Page 54 of Racing for Redemption (Backmarker Love trilogy #1)

His expression shifts, becomes more serious.

“I may not look like it, but I'm a simple man. I have one condition.” He pauses. “The losers must go. Nicholas, and his engineer. It’s painful to watch, both on television and today, as he passed me in the hallway. The boy gave me strange looks, as if I didn’t belong here. ”

I can’t help but chuckle. “You’re not the first to have that assessment of Nicholas.”

“He’s wasting your time, your money, and a seat that could go to someone with actual talent. He almost killed your best driver by crashing into him,” Belforte continues. “I want my logo associated with success, not mediocrity.”

“The board has been pushing for the same change,” I admit. “Nicholas was my predecessor’s hire, not mine.”

Belforte leans back, satisfied. “I have good intuition about people. Your father had it, too—that no-nonsense approach mixed with genuine passion.” He studies me.

“You have it, as well. Professional, yet passionate. You could be Italian, and no one would notice the difference.” He grins and chuckles.

“I appreciate seeing a woman in power who isn’t—forgive my language—a bitch about it.

You know how to put people in their place, but you're genuinely human around them.

I didn't see anyone flinching in your presence, which is a good sign. ”

Most men who comment on my gender in relation to my position get a swift education in professional boundaries. But there’s something refreshingly straightforward about Belforte’s assessment. He's calling it as he sees it. The tone is surprisingly appreciative.

“And William?” I ask, curious about his assessment.

“Ah, William Foster!” Belforte’s face lights up.

“Humble, bit of a hothead, but the boy can deliver. Seems to have a mean left hook, as well. William reminds me of the young, hungry drivers from decades past, before everything became so corporate. He drives with his heart.” He taps his chest. “I like that. He's a lupo at heart.”

The conversation flows easily from there. I invite him to join us in the garage for the weekend, an offer he accepts with almost guileless excitement.

As practice sessions turn to qualifying, and qualifying to race day, Belforte becomes a fixture at our side. His commentary is insightful, his questions astute, and his presence oddly comforting.

When William crosses the finish line in P10, securing another point for the team, Belforte’s celebration is as enthusiastic as any team member’s. Nicholas DNFd early—a collision that damaged his sidepod—but Belforte’s focus remains entirely on William’s achievement.

“Magnificent driving!” he exclaims. “The way he managed those soft tires in the final stint—that’s talent!”

Before William returns to the boxes, Belforte checks his watch. “I must go, unfortunately. Business calls.” He shakes my hand, then Blake’s. “This weekend has been a pleasure. My legal team will be in touch with the details of our arrangement.”

Blake and I walk him to the exit, thanking him for his time and interest. If this man is going to be our partner on this journey to the top, I won't mind it.

He's refreshing, fun despite how scary he can look.

I still remember the looks of some of our staff as he entered the garage.

Some were scared shitless—with good reason, mind you—but the reality is, Belforte, even if he's pretending, is quite refreshing to have around.

“He’s not what I expected,” Blake says as we watch Belforte’s retreating form.

“No,” I agree. “He’s not. See what I told you about going to his mansion? He wouldn't kill me. That guy looked dangerous, but he's actually… quite affable, if it makes any sense?”

"It doesn't." He chuckles. "Yet, I understand what you mean. I wasn’t intimidated around him."

We head back to the motorhome, the weekend’s success and Belforte’s offer creating a lightness I haven’t felt in months.

“So,” Blake says, “what did you think?”

“About Belforte?” I consider the question. “His passion for the sport seems genuine. The vibes felt right, even if I' m still wondering if his interactions with us are only civil because he wants to invest, or if he really is that nice.”

“Fifty-five million feels right, too,” Blake adds with a grin.

I laugh. “That certainly doesn’t hurt.”

In the motorhome, the team’s energy is electric after William’s points finish.

We finally have points on the board again.

P9 in the Constructors’ Championship, which is still a bit away from our goal when it comes to the points.

But my mind is already racing ahead—to contract negotiations with Belforte, to conversations with the board about Nicholas, to bringing Ethan Jordan up from reserve driver.

To the future of Colton Racing, which suddenly seems brighter than it has in years.

After months of groveling, meetings that went nowhere, and money wasted on international travel trying to secure a tiny bit of funding, this all seems too perfect.

The storm was too deep and impactful to the point that the aftermath sounds too kind in comparison. I'm not trusting it completely.

The watch under my sleeve seems to pulse against my skin, reminding me of something else—someone else—I need to address.