Ride or Die
Morning light bathed the room in a soft gold.
I lay with my head on Alessandro’s chest, his breathing slow, deep, steady.
He was still asleep.
I didn’t move. I savored it—
the warmth of his skin,
the scent of his sheets,
the weight of his arm across my waist.
But my mind was already racing.
I was alive. Really alive.
And I needed to feel it in every fiber of my body.
Not just with him.
With them.
Alessandro. Lorenzo. Matteo.
My family. My balance.
I turned my head and kissed his jaw; he barely stirred, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.
“Still asleep or just pretending?”
“I’ll let you believe you can catch me off guard,” he murmured.
I smiled, then sat up.
“I have an idea. You’re going to hate it.”
“You planning to jump me in front of my associates again?”
I laughed—loud, free.
“No. Worse. I want to do something wild. Alive. Something that says: ‘we survived, so now we live.’”
He cracked one eye, intrigued.
“You’ll have to be more specific, amorina.”
I hopped out of bed, naked, bare feet on the cool marble.
“There’s a rodeo today, right in the heart of Palermo. An urban version—loud, a little illegal, underground and dirty and brilliant. And I’m going. With you.”
Alessandro sighed.
“You want to watch… or take part?”
“Take part, obviously.”
“I knew it,” he muttered, hand to his forehead. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Better to die living than die bored.”
Downstairs, coffee was already fueling the chaos.
Lorenzo showed up in shorts and dark shades, half asleep.
“What’s she invented now?” he asked.
I raised my mug.
“A rodeo.”
He blinked.
“Come again?”
“You heard me.”
Hope flew down the stairs like a storm—black tank, worn jeans, boots, braid like a battle flag.
“I need all of you. We’re going out. To feel. To live.”
That flame was back in her eyes—the one we thought we’d lost.
Lorenzo and I traded a look.
“You know she won’t drop it, right?” I muttered.
He nodded.
“I know.”
We both smiled, almost in sync.
“Then let’s go.”
The crowd’s roar was low and steady, engines snarling like caged beasts.
Tires shrieked in the distance, throwing up dust and adrenaline.
And her—
she was there, leaning against my black Challenger SRT, all sharp lines and heat, braid over one shoulder, fire in her eyes.
Hope.
More beautiful, more insolent, more alive than ever.
She wore a leather jacket over a fitted black tank, worn jeans hugging her hips, boots that looked built to crush the rules.
“I’m in,” she said, no hesitation.
“You’re insane,” I answered, jaw tight. “You just came out of a coma, and you want to risk your life at a rodeo?”
She looked at me. Slowly.
“This isn’t risking my life. It’s taking it back. And here’s the truth, Romano: I feel more alive behind that wheel than trapped in a hospital bed.”
I opened my mouth to argue.
She stepped closer, dangerously close.
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Either you get in with me… or you wait on the sidelines.”
I held her gaze.
She barely blinked.
And I knew I’d never had another choice.
I got in.
My fingers slid over the wheel.
The Challenger purred like a predator about to spring.
I clicked my seat belt, turned to him.
“You can still get out.”
His stare burned.
“Start the car.”
I smiled—feral.
“Buckle up, Romano.”
And I pressed down. Hard.
The engine roared—brutal, violent, sinful.
Tires screamed.
I drifted through turns, threading between rusted hulks and cones.
My braid whipped my back with every slide.
Alessandro’s hand was firm on my thigh; with the other he gripped the door.
“Trying to kill me?” he shouted.
“You think I’d let you die before I’ve had my way with you on this hood?”
He laughed—real, rare, scorching.
One last skid, a tight turn, dust lifting—
final straightaway.
The others…
behind us.
I floored it.
The car vibrated—my heart did too.
And when we crossed the line, I screamed. Joy. Rage. Victory.
We’d won.
I braked hard, jumped out, ran.
He was already there.
I leapt into his arms; he caught me midair.
I kissed him like my life depended on it.
His hands on my back, my mouth on his; the crowd howled around us—
but all I saw was him.
Us.
Adrenaline still devoured my veins.
My legs were on fire, my heart about to burst.
I’d owned the road, flirted with death—
and now there was only one thing I wanted: to feel him, completely.
I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the car, wordless.
“Hope…” he murmured. “Not here. Not now.”
I pressed him against the Challenger’s door, my lips a breath from his.
“Now. Here. I can’t wait.”
He didn’t have time to argue. I pushed him into the passenger seat and shut the door behind us.
The engine still ticked with heat.
Sweat on my skin.
The taste of danger on my tongue.
I swung onto his lap. Buckles and buttons gave under my hands; his breath faltered, his resolve with it.
He was already more than ready.
“You’re going to ruin me,” he breathed against my throat.
“You already brought me back to life,” I whispered. “Too late for you now.”
I kissed him hard, and the space filled with heat and glassy breath and the low thrum of metal.
The dashboard rattled; so did the world.
“Look at me,” I said, and when his eyes met mine, they were black with want.
There in the fogged-up car, we burned—fast, fierce, unstoppable—until the last tremor faded and he folded his forehead to mine, both of us gasping, alive.