—she reached for my hand. Interlaced our fingers. My heart did a strange little flip.
“I would have preferred to hear it from you, Tesoro,” Gianfranco said, his voice dipping to something more personal, “not from a tabloid headline. But I understand the need for privacy. Unfortunately, this is no longer a private matter.”
“I know,” Nicola said. Her voice didn’t waver. “We’ll handle it.”
He turned to me then, and I braced myself. “DeLuca, you’re a valued part of this team. You’ve earned your place here. But this situation—it complicates things. You understand how the media spins a story. They’ll say you’re leveraging the relationship to your advantage.”
I opened my mouth, but he held up a hand.
“If you’re serious about Nicola—about this—then we will go public on our own terms. Make your first formal appearance at the end-of-season gala in Rome. Until then, I expect both of you to stay focused. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I said immediately. I wanted to say more. I wanted to say I would never hurt her. I would never exploit her or this team. But I had a feeling he already knew that. He just needed to hear me agree to the plan.
Nicola straightened. “I think the gala debut makes sense. But from a PR standpoint, we should also consider announcing Matteo’s contract extension early. Get ahead of the speculation.”
I blinked. That…wasn’t part of the plan.
But Gianfranco nodded. “I agree. And in fact, Matteo”—he turned back to me—“the board and I have already approved the extension. Should you accept, we’ll move the official announcement to tomorrow.”
For a second, I forgot how to breathe. The blood in my body surged all at once, pounding in my ears. They were extending me. They were locking me in.
“Thank you,” I managed, trying not to sound too stunned, “I didn’t expect to hear so soon.”
“No point in delaying the inevitable,” he said with a shrug, “We’ll send over the documents. I trust Anna will handle the rest.”
I nodded quickly. “Absolutely.”
Then he turned to Nicola, and the air in the room lightened just a little.
“And how are you, my dear?”
Her smile was soft but proud. “Good. The Rome event is on track, and last weekend’s campaign broke records for race day donations.”
I watched the way his face shifted, that rare glint of fatherly pride shining through.
“I’m very proud of you,” he said, “I know the gala will be a triumph. I’ll see you at the board meeting for the Foundation later today. I’m excited to see what you’re presenting.”
She lit up under his praise, and damn it, I lit up with her.
Because this—this was the part the media didn’t always see. The family behind the legacy. The heart behind the headlines.