"What did you say?" My voice barely carries across the distance between us.
"You heard me." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Belforte Construction. Such an interesting operation. Would be a shame if certain regulatory bodies took a closer look at their financials and found something they shouldn’t. Or if journalists started asking questions about why an Italian construction magnate with documented family connections to organized crime is suddenly investing in a struggling British racing team."
The threat hangs in the air—specific, targeted, and potentially devastating. Not just to Colton Racing, but to Belforte himself. To the partnership that's giving us a fighting chance.This guy is insane.
"You wouldn't dare," I say, but the words sound hollow even to my own ears.
Dominic merely smiles mockingly and retreats into his office, closing the door with a soft click that somehow sounds more final than my angry slam.
I force myself to move, to breathe, to think. One step after another toward the elevator. Don't show weakness. Don't react. Not here, where he might still be watching.
Only inside the elevator, doors closed, mirrored walls reflecting my pale face back at me, do I allow the implications to sink in. Dominic isn't just targeting EJ or me or William. He's going after Belforte—our financial lifeline, our chance at resurrection.
He's going after Colton Racing.
Dominic wants war? Fine. I'll give him one he never saw coming.
No more Team Principal Colton, polite and professional.
No more playing by gentlemen's rules in a sport that abandoned gentlemanly conduct decades ago.
No more restraint.
It's time Dominic remembers what it’s like dealing with a Colton.
Chapter 14
Appetite for Self-Destruction
Violet
The interior of Silas Belforte’s private jet surprises me—tasteful rather than opulent, designed for function with touches of comfort that don't scream excess. No gold fixtures or crystal decanters; just clean lines, muted colors, and black leather seats with white stitching that face each other across a polished table.
I settle into one as Silas shrugs off his overcoat, revealing the waistcoat beneath that completes his black, tailormade, three-piece armor. He loosens his tie but doesn't remove it—a small concession to the circumstances, perhaps. The engines hum to life as we prepare for takeoff, the sound a steady counterpoint to the storm patterns forming in my mind.
"Drink?" Silas offers, gesturing to a discreet cabinet. "I have an excellent Brunello that might make this conversation more palatable."
I shake my head. "I need clarity. This situation is complicated enough without alcohol."
"Wise." He nods approvingly, settling into the seat opposite mine. "Then let's discuss our young driver's predicament without cushioning it. Dominic is making a power play that goes beyond simply wanting EJ's talent."
I explain everything that happened at Vortex Racing HQ—the threats, insinuations, the fact this reads more like a vendetta against me and Colton Racing than a genuine interest in EJ.
"He implied he's been watching me. Us. The team. Gathering information to use as leverage."
"Standard intimidation tactics." His tone is clinical, assessing. "What about EJ? Did Dominic mention approaching him directly?"
"Not explicitly, but he seemed confident EJ would accept the offer. Too confident." A thought clicks into place. "You think they've already been working on him? Beyond just the formal approach?"
"Not him." Silas steeples his fingers and sighs. "His manager. It's an unusual move to activate an exit clause for a driver who hasn't even competed for you yet. Most Team Principals would approach more subtly, test the waters through intermediaries."
"You think they've bribed EJ's manager?" The possibility hadn't occurred to me, but it makes perfect sense. "To pressure him into accepting?"
"It would be my first move," Silas says with the casual certainty of someone who's played similar games in different contexts. "Find the vulnerable point in the target's circle. Apply pressure there. The manager stands to make a percentage of any new contract, yes? Probably twenty to twenty-five percent. Fifteen million is quite the incentive to push his client toward Vortex."
"Shit." The word escapes before I can catch it.
Silas chuckles, the sound warm despite the circumstances. "Indeed. It's a common tactic, even in my field. Identify who'ssusceptible to bribes, pay them for information or influence. Though in my former circles, it usually ended with someone dead or dying." He smiles, as if sharing a mild joke about the weather rather than murder.
