Dominic
Chapter six
“Iwant them gone.”
The words struck the office walls before I could leash them. They reverberated, too loud, too honest. I didn’t bother correcting myself for my father. I should have said him. Landon—the new coach with the audacity of a man who thought he could teach me anything.
But I hadn’t said him. I’d said them.
Because the truth was a bone lodged in my throat.
It wasn’t only Landon circling my temper like a vulture.
It was Carter Hayes with her sharp mouth, standing beside him like she had been carved for the exact purpose of getting under my skin.
She didn’t even try. Her existence alone felt like grit worked into a fresh cut.
My father didn’t look up from his desk. He was buffing a silver signet ring, his focus entirely on the gleam of the metal. “No.”
“No?”
“Not happening,” he said, sliding the ring onto his finger and turning his hand to catch the light. He wasn't looking at me; he was looking at the image of a son who wasn't performing. “Landon is staying.”
He assumed I meant the coach. Why would he imagine Carter was the one clawing through my focus?
“He’s undermining me,” I said, my shoes heavy on the rug as I paced. “He’s—”
“He’s a professional,” my father interrupted, finally meeting my eyes with a look that was more clinical than parental. “Which is more than I can say for you lately. Your times are slipping. The Valerio name isn’t a decoration; it’s a standard. One you’re currently failing to meet.”
The hit landed clean.
I looked away, my mind flashing back to the track earlier that afternoon.
The sun had been shimmering off the asphalt in waves, the scent of hot brake dust and scorched rubber thick enough to taste.
I’d been mid-stint when Landon’s voice crackled over the radio, ordering me into the box.
I’d ignored the call twice, pushing the power unit until the shift lights went frantic, but he hadn't budged from the pit wall.
When I finally pulled into the stall and killed the engine, the silence was a physical weight. I hauled myself out of the cockpit, sweat stinging my eyes and dripping into the collar of my firesuit. Landon didn't even look rattled. He just tapped the screen of his tablet.
“You’re missing the apex on Turn 3,” he’d said, his voice maddeningly calm. “You’re trying to muscle the car through it, over-rotating the rear. Trust the aero, Dominic. Stop fighting the wheel.”
“I know how to find the limit,” I’d snapped, my hands still alive with the vibration of the steering rack. I looked past him, expecting the usual line of mechanics, but the air in my lungs suddenly felt half-spent.
Carter was there, leaning against the equipment lockers near the back of the garage.
She was holding a cardboard coffee carrier, two cups tucked inside, looking like she wanted to be anywhere else and yet perfectly at home in the chaos.
She didn't say a word. She didn’t have to.
She just watched me with that tilted, observant expression, her gaze raking over how tightly I was gripping my helmet and the frantic rhythm of my chest.
Then, she looked at the delta times on the monitor behind Landon.
She didn't scoff. She didn't even blink. She just let out a slow, quiet exhale and turned her back to me, holding a cup out to Luka as he walked up. The easy way she smiled at my brother—the way they stood there sharing a coffee like I wasn’t even a factor—hit harder than any insult. I’d told her yesterday, pinned between the narrow walls of that closet, to stay the hell away from him.
I’d felt the brush of her breath and the defiant pulse in her neck, a moment that had played on a loop in my head until I wanted to tear the memory out.
And here she was, dismissing my warning and my lap times in a single breath. To her, I wasn't a Valerio. I was just a boy throwing a tantrum in a very expensive machine.
“Dominic?” Landon prompted, holding out my fresh gloves.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. I dropped back into the cockpit and signaled the crew for a release without a word.
I hadn't listened. I’d gone back out and pushed even harder, the car snapping into oversteer as I took the turn with a violence that nearly sent me into the barriers, my ego screaming louder than the engine.
I wanted her gone. I wanted her erased. Because as long as she was watching, it was starting to feel like I wasn't the one in control.
“Finish getting ready,” my father said, snapping me back to the present. He adjusted his tie in the mirror, smoothing a stray hair. He wasn't preparing for a gala; he was preparing for a photo op. “We have the event at the university tonight.”
“I’m not interested in smiling for donors.”
“You will smile,” he said mildly, his reflection watching me with clinical coldness.
“And you will look unified with your new coach. I didn’t bring Landon on board for you to treat him like dead air.
Make sure the optics don't suggest a lack of discipline.
I won't have my decisions questioned by the board because you can't play well with others.”
“Your decisions?” I stepped toward the desk, the lingering tremor of the steering wheel still humming in my palms. “You hired him without a word to me. You brought a stranger into my garage to tell me how to drive a car I’ve been winning in for years.
Why? Is this some calculated move to make me look like I can't handle the seat? Because people are talking, Dad. They’re laughing.
They see a Valerio being babysat on his own track. ”
My father’s hands stilled on his cufflinks. The silence that followed was heavy, the kind that preceded a storm. When he turned, his expression hadn't softened; it had turned to stone.
“They aren't laughing at the coach. They’re laughing at the fact that you need one.” His voice was a low, dangerous velvet.
“I didn't hire Landon to sabotage you. I hired him to save the brand from your recent... inconsistencies. Don’t you ever imply that I would waste company resources just to bruise your pride.
You aren't important enough for a plot that expensive.”
He turned back to the mirror, fastidiously checking the alignment of his lapels.
“I’m well aware of Landon’s history. I know all about the ‘issues’ that ended his time behind the wheel—the accident, the reckless streaks, the debris he left on the tarmac.
But at his peak, he was a surgeon on the track.
If I am willing to overlook a tarnished reputation for the sake of the finish line, then you will certainly overlook your pride.
My tolerance for his past is greater than my patience for your present. ”
He stepped closer, leaning into my space until I could smell the expensive woodsmoke of his cologne. It was suffocating.
“You’re back-talking me to cover for the fact that you’re losing your edge,” he whispered.
“It’s pathetic. You didn't want him? Fine. Prove you don't need him. But tonight, you will stand next to him, you will thank him for his expertise, and you will look like the professional I’m beginning to doubt you are. You invited him, after all.”
He clasped his watch, the polished snap sounding like a gavel. He was already dismissing me. “And Dominic? Try not to start your evening with a tantrum. Save the drama for the press.”
I left before the rage in my chest could turn into something I couldn't retract. Every step down the hallway felt like a tally—one for my father, one for Landon, and a hundred for Landon’s irritating ass daughter.
They were all waiting for me to crack. I just had to make sure they weren't standing nearby when the glass finally shattered.
By the time I reached the university’s grand foyer, the sunset was bleeding out, the stained-glass windows catching the last streaks of light like they were hoarding the warmth I didn't feel.
I stood at the heavy oak doors for a heartbeat, adjusting my cuffs and dragging myself back under control.
My father wanted a professional; I would give him a statue.
I pushed inside.
The room was already a sea of glittering fabric and sharp suits.
Laughter spilled through the hall, mingled with the clink of crystal and the kind of rehearsed chatter that usually made me sneer.
It was a room full of people pretending to be something they weren't, and tonight, I was the lead actor.
I was late. Intentionally.
A late entrance served two purposes: it reminded the donors that a Valerio didn't run on anyone else’s clock, and it gave me a moment to scan the battlefield before I had to engage.
But the moment I stepped through the doorway, a quiet irritation curled low in my stomach, threatening to strip away the mask I’d just spent twenty minutes perfecting.
Someone else had arrived even later.
A shift rippled through the crowd—a magnetic tilt of attention toward the grand staircase that swept into the hall. Students, donors, and faculty turned almost in unison, and against my better judgment, I followed their gaze.
Landon appeared at first, looking disgustingly comfortable in a blazer that surprisingly fit him.
And then, her.
If there were twisted architect for my misfortune, Carter was his personal joke.
She wore a red dress that made her look sharper for how deceptively unbothered she appeared.
She moved with an ease that irritated me—a person who didn't belong in this world of polished silver and quiet power, yet acted like she owned the very air she breathed.
Awareness crawled low beneath my ribs. It wasn't just the dress. It was the way she didn't look for anyone in particular. It was the way the track scene earlier that afternoon seemed to have left no mark on her at all, while I was still vibrating from the impact of her silence.
She descended the staircase, but at the last steps, Luka stepped forward. My brother, offered an easy, familiar hand. She smiled at him—a real one, small but dangerous—and placed her hand on his arm.