Chapter 27
Dangerous and Powerful
Violet
We leave Dominic standing in his office, confusion replacing his rage.
I maintain my composure until we're out the door, but inside, I'm electric with vindication.
Belforte follows close behind, his hand briefly touching my shoulder as we descend the stairs—a silent "well done.
" The main area of the motorhome falls quiet as we appear, sponsors and staff watching our exit with undisguised curiosity.
I keep my expression neutral, my stride purposeful.
Show no weakness. My Mom taught me that.
The moment we step outside, it begins. Journalists surge forward like a breaking wave, microphones thrust toward my face, questions flying faster than I can process them.
The questions about the nature of my relationship with William, the board potentially sacking me, or why I was at Vortex Racing's motorhome blur together, invasive and relentless.
I spot several familiar faces from the paddock press corps mixed with tabloid vultures who normally wouldn't be caught dead at an F1 event.
The photos have attracted a different breed of media attention.
"Of course that asshole would give us a parting gift," Belforte mutters under his breath, positioning himself slightly ahead of me to create a path through the crowd.
I take a deep breath. While I'd prefer to ignore them completely, strategic engagement can sometimes be more effective than silence. I raise a hand, and surprisingly, the shouting quiets slightly.
"William Foster is an exceptionally talented driver who earned his seat through skill and dedication," I say, my voice clear and measured. "Colton Racing judges its members on merit and results. That's all I have to say on the matter."
"But the photos—" a reporter from Motorsport Daily begins.
"Show two colleagues celebrating Christmas," I finish for him.
"If that's headline news, I'm concerned about the state of sports journalism. You could be covering Oliver Lenox’s flawless start to the season, EJ’s solid first races, Roth’s breakout season.
" I offer a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.
"Now if you'll excuse us, we have a practice session to prepare for. "
The questions continue, but I'm already moving forward, Belforte walking steadily beside me.
We walk with unhurried confidence across the paddock, ignoring the cameras that follow our every step.
The weight of observation and scrutiny is palpable from multiple directions—other Team Principals, FIA officials, curious drivers.
Let them watch.
A prickling sensation at the back of my neck makes me glance up.
Dominic stands at the window of his office, staring down at us.
His face is a mask of barely contained fury.
I meet his gaze without flinching, then deliberately reach for my phone.
I hold it up briefly, waving it in his direction, a small smile playing on my lips.
The effect is immediate and deeply satisfying. His expression transforms from anger to shock, then to something that looks very much like fear. He disappears from the window, and his panic is obvious as he rushes somewhere.
Belforte notices the exchange, his eyebrow rising in silent question as we continue toward our motorhome.
"What was that about?" he asks, leaning closer so only I can hear. "Why the phone?"
"One moment," I reply softly as I pocket my phone. We need more distance between us and any potential eavesdroppers.
The commotion behind us gradually fades as we approach the familiar black, red and white of our team's area. Only when we're safely beyond earshot of anyone else does Belforte ask again.
"Why did you thank him back there? What am I missing?"
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, turning the screen toward him. The display shows:
"Recording... 24:15..."
The timer continues to tick upward until I press stop. Belforte's eyes widen as understanding dawns.
"You recorded everything," he says, voice hushed with something like awe.
I nod, satisfaction surging through me. "Every word. I didn't make Dominic confess—he did it himself while showing exactly what kind of man he is."
Belforte's face splits into the widest grin I've seen from him. He throws his head back and laughs, the sound deep and genuine, before wrapping me in a sudden, enthusiastic hug that lifts me briefly off the ground.
"You're learning the ways of the mafioso!" he exclaims, setting me back down. "Next, you'll be asking me about concrete shoes and horse heads!"
I can't help laughing, the tension of the confrontation finally breaking. "No way," I say, shoving the phone back into my pocket. "But we now have leverage to stop the rumors, and the damaging narrative. And maybe bite back a little at Dominic, stop this fucking charade once and for all."
Belforte's expression turns thoughtful as we resume walking. "Are you suing him? You have grounds for invasion of privacy now that he's admitted to having William followed."
"That's part of it," I confirm. "I'm going to talk with our legal department about the best approach. And about possibly sharing parts of this conversation to expose him for the low-level scum he truly is."
"The paddock already knows he's scum."
"But the sponsors don't know exactly how much," I counter. "That sexist tirade about women only being good for holding umbrellas and looking pretty? The crude language? I wonder how that would play with Vortex's sponsors who are trying to promote women in STEM."
Belforte whistles low. "Ruthless. I like it."
"I learned from the best," I say, nudging him with my shoulder. "My Dad never took a punch without throwing one back."
"He would be proud," he says softly. "Not just of the recording—of everything you've built here on top of his foundation."
The words catch me off guard, warm and unexpected. I swallow past the sudden tightness in my throat. "We should get to the garage," I say after a moment. "Felix and EJ's practice session starts soon."
Belforte nods, understanding my need to move past the emotional moment. As we make our way toward the garage, A weight lifts, leaving me lighter than I’ve been in weeks. Dominic is still dangerous, still powerful—but so am I.
And unlike him, I have the truth on my side.