Page 1 of Out of Control

PROLOGUE

Rossi

10 Years Ago

I did it.

I won the damn race just like I was told to.

It was tricky and it might be F3, but it’s mega important, especially when the Gravitas F1 team owner is present at the track.

“A minute, Rossi?”

At the sound of his accented voice, I grip the sides of the table my ass is resting against to hide the adrenaline-laced nerves trembling through them. I quickly glance across the pits to where my dad is standing. Our eyes meet and hold for the briefest of moments before I look up to Atlas Stavros, the Gravitas team owner. The man I look up to. I strive to achieve all he has achieved. The undisputed iron fist when it comes to team decisions and the determiner of drivers’ futures.

And with this victory today, no doubt he’s about to decide mine.

I look at my teammate, pretty boy Cruz Navarro, and his trophied last name, and smirk.

Yep. That’s right, Cruz-y boy. I’m getting the promotion over you. You may have the money, the legacy, but that last name of yours can’t fix everything for you.

“Mr. Stavros. Sir. Great race, huh?”

Stavros studies me with an indiscernible focus followed by a slight nod. I don’t get intimidated easily. In fact, I couldn’t care less what anyone thinks of me, but this man has the potential to make or break my future.

“Mmm.”

And that means what?

“I’m so glad I could bring home a win for the team today. All the guys worked hard and gave me a really great car to contend with and . . .” I fought like a dog to impress you.

“And what?” He narrows his eyes at me.

“And I deserve the promotion,” I state. I won. I proved my worth. I deserve it. End of story.

“Let me tell you something,” he says in a low, even tone as he leans in closer to me. I straighten my spine and wait for the praise, for the good news. It’s what I deserve, after all. “You will never drive for me.” His eyebrows lift. “Ever.”

I jerk my head back. What the fuck? “I don’t understand.”

“If you don’t kill yourself, you’re going to kill someone else. You’re out of control. A danger to everyone on the track. A liability I’m not willing to take on regardless of how much potential you might or might not have.”

My mouth is dry. My temper is hot. My disbelief is all-consuming. My dad had stepped closer so he could hear our conversation, and now I wish to God he hadn’t.

“What?” It’s the only word I can form. Can process. Did he really just say that? There were two of us who were the shoo-ins for promotion. Two of us to pick from. “But I won. Cruz lost. I don’t—”

“You heard me.” Stavros’s smile is cursory but his eyes are unforgiving. “That wasn’t skill. That was a stunt. A way to get everyone to stop and stare. Well, they’re looking all right, but for all the wrong reasons. And the fact that you think stunts over skill will impress me is all I need to know about you as both a man and a driver.”

“Atlas . . . Mr. Stavros.” I hate the desperation in my voice when I call after him as he turns to walk away.

But he stops.

And he looks back at me.

“Good luck to you. To your future.” He looks me up and down, glances over to my father, and then back to me. “You’re going to need it.” The fuck?

I stare at him as he approaches Cruz and shakes his hand before patting him vigorously on the shoulder. And as the grin on Cruz’s face brightens, my world darkens with the crushing blow of realization, of rejection—of criticism—from the one man in this industry I truly looked up to.

“You’re out of control. A danger to everyone on the track. A liability I’m not willing to take no matter how much potential you do or don’t have.” Fuck that.