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Now we need to find out who else is involved before we take this to court. If even a whiff of our operation reaches those involved, people could slip through our net before we’ve even pointed a finger at them.
If Dario is in cahoots with his father over the child trafficking ring, then my agency will have to build a strong case against them both.
I scan the crowd for any sign of Dario amidst the chaos and excitement of the event.
There he is, surrounded by a group of women who are clearly vying for his attention. Despite it being the last thing I wish to have noticed, my attention is drawn to how hot he looks in his black sleeveless vest and black leather jacket.
That vest shows off each muscle in his arms and I can't take my eyes off him. Those combat boots complete the bad boy look that seems to attract the ladies like an end-of-season sale. And I hate to admit it, me too.
A shiver goes down between my legs as he jerks his head a little, to shove back a stray lock of hair falling over his forehead.
I roll my eyes at the various women's attempts to flirt with him, but deep down, I feel a twinge of jealousy. At least a dozen men checked me out tonight, except for Dario…
Ugh, Jaz, get it together! He's off-limits. As I watch him interact with the women, one of them boldly asks him to sign her bra. To my surprise, Dario raises his palms in the air, takes a step back and refuses with a charming smile and a shake of his head.
This small act piques my curiosity. It seems like there's more to him than just being a mafia prince prizing himself on being a modern-day Rambo.
"Hey, you ready?" a voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I turn to see one of the organizers approaching me.
"Ready to go," I say, trying to put Dario and my growing attraction for him out of my mind.
"We start soon," he tells me as he motions to the race organizers that I'm ready, before moving on to the other cars.
Suddenly, as if sensing my gaze, Dario turns and notices me. Our eyes lock for a brief moment, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. He offers me a confident wink and a thumbs-up as a symbol of good luck.
My heart flutters in response. It's ridiculous how such a simple gesture can affect me this much.
I don't respond but simply look away, a small frown furrowed between my eyebrows.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel of my Mazda RX7. You can do this. You can win this race. Keep your eyes on the road and your mind off Dario Marchetti. See how he takes losing to a girl and put that in your report!
Dario walks away from the crowd towards his sleek, red Ferrari FXX. I watch him in my rear-view mirror. As he gets into the car, I notice how perfect his ass looks. Shaking my head, I force myself to concentrate on the race ahead.
"Alright, racers!" a woman shrieks in a high-pitched voice, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders. She's wearing a sports bra and the tiniest shorts as she steps forward with a checkered flag and gun in her hand. "Get ready!"
The other racers and I rev our engines, the anticipation building in the air like static electricity. The woman raises the flag high above her head, and I relax my grip on the steering wheel.
"Go!" she yells, firing the gun and dropping the flag.
My foot slams down on the gas pedal, and the Mazda RX7 shoots forward like a bullet. The adrenaline coursing through my veins is intoxicating, fueling my determination to win. I glance briefly at the other racers, their cars roaring beside me as we all push ourselves to the limit.
You’ve got this, Jaz, fly!
The streets of Rome become a blur around me, the ancient buildings and monuments mere flashes of color as I speed past them. I expertly navigate the twists and turns of the city, maneuvering around the Tarpeian rock with precision.
As I round a corner, the wind whipping through my hair, I can't help but feel a sense of exhilaration. This is what I was born to do—not just racing, but pushing myself to the edge for the sake of my work. It's dangerous and thrilling, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
The engines around me roar with a ferocity that rivals ancient Roman gladiators, but I am unfazed. I know these streets like the back of my hand, every twist and turn etched into my memory.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, determination burning in my chest. This race is mine to win.
The other racers are relentless, but so am I. My keen instincts and quick reflexes allow me to maintain control even when the course becomes treacherous. I push my Mazda RX7 to its limits, feeling a thrill run through me as I navigate the challenging course with ease.
Damn, Jaz, those are some impressive skills.
Just as I'm starting to pull ahead of the pack, Dario's red Ferrari FXX materializes alongside me. His car is sleek and imposing, casting an ominous shadow over my own.
My heart skips a beat—not out of fear, but because I can't help but be drawn to him, despite everything that's at stake.
