"—William will work with you on simulator data comparison this afternoon," she continues, addressing EJ but glancing at me. "Johnson has scenarios prepared to test the new aerodynamic package."
"Looking forward to it," I say, forcing myself to focus on the professional discussion rather than the curve of her lips.
"Excellent." She checks the time and adds, "Team meeting in the conference room in thirty minutes. Belforte has an announcement for everyone."
With that, she turns and walks away, Belforte following after a brief nod in our direction. I watch her go, unable to tear my eyes away from her retreating figure.
"Dude," EJ says quietly beside me, "are you okay? You look like someone just showed you the secrets of the universe and then dropped cold water on you."
Blake snorts, covering it poorly with a cough.
"I'm fine," I mutter, dragging my attention back to my teammate. "Just... processing."
"The car data, right?" EJ asks innocently.
"Right," I agree. "The car. Absolutely."
The conference room pulses with anticipation, the energy unmistakable even as people maintain professional composure. Belforte stands at Violet’s side, a presence that simultaneouslyintimidates and reassures. There's something about him that screams danger even as he smiles warmly at the assembled staff. Like a weapon that's decided to protect you rather than harm you—still deadly, just pointed in a different direction.
Violet steps forward, the room falling instantly silent. "Welcome back, everyone. I trust you all had a restful break." Her eyes briefly meet mine before scanning the room. "We have an exciting season ahead, and today marks our official launch into preparation. Many of you have already met him informally, but I'd like to properly introduce Silas Belforte, majority investor in Colton Racing, and a critical partner in our journey forward."
Belforte steps forward, hands clasped behind his back. "Thank you, Violet." His Italian accent curves around the words, adding weight to them somehow. "I'll keep this brief. I don't believe in long speeches when there's work to be done. Also, they’re boring." A murmur of appreciation ripples through the room, some chuckles here and there echo as well. "I invested in Colton Racing because the potential was blatantly obvious—in the facilities, in the engineering talent, in the drivers." His eyes find mine, then EJ's, assessing and approving. "And most importantly, in the leadership."
He nods toward Violet, a gesture of respect that comes across as significant. "Formula 1 is not merely about having the fastest car. It's about having the right people, the right culture, the right values—all working toward the same goal. Colton Racing has all three, plus something many teams lack—heart." He taps his chest once. "I'm not here to change what makes this team special. I'm here to provide the resources needed to return it to glory. To help protect this legacy."
The sincerity in his voice is unmistakable. For someone who looks like he could be cast as a Bond villain—particularly hard to get rid of—Belforte speaks with unexpected passionabout racing. Maybe Violet was right when she called him "an awesome guy to have around" in one of our most recent messages. Still, there's an edge to him that makes me instinctively straighten my posture when he approaches after his short speech.
"William," he says, extending his hand. His grip is firm but not domineering—a businessman's handshake, not a power play. "Your drive in Imola last season was exceptional. Those overtakes, and the gamble with the soft tires? Masterful."
"Thank you, sir." I'm surprised he remembers that specific race—most casual viewers would have focused on the battle for the win, not my scrap for P10. "The car was good to me that day."
"The car is only as good as its driver," Belforte counters, those ice-blue eyes sharp with intelligence. "And please, call me Silas. 'Sir' makes me feel ancient."
Before I can respond, Violet calls for everyone's attention. "Now, what you've all been waiting for." She nods to Blake and Johnson, who move to a covered stand in the corner of the room. "The CR-40."
They pull away the black cloth, revealing a sleek 1:8 scale model of our new car. My breath catches. It's beautiful—more aggressive than last year's model, with intricate aerodynamic solutions that make the previous version look primitive by comparison. The livery remains predominantly black, but with striking red and white accents that flow along the sidepods and onto the rear wing. Belforte Construction's logo features prominently, but doesn't overwhelm the classic Colton Racing identity.
"Holy shit," EJ whispers beside me, then flushes when he realizes people heard him.
Johnson steps forward, tablet in hand. "The aerodynamic concept is completely revised from last season. We've focused on maximizing underfloor downforce while reducing overalldrag by seven percent. The power unit cooling solution is more efficient, allowing us to run tighter packaging around the rear, and we've completely redesigned the front suspension to improve mechanical grip in slower corners."
He taps his tablet, and performance projections appear on the wall screen. "Based on our simulations and wind tunnel data, we're looking at a performance gain between 0.8 and 1.5 seconds per lap compared to last year's car."
A ripple of excitement passes through the room. In Formula 1, half a second is significant. 1.5 seconds is transformative.What is this magic?
"That puts us solidly in the midfield," Johnson continues. "With opportunities to fight for top 10 finishes consistently, assuming we execute properly."
I study the model as technical questions flow around me. This is a proper car. A car with potential. A car that won't just be fighting to stay out of last place.
"—William?" Violet's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Your assessment?"
All eyes turn to me; the star driver, the one with a season's experience in the team. "Looks fast as heck on paper now that we've addressed some of last season's problems," I say simply, then add with a smile, "feels like we're done making excuses, and ready to start making statements."
Approving nods around the room. Belforte's eyes crinkle at the corners, satisfaction evident in his expression. Violet's face remains professional, but I catch that tiny quirk of her lips that means she's pleased.
"That's exactly the mentality we need," she agrees. "No more being satisfied with minor victories. This season, we aim higher."
Violet moves gracefully around the conference table, the leather jacket shifting with each gesture. Her demeanor haschanged; the excitement about the new car replaced by something harder, more vigilant.
