"Tear him apart," he says, voice low and fierce. "But be careful. That guy fights dirty. Well, I should know that better than most… I fell for his ploy and punched him, so…"
"I can also fight dirty—when necessary." I turn to face him, meeting his eyes one last time. "Merry… Christmas, William. I'm sorry it turned out this way."
"Merry Christmas, Violet." His smile is crooked, not reaching his eyes. "Go save our star rookie. I'll be here when you get back."
He kisses me once more, brief but tender, his hand warm against the small of my back. When our lips finally part, the separation prickles like static electricity in reverse, a current broken, leaving cold air where warmth should be.
I want to scream.
I want to cry.
But I have to toughen up.
I step out into the rain, keys clutched in my hand, anger and determination returning with each step toward my car. Dominic wants a fight? Fine. I'll give him one he won't forget.
But part of me remains behind, with William, with the Christmas that could have been—should have been—ours.
And the worst thing yet? This is the last I’ll see of him until after New Year’s.
Chapter 13
No longer playing by gentleman's rules
Violet
I grip the steering wheel like I'm trying to strangle it, rain slashing across my windshield in angry ribbons. The city blurs into smears of gray and red, brake lights smudging through the downpour. My mind isn't on the road. It's locked on the smug-as-a-hyena face Dominic's probably wearing, on EJ's terrified message, on the Christmas morning with William that's been shattered into a thousand unretrievable pieces. The windshield wipers beat a military tattoo—offensive, defensive, offensive, defensive. Strategy. I need a strategy. And for that, I need Silas.
I punch his number into the car's Bluetooth system, the Porsche responding with its usual German precision. Three rings, then his voice fills the cabin—smooth Italian accent wrapped around perfect English.
"Buon Natale, Violet! Merry Christmas! I was just thinking about you. How's—"
"Dominic is trying to poach EJ." The words burst from me, cutting through pleasantries. "He's activated the exit clause. Offering fifteen million."
The line goes silent for two seconds. When Belforte speaks again, his voice has hardened to concrete. "Are you fucking kidding me? Thatfiglio di puttana—on Christmas Day? When everyone's with their family? Is nothing sacred anymore?"
"Exactly." I swerve around a taxi, earning an angry honk. "I'm on my way to Vortex headquarters now."
"Alone? To confront him? No, no,no. This is exactly what he wants,cara. To get you rattled, make you look desperate."
"I'm not desperate," I snap, then immediately regret my tone. Belforte isn't the enemy. "I'm sorry. I'm just—"
"Furious. As you should be." His voice softens. "Listen, I'm still in London. I had to stop to do some things and changed my plans last minute. I can have my jet ready in an hour to fly us to Chicago. The kid needs reassurance from his Team Principal and majority investor that this isn't his fault."
"You'd do that?"
"For Colton Racing? Absolutely. For you? Without question." The smile in his voice is clear. "Besides, I've been craving deep dish pizza."
Despite everything, I laugh. Belforte and I just click effortlessly—that ability to find humor in darkness, to remain clearheaded when chaos reigns is a welcomed novelty in my life. Our week in Italy cemented more than just a financial partnership. We discovered a shared wavelength, a similar approach to problems—analyze, strategize, execute. Plus, he actually listens when I speak, unlike most of the men I deal with in F1. He reminds me a lot of Blake, but… Well, scarier-looking, and a bit younger.
"Let me handle Dominic first," I say, taking the exit toward Vortex's headquarters. "Then we'll coordinate on EJ. The poorkid must be terrified. His message sounded like he thought he'd done something wrong."
"Classic manipulation technique." Belforte's tone is clinical now, assessing. "Harrington's people would have approached it like he's being offered a golden opportunity, but with just enough suggestion that he might be letting Colton Racing down. Makes the kid feel guilty, confused."
"Exactly what I thought." The rain eases slightly as I navigate through narrower streets, industrial buildings looming gray and anonymous on either side. "We need to counteract that narrative immediately. Make it clear this is Dominic's play, not EJ's choice."
"I'm already drafting a press release from Belforte Construction expressing full confidence in Colton Racing's driver lineup and condemning poaching tactics." Keyboard clicks sound in the background. His proactivity makes me smile. "We'll turn this into a PR disaster for Vortex."
I merge onto the private access road leading to Vortex's facility, a sleek glass-and-steel structure that seems to scream "we have more money than you" from every angle.
