F1: The Speed Legend

November 2016. Late Autumn. Rome, Italy.

The clock crept toward midnight. The city was cloaked in a deep, chilling darkness, its ancient streets slumbering in the late autumn cold. Only the bars fought back, splashing defiant neon light onto the pavement. Inside one, the deafening bass vibrated through the floorboards, and the thick air was a potent cocktail of alcohol, sweat, and perfume, the heat of the crowd fogging the windows.

Kai leaned casually against the bar, a lazy slump in his shoulders. The adrenaline from the street race he’d just won was finally beginning to fade, and his body was relaxing into the rhythm. He let himself sway to the beat, his sweat-dampened hair whipping through the air.

Through the throng, a tall, slender woman emerged, moving toward him with an undeniable grace.

Her wine-red, floor-length dress clung to her curves—a statement that was at once modest and daring, capturing the eye and sparking the imagination. She navigated the crowd on a pair of slender black heels, her wavy brown hair tumbling loosely over her shoulders, every step and every glance a magnetic performance that drew all eyes.

Curious gazes followed her like shadows, men preparing to make their move. But when the woman in red headed straight for the kid with the baby face, a collective, low sigh of disappointment rippled through the room. A few still looked ready to try their luck, but they froze when they caught the dangerous aura radiating from that deceptively youthful face.

Kai didn’t move. He remained a stone in the raging sea, utterly absorbed in his own world. It was a unique kind of presence; a person’s gaze might slide right past him, notice nothing special, and yet be inexplicably drawn back for a second look.

The woman stopped in front of him, placing the Whiskey Sour she was holding on the counter and sliding it gently in his direction. ”Do you prefer whiskey or a martini?”

One of Kai’s eyebrows twitched upwards. He lifted his gaze to meet hers but ignored the question. After a beat, he asked one of his own. ”Feast of the Epiphany?”

The woman didn’t hide her surprise.

It was the name of the perfume she was wearing tonight.

Perceptive, sharp, and he’d instantly flipped the script to take control of the conversation. The corners of her lips bloomed into a radiant smile. ”So my judgment was correct after all.”

Kai arched a brow. ”What judgment was that?”

She narrowed her eyes slightly, her tone light but appraising. ”I heard Lorenzo lost a race tonight. I just didn’t expect…”

Kai let out a soft chuckle. ”Heh. So, are you disappointed?”

”Haha,” the woman’s smile broke wide open.

Despite his self-deprecating words, there wasn’t a trace of tension or insecurity in him. The quiet confidence radiating from him was enough to command the entire situation.

It was impressive.

She raised her own glass in a toast and introduced herself. ”Malèna.”

To be honest, everything felt foreign to Kai.

He had just turned seventeen last week. This was only his second time abroad and his first time participating in an underground street race.

Everything was new, a fresh challenge.

A bar?

This was a first, too. Was this kind of direct approach normal in all bars? Or was this a uniquely European custom? Before she’d spoken, his real worry had been the language.

After three full days in Rome, Kai had discovered that English wasn’t nearly as useful as he’d thought. Most people here only spoke Italian. Even the restaurants only had Italian menus. He’d resorted to eating pizza for three consecutive meals just to survive. He swore he wouldn’t look at another pizza for the rest of the year.

But Kai was bold. If he weren’t, he never would have accepted Lorenzo’s invitation to come race in Rome in secret.

The whole thing was an adventure.

Kai looked at the fiery woman before him, and the corner of his mouth tilted up into a slight smile. He returned the courtesy. ”Kai.”

Not far away, Lorenzo Moretti stood in a slightly oversized brown leather jacket, a chain of racing charms dangling loosely from his wrist. His hair was a curly, windswept mess, and at just over twenty, his handsome face, with its sharp nose, was perpetually fixed with the ghost of a smile.

Tap. Tap.

He rapped his index finger on the wooden bar, grinning at the bartender who leaned in. ”Two Negronis. Extra gin.”

The bartender returned a knowing smile. Lorenzo was clearly a regular. ”So, who’s the lucky one to catch Mr. Moretti’s eye tonight?”

”Ha!” Lorenzo laughed heartily, turning his head toward the end of the bar and tipping his chin in that direction. ”That one. Though I’m not sure he’d appreciate being called ’lucky’.”

The bartender followed his gaze.

A slender, languid figure. Soft black hair fell neatly, making his features appear even younger. A simple white T-shirt under a black leather jacket—an outfit that seemed completely out of place in the decadent, chaotic bar, yet it held a strange and compelling allure.

With his clear eyes and calm demeanor, he looked like a top student who had accidentally stumbled into a rave, a stark contrast to the drunken figures surrounding him. It was impossible to miss him.

The bartender’s lip curled downward. ”Him? Are you sure? He’s a baby.”

It was already hard for them to guess the age of Asians, and this kid’s baby face made it downright impossible.

When he turned back, he saw Lorenzo lift his chin, a playful glint in his eyes. ”Be careful. Looks can be deceiving. A lot of people have paid the price for underestimating that ’baby’. Myself included.”

”I told you, no one beats me in a race three times in a row. But…”

The sentence didn’t need finishing. The bartender understood, his shock unconcealed. ”Him?”

Lorenzo was surprisingly gracious about it. ”Shanghai. Zhuhai. And tonight, here in Rome. He earned my respect with his actions. He deserves a drink.”

The bartender’s eyes widened, still finding it hard to believe what he was hearing. But a customer’s order was an order. Even if the kid looked underage, he’d make the drink.

”I just mix them, you deal with the consequences. But…” he drew out the word, ”it looks like your friend has run into some trouble.”

Confused, Lorenzo looked over again and nearly choked on his own spit. What was going on?

He wasn’t the only one. Gleeful, gossiping whispers and glances were starting to converge on that end of the bar.

Just as Kai was about to accept the whiskey, a figure materialized from behind Malèna. In one swift motion, he snatched the glass, wrapped his right arm around Malèna’s waist, and tilted his chin up, staring down at Kai with an arrogant air of ownership.

He was a young man in a casual Armani suit, flanked by two bodyguards. With his sharp features and swaggering gait, his shirt was unbuttoned to the second button, revealing a metallic chain against his chest. His hair was slicked back with a greasy confidence.

He said nothing, simply staring at Kai over Malèna’s shoulder, his hostility undisguised as he sized him up like an object.

Malèna struggled free from his grasp, subtly putting a half-step of distance between them. ”Matteo.”

The man ignored her, his eyes still locked on Kai.

Kai didn’t flinch. He met the man’s aggressive stare with unflappable calm, his gaze seeming to pierce right through the tough-guy act to the anxiety and irritation simmering beneath, the very things making his posture and expression so exaggerated.

”Matteo!” Malèna’s voice was sharp with anger now.

The man, Matteo, finally tore his eyes away and looked at her. His expression instantly shifted, a wide smile spreading across his face as he spoke in Italian. ”You look beautiful today.”

Malèna, her composure restored, lifted her chin proudly and replied in English, clearly for Kai’s benefit. ”I know.”

Matteo took a step forward to close the distance, but Malèna was a step ahead, moving away just in time. He only managed to catch the lingering scent of her hair. He took a deep breath, even closing his eyes for a moment to savor it, before locking his gaze back on her.

”Him? Are you kidding me!”

”Malèna, listen, I brought a new car tonight. You’re going to love it…”

Matteo’s eager pitch was cut short by a voice from the side. ”Who’s calling?”

On pure reflex, Matteo answered, the words tumbling out in heavily accented English before he even realized it. ”Matteo Vitale, of Rome. Kid, you’re not even old enough to shave and you’re out trying to pick up women. You should run on home before your mommy starts to worry.”

Kai slowly spread his hands. ”Good boy. But treats are for brave little cubs. Come back when you’re a bit older.”

Pfft.

Malèna couldn’t hold it back and burst into a smile.

Only then did Matteo realize he’d walked straight into a trap, embarrassing himself in front of his goddess. Humiliation twisted into rage. He lunged forward, hissing through clenched teeth as he glared at Kai, a murderous glint in his eyes. ”You have no idea who you’re messing with. The Vitale family carries a lot of weight in Rome, more than an outsider like you could ever touch.”

Kai’s eyebrow rose slightly. ”Mafia?”

Matteo choked on his breath.

”Oh, my apologies,” Kai continued smoothly. ”I forgot. This isn’t Sicily.”

Matteo’s face turned a visible shade of crimson, looking like it might explode. ”I…”

He clenched his fists, ready to throw a punch, but Malèna reacted instantly, stepping between them. ”Matteo, you don’t want to cause any more trouble. You know whose place this is.”

That single sentence made Matteo’s expression shift. He stared hard at Malèna, then changed his tune. ”Hah! I am a man of honor. We’ll settle this with a proper duel. A race. How about it? Malèna loves racing. Whoever wins gets to leave with her.”

Despite the chaos, Kai remained perfectly calm, his fingers tapping lightly against his jacket. He was in complete control, seemingly calculating every move. ”Matteo, she is not your trophy.”

He paused, his voice quiet but firm. ”She shouldn’t be anyone’s trophy.”

The simple words completely disarmed Matteo. Malèna couldn’t help but turn to look at Kai, a new light shimmering in her eyes.

Kai wasn’t paying attention to her. His focus was on Matteo as he shrugged. ”Besides, my appearance fee is very high. I’m not sure this old man can afford it.”

That did it. Matteo was officially furious. ”An Asian driver? Hmph. This is Rome, not some backwater where they let any tourist off the street get behind the wheel.”

The gauntlet was thrown.

Just then, a new player entered the scene. Lorenzo casually patted the two bodyguards on their shoulders, murmured a few words in Italian, and they immediately stepped aside. Effortlessly, the situation fell under his control.

He threw his arms around Matteo and Malèna like they were all old friends, instantly shifting the focus of the room.

Lorenzo shot Kai a devilish grin and a meaningful look. ”I think you two should have a race.”

”Lorenzo!” Matteo exclaimed.

Lorenzo ignored him. ”Five thousand euros, cash. Plus a kiss from the ’Goddess of the Track,’ Malèna. Winner takes all. What do you say?”

Malèna’s eyes went wide. ”I am not part of your bet!”

Lorenzo held up his hands and squeezed between the two, slinging an arm around Kai’s shoulders. He looked back at Malèna, hawking his friend like a piece of merchandise. ”Come on, don’t you like him? This is your chance to plant one on him!”

Kai just stared at him, utterly bewildered.

Lorenzo met his gaze unflinchingly and mouthed the words silently: Five. Thousand. Euros.

It was the exact prize money he’d promised Kai for coming to race in Rome.

Before Kai could respond, Matteo, terrified the opportunity would vanish, jumped in. ”Done! Let’s do it!” He shot a provocative look at Kai. ”You’re not scared, are you? Haha, if you’re afraid of crashing, you can just forfeit now. Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you.”

Kai gave a slight shrug. When someone was this generous, practically begging to hand over their money, it would be rude to refuse.

”Alright,” he said, his voice laced with nonchalant amusement. ”I guess I’ll give it a try.”