Chapter 10
LORENZO
“Hey man,” Max says, nodding as I push through the glass doors of the cycling studio.
It’s early Saturday morning, but the sleek Equinox sports club is already packed.
The bass hits me before anything else. Some kind of hard rock remix pumping through the speakers so loud I can feel it in my chest.
Looking around, I see the usual members in expensive gear waiting for class to begin. They adjust their handlebars while checking themselves out in the mirrored walls.
I high five Max before hopping onto my own bike. At the front of the class, our favorite instructor chats with a few guys minutes before class.
“Looks like those jokers think they have a shot with Molly,” Max huffs as he glares at the men surrounding her.
I see one of them has a hand braced on the handlebar of Molly’s bike, leaning in like he owns the place.
They’re all grinning at whatever she just said, but their eyes are firmly glued on her A+ ass.
“If you don’t get the nerve to ask her out, maybe they will,” I say to Max.
“Fuck you, Renzo,” he shoots back.
Max is one of two people who are allowed to use my nickname.
“There’s not a man in this club who has precedence over me.”
“Except me,” I laugh.
“Not anymore. You’re forgetting you’re a married man now. Your wife probably has you on a leash.”
“Since when has anyone been able to put me on a leash?” I shoot back, digging my shoes into the pedals.
Up front, Molly clicks her mic on and squares her shoulders to the room.
The massive 3D screen behind her lights up with cinematic bike trails.
“I’m not sure you got my message,” Max says, his voice low. “After you left the club last night, another Russian tried to make trouble.”
I shoot him a sharp, questioning look.
“We took care of him,” he continues quietly. “But Lorenzo, you know the Petrovs won’t stop until they get what they want.”
“Leave the Petrovs to me.”
The second the music kicks in, Molly screams into her mic. “Let’s go, everyone! We’re riding through the vineyards of Tuscany!”
The beat drops hard.
I grip the handlebars and start pedaling.
Molly’s taunts fuel me as my mind races faster than my legs.
Those fucking Petrovs. What the fuck do they think they’re doing, encroaching on our territory? Dante made a truce with them just months ago. Now they’re reneging.
My legs burn.
Sweat pours down my back. On the giant screen, the virtual road winds through sun-drenched hills as my progress bar climbs higher and higher.
Max glances over and pedals harder, trying to catch me, but he can’t. I’m in another zone.
I’m fucking invincible.
The music builds to a thunderous crescendo, then explodes into the “Rocky theme.”
I throw my arms up in a mock victory pose as I dismount, chest heaving.
A few people clap and shoot me a high-five.
But out of the corner of my eye, I see a group of girls whispering among themselves.
And looking directly at me.
Max and I are both dripping sweat. But that can’t be the reason they’re looking at us.
“What’s that about?” I ask Max.
He shrugs. “Who knows? Let’s hit the showers, my friend.”