38. Wes
I watch the sun rise and wonder if I’ll ever feel tired.
After the gunshot rang out in the ballroom, the lights came back on. There were audible gasps and shocked exclamations as everyone watched the Captain of the Guard handcuff a petite, dark-haired woman in a blue ballgown who was holding a small, silver handgun.
But I immediately turned and looked at the King. He was standing in the exact spot I left him in and there was a discernible hole on the left side of his chest, exposing the body armor he was wearing under his tux.
Over the course of the next day, I spoke with the Captain of the Guard, Druvia’s Intelligence Director, and a nondescript man in a very boring suit who I would wager was from Interpol.
After telling them every single detail I know about Elio Rocca, Stas Dubinsky, and why I was sent to Druvia no fewer than three times, I was told I was free to go.
I thought I’d be exhausted. I thought I’d collapse into bed and not move for a solid day. But as I watch day break, the oblivion of sleep is the last thing on my mind.
No one could tell me the status of Elizabeth or Stas. And now that Elio’s assassination plot has been foiled, I have no idea what happens next. With no phone or connection to the outside world, I’m in the dark on everything until someone decides to loop me in.
Surely this is fixable. I just need to find a palace staff member and tell them I need a computer. The fact that I haven’t done it before now seems incomprehensible.
As I open the door and step into the hallway, I see étienne walking toward me. “I figured you weren’t asleep,” he says, before holding out a phone.
There, on the screen, is a breaking news story.
ELIO ROCCA, F1 BOSS AND ORGANIZED CRIME KINGPIN, ARRESTED IN LONDON
“Holy shit,” I breathe. “What about Elizabeth? And Stas?
“Come on, Wes,” he says, smiling softly. “We have a plane to catch.”
I pass out as soon as I sit in the plush leather seat of the royal jet. The next thing I know, someone is shaking me awake. “There he is.”
“Fuck off,” I say, trying to turn away.
“Wes, we’ve landed. I can get people to carry you off the plane, but I’m certain you don’t want that. Think of the indignity.”
I groan.
“I know, man,” étienne says. “We’ll get you a coffee.”
“With real milk,” I say, still groggy. “And full-sugar vanilla.”
“Soy milk will probably be better for your gut if Camden has you off dairy.”
“I’m on break, you asshole,” I mutter, and étienne laughs.
“I’m just looking out for you. Lactose can be a real bitch.”
I laugh, and accept that I am actually awake. “Deal.”
We go from the plane to the black sedan that’s waiting for us on the tarmac and are soon deposited at the back entrance of a hotel, where we’re greeted by a straight-backed doorman and a smiling woman who hands us cups of fragrant, glorious coffee.
“Thank you so much,” étienne says, as I drawl, “You are a literal goddess.”
The woman smiles, and then we’re whisked inside by security and directed to a service elevator. After I’ve taken a revitalizing gulp of my delightfully sweet coffee, I ask, “Where the hell are we?”
“Outside of Verona,” étienne says.
“As in Shakespeare?”
“As in Italy. But yes, also Shakespeare. It’s always such a delight when you remind me you’re cultured.”
One of the security guys tries to muffle his laugh by passing it off as a cough, but he is in no way successful. “It’s not like you have to be a prince to read Shakespeare.”
“He says as if he wasn’t raised by Harvard professors,” étienne quips.
When the elevator doors open, étienne’s security guys exit first, sweeping the hallway, before motioning for us to follow. Soon, we stop in front of a door and étienne takes my coffee. “You should knock.”
My heart pounds in anticipation as I step up and rap my knuckles against the door. It opens only a breath later and the second my gaze meets navy blue, I fall to my knees.
“Elizabeth,” I exhale, wrapping my arms around her hips and burying my face in her stomach.
I feel her sink down to the floor, and then she’s right in front of me, her hands on my face.
“I’m here,” she says. “We’re both here.”
“I was so fucking scared.”
I’ve been compartmentalizing my fear and anxiety, refusing to let it overwhelm me. But I don’t have to do that anymore.
It’s really over.
“You did so well, Wes.” Elizabeth’s voice is low in my ear, this conversation for only the two of us. “You were so brave. Every move you made was the right one.”
I choke back a sob as I bury my face in her shoulder, holding her tighter.
“You were perfect,” she whispers. “No one could have done better.” Then her lips find mine and my entire world narrows to us.
She breaks the kiss far sooner than I’d like, and when I chase her mouth, she breathes a laugh. “There are some other people here who want to say hello to you.”
Right. We’re on the floor. In a doorway. I look into the suite and my eyes widen in surprise. “Jane?”
I stand and reach out a hand to help Elizabeth up, but she, unsurprisingly, rises to her feet without assistance.
“Hi, Wes,” Jane says, her voice warm. Elizabeth and I move into the room along with étienne, while the security team stays outside. I make quick work of introducing Jane and étienne—and then I hear an impatient sigh from behind me.
It’s one I would know anywhere.
Stas is seated on a couch, looking amused, perturbed, and bored all at once. Tears fill my eyes once again, and Stas says, “No. You can fall to your knees, but I cannot abide crying.”
“Don’t be a dick to me today,” I say, laughing as I cross the room. He does nothing to stop me from embracing him.
“You’re okay?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “It’s good to see you.”
I smile. “You, too.”
“And congratulations.”
I lift an eyebrow, and he grins. “Elizabeth. I like her.”
“Ah. I knew you couldn’t mean me having more Drivers’ Championship points than you.”
He laughs. “For now.”
“Yeah. For now.”
“Not to rush this reunion,” étienne says.
“But some of us aren’t on summer break.” I let out a boo, Stas glowers at the prince, Elizabeth laughs, and Jane looks as if she’s wandered into a fairytale, all doe-eyed as she catalogs every moment.
“Before I go, the five of us should fill each other in on everything that’s happened,” he says. “Close all the gaps.”
As if anyone here would object to that.
Stas starts, explaining how his uncle met Elio years ago during a business lunch.
When Yevgeny eventually asked Elio for advice on how to help Stas attract more sponsors so he could compete in bigger karting tournaments, Elio roped him into laundering money in exchange for making Stas’s dream come true.
Years later, once Elio’s operation had grown and Stas’s talent was on a world stage, Elio decided Yevgeny’s money laundering services weren’t enough.
Yevgeny tried to keep Stas out of it, but Elio swore his connections in F1 could ensure that Stas suffered a career-ending accident on the track—and that terrified Yevgeny.
So Stas was brought into the operation, working as a go-between.
He would be instructed to say something specific to a race VIP, to attend a certain dinner party and collect a flash drive from a certain guest, to play blackjack until he lost every cent of the money that had been transferred to a Swiss bank account Elio opened in Stas’s name.
He never knew what it was all for, exactly, but he had his suspicions.
And when he was told to collect a Bugatti from one of the most ruthless oligarchs in Russia and then gamble it away a few months later, he knew Elio had become a very dangerous man.
Stas hoped that facilitating a deal of that magnitude would be enough to get him and his uncle out.
But Elio wanted even more. He maneuvered himself into the position of Martine team principal and then ordered Stas to leave Orion.
When he refused, Elio threatened to kill his family.
So that’s why Stas left the best team in F1 to drive for a team in the mid-field.
But he also hatched a plan.
He threw his weight around, ensuring I could stay in the sport, and he kept Elio close.
He earned his trust. And when Elio finally told Stas that the Bugatti was a down payment for the development of a biochemical weapon, he and Yevgeny started giving all the information they had to MI6 in exchange for immunity.
MI6 got Interpol involved, and when there was an opportunity to bust one of Elio’s operations as it moved through London, Stas agreed to being arrested.
They knew Elio was insulated enough that the evidence wouldn’t keep him in custody—but it would be enough to spook him, get him out of the sport, and launch an official investigation.
From there, étienne jumps in, explaining how a Druvian businessman discovered Liu Zhenghao’s company was manufacturing Reverie when he was in China for work and overheard two dock workers joking about how the kickbacks they receive for helping traffic “21st century opium” would make them rich.
The man thought it was odd that they were both wearing Martine Racing hats.
Once Druvia’s intelligence network had that information, it didn’t take long for them to discover Liu Zhenghao was linked to Elio.
After Elizabeth, Jane, and I add our portions of the story, I say, “So that’s it. All our questions are answered.”
“Not all of them,” Elizabeth grumbles. “Who sent Alice the footage of you and Stas talking to Liu Zhenghao? Was it Yevgeny?”
Stas shakes his head. “No. Interpol already knew about that and my uncle would not have gone to a journalist directly. It must have been someone else.”
Elizabeth gasps. “The favor email.” She’s immediately on her phone—which was recovered from one of Elio’s goons—and is typing furiously. “Oh my God!”
“What?” I ask.
“I’m such an idiot. Do you know what Freddie’s dad does for a living?” I shake my head, but étienne and Stas exchange a look. “He owns the Novi Network.”
“Okay?” It’s shockingly common for F1 drivers to come from families with extreme wealth. Being the heir to a cable news conglomerate is par for the course.
“Fred wanted his son to stay in F1,” Elizabeth says.
“Assuming Stas would eventually come back, his best bet was to get rid of you. He must have gotten wind of the link between the Bugatti and Liu Zhenghao, so he sent the video of you and Stas speaking with him to a journalist who was openly investigating the story to incriminate you. I have no doubt that he started the rumors about your seat.”
I let that sink in for a moment, and then shake my head. “What a conniving loser.”
Everyone laughs, the break in tension a nice change of pace. It’s breezy and comfortable as we chat for a while longer, but I’m not at all upset when étienne has to get back to Druvia, or when Jane yawns and says the jet lag is catching up to her.
Stas looks between me and Elizabeth, then smiles softly. “I should give you two some privacy.”
“We’ll catch up soon,” I say, and he nods, just once, before turning and leaving the suite.
“Sleep?” Elizabeth asks. It’s only then that my exhaustion hits full force.
“You always have exactly the right plan.”
As I wrap her in my arms and press a kiss to her forehead, I finally allow myself to exhale fully.
To relish the fact that we’re safe and together.
To feel peace.