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“Is that really him?” Theá asks, seemingly starstruck. Irritation bubbles in my chest as I watch her face light up with excitement. I can’t fully blame her, he’s a racing legend. And even if you hate the sport, his name is usually the first that comes to mind after Michael Schumacher.

“Yes it is, he just signed withPremiothis year and is currently on his way to win his eighth world championship,” I say as we stand, waiting a bit for the commotion to die down.

“I thought you didn’t watch Formula 1?” she asks, and I can hear the smirk in her voice without even seeing it.

“I don’t, but his reputation precedes him both on and off the track.”

As notorious as Whylde is for his racing, his reputation with women is equally notorious. There are even pictures of him and Ambrose together on the Amalfi Coast just before my papá died.

“Hmm, he’s cute. Nice tattoos.”

My head snaps down to her. Her expression seems so serious, my mind plays through every scenario from dragging her home to somehow causing him to get into a very bad accident. But then, her smile cracks through and she starts giggling—it saves the poor fuck’s life, just like that.

Too bad she wasn’t there the day I killed her uncle, or maybe her smile could’ve stopped him from meeting his maker.

“When did you become a comedian?” I scoff. “C’mon, we need to meet up with everyone before the race starts.” I guide her through the crowd into the garage, and thankfully Whylde is out of sight.

What is in sight are my brothers and Mattia, and I make a bee-line straight for them.

It’s easy to see how Gus and I went for the classic paddock attire while Mattia and Adriano went for the more casual, streetwear type of dress code.

“You made it,” Mattia says, eyeing my outfit. “Very suave, it looks good on youfra. You look beautiful, too, Theá,” he says tomywife. I raise a brow as I subtly pull her into my side.

“Thank you, Mattia, good to see you guys again,” she greets everyone, but only Gus returns the greeting since Adriano is too busy staring at the TV where the presenters are currently discussing the build-up for today’s race.

“He’s in his element,” Theá says, observing him.

“He’s a race engineer in another life.” Gus snickers and rolls his eyes.

“I could do it if I wanted to. It’s just too much effort,” Adriano comments as he finally graces us with his attention.

“Nino,” he says before his attention shifts to Theá, or rather whoever is behind her. The slightest turn of my head confirms my suspicion.

In a bright red, skin-tight, mini dress and team jacket—that matches the one Adriano’s wearing—Natalia stands, talking to none other than Whylde Kings himself.

I stifle a laugh as I turn to watch my brother’s rather annoyed expression for the girl he claims to despise.

“That guy is more worried about his off-track performance than actually winning on track,” Adriano remarks.

“But Antonio say he’s about to—"

I elbow Theá in her side to cut her words off just as Adriano shoots her a glare.

“Why don’t we go join them and say happy birthday to Nat?” Mattia offers, coming to the rescue. But in reality, it only pisses me off now since he’s taking her exactly where I’ve been avoiding taking her. “Don’t worry,fra, I’ll kill him if he even looks at her,” he whispers as he passes me, and my lips tilt up in a smirk.

Adriano tilts his head towards the window. Gus and I take the hint and follow him away from the majority of the people. The window overlooks the track with the perfect view of the pit lane.

“So where is our dearest older brother?” I ask.

The twins look at each other and then back at me. “Wedding planning,” Adriano says with a shrug.

I raise a brow at their strange demeanour. “Is that code for something or is he actually cake-tasting and shit.”

Gus rolls his eyes and sighs. “For fuck’s sake, you two would make the world’s worst spies. He’s busy with work.”

That I know is a code for him taking care of the plan, and I imagine it must be because they know we’re being watched.

“I met with Gabriel a few days ago,” I say. Their eyes flash to me, worry clear across their expressions.