Chapter 87 Full throttle
The morning sun filtered weakly through the tall windows of Dante’s villa. The air inside was quiet, the kind of silence that followed words no one dared to speak the night before.
Dante stood by the mirror, buttoning his shirt with slow, deliberate motions. His reflection looked back at him with tired eyes older somehow, though not much time had passed. The faint scar along his jaw caught the light when he tilted his head.
Behind him, Isabelle’s voice broke the stillness. “You’re up early.”
He didn’t turn. “Yes, I couldn't sleep.”
“Where are you going?” she asked, sitting up on the bed, her tone soft but careful.
He paused for a second, then reached for his watch. “Just a little drive. I need to see a few places in the city.”
“Alone?”
He slipped the watch on, fastening the strap with quiet precision. “Yes.”
She frowned slightly, the sheet gathered against her chest. “You’ve been so distant lately. Is this about her again?”
He looked at her then, just for a moment and whatever emotion flickered in his eyes vanished before it could settle. “It’s not about anyone.”
Isabelle smiled faintly, though her voice carried a shadow of something sharper. “Good. Because I’m done competing with ghosts.”
He walked over, leaned down, and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “I’ll be back soon.”
She smiled again a perfect, practiced curve of her mouth and watched as he picked up his keys and left the room. The sound of the door closing echoed through the villa like an ending.
The streets of Monaco shimmered with morning light. The city was alive, the scent of salt air, the hum of distant engines, the echo of tourists laughing as they spilled from cafés.
Dante drove in silence, the car gliding through narrow lanes lined with palms. His hand gripped the steering wheel tighter than it needed to. Every turn of the road reminded him of something, of nights spent chasing speed, of the sound of wind against metal, of the one crash that nearly ended everything.
When he reached the Varon Motors racetrack, the security guards straightened immediately. One of them smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. “Mr. Varon, sir. It’s good to see you walking again.”
Dante nodded, offering a polite smile. “Thank you.”
Inside the stadium, the sound of engines filled the air like sharp, mechanical music that vibrated through the ground. He walked slowly, each step echoing on the concrete walkway. The smell of fuel and rubber wrapped around him like an old memory.
A few mechanics looked up from their work, their faces brightening when they recognized him.
“Dante!” one of them called out. “Good to see you, man! We didn’t think you’d come back here this soon.”
“Neither did I,” he said quietly, though he forced a smile.
Another man clapped him on the shoulder. “You look good and strong. That physiotherapist of yours did a miracle, huh?”
The mention of it hit him like a spark to dry tinder. He nodded once and changed the subject. “What are you testing today?”
“The new prototype from Varon Motors,” one of the mechanics said proudly, gesturing toward a sleek, obsidian-black car gleaming under the sunlight. “We tuned it for the Grand Prix circuit. She’s got more bite than any of the previous models.”
Dante walked closer, running a hand along the cool metal. The design was perfect, sharp, aerodynamic, and alive. It reminded him of everything he’d lost and everything he used to be.
One of the racers tossed him a set of keys with a grin. “Do you want to take her for a spin, boss?”
He caught the keys without thinking, muscle memory. For a second, he just stood there, the metal cool against his palm. The weight of it stirred something deep in his chest.
But then he exhaled and handed them back. “No. I can’t. I’m still under therapy.”
A few of them exchanged glances but didn’t press. They respected him too much to question it.
“Next time,” Dante added, his tone lighter than he felt.
He turned away, needing space from the sound, the stares, the ghosts.
He walked across the track toward the bleachers. His steps were slow, deliberate, like someone moving through an old dream.
When he sat down, the air around him seemed too quiet. The cars below blurred into streaks of red and silver, engines screaming as they tore across the asphalt. The vibration ran through his body, straight to his bones.
He closed his eyes and, for a moment, he was back to that night.
The rain. The screech of tires. The sound of metal against metal. And his brother's voice, faint and terrified, calling his name before the darkness swallowed everything.
His chest tightened. He pressed a hand against it, as if he could hold himself together.
He wanted to scream not from pain, but from everything else. The betrayal. The confusion. The unbearable longing for something he could no longer touch.
He wanted to stop remembering. He wanted to stop feeling.
The noise around him faded until all he could hear was his own breathing. The cars, the people, the track everything blurred into background hum.
He bent forward, elbows on his knees, and whispered through clenched teeth, “Why can’t I let it go?”
The wind carried no answer. Only the smell of burnt fuel and the echo of engines roaring somewhere far below.
He thought about Sienna, the way she’d looked at him last night. Her eyes steady, her voice unwavering even as her heart broke in front of him. He’d felt it. That pull. The part of him that still wanted to believe her, still wanted to reach out and hold her one last time.
But then Isabelle’s words came back, poisonous, soft, certain. “She used you.
She destroyed you.”
Dante’s jaw tightened. His eyes burned.
“Maybe she did,” he muttered under his breath.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, angry at himself for still caring. If she’d really betrayed him, why did every heartbeat still ache for her?
A voice from below called out to him, one of the younger drivers. “Mr. Varon! Are you sure you don’t want to test the car? Just for a few laps?”
Dante lifted his head, his gaze following the car slicing through the curve. It was beautiful but dangerous and alive. He thought about the rush, the control, the way speed drowned everything else.
Maybe that was what he needed, something to silence the noise inside.
He stood halfway, then stopped. His hand hovered near his pocket, where the car keys had been. But he didn’t move.
He sat back down, exhaling hard. “Not today,” he whispered.
The sun had shifted, casting long shadows over the track. People were beginning to pack up for the day. The hum of engines softened to a lazy purr.
Dante stayed where he was, watching until the last car rolled to a stop. It felt almost peaceful now like the emptiness after the storm.
He rubbed his face with both hands, tired beyond words. “Maybe Isabelle’s right,” he muttered. “Maybe I just need to forget her.”
But even as he said it, he knew forgetting wasn’t possible.
Not after everything. Not after her voice, her touch, her defiance.
A sharp sound broke through his thoughts, he heard footsteps behind him, quick and hesitant.
He didn’t look up right away, assuming it was one of the mechanics. But the footsteps stopped beside him.