VROOOM!
ROAR!
Matteo was manically stomping on the accelerator, building up the revs for a launch. It was a move straight out of the movies, a desperate attempt to look cool.
He even had time to glance over at Kai, lifting his chin in a wide, arrogant grin. He was putting on a full display of his car's raw power, and in the face of the V8's deafening roar, Kai's Mini Cooper was so quiet you'd think its engine had stalled.
"Hey, kid! You don't even have your license yet, do you?"
"God, he's probably scared stiff!"
"Do you even know how to drive? You want me to take over?"
A wave of laughter rolled through the crowd.
Lorenzo, however, wasn't the least bit worried.
It was true that Matteo was playing to the Mustang's strengths, trying to seize the advantage with pure intimidation. In street racing, drivers with manual transmissions often held the handbrake, floored the accelerator to build revs, and then, on "go," dropped the clutch and released the brake in one explosive motion. It was a classic technique to get a jump on an opponent right from the start.
But anyone with a bit of actual racing knowledge knew that a perfect launch was about the delicate dance between the throttle and the clutch.
Matteo's method, the handbrake launch, generated more engine torque than the tires could handle. It was the perfect recipe for wheelspin.
You could see it happening—the rubber on the tires would melt, leaving two black streaks on the pavement. All that smoke and noise was just wasted energy, a momentary loss of grip and power.
Visually, it was impressive. The car looked like it was shot out of a cannon. But in terms of actual performance, the wheelspin was just wasted time.
Lorenzo pictured the look of utter shock that was about to dawn on Matteo's face, and a playful, malicious grin spread across his own.
It was amazing, he thought, how much fun it was to watch Kai crush an amateur when you weren't the one being crushed.
Screams, cheers, and frantic jumps rippled through the crowd. The raw energy in Piazza Cavour ignited the chilly autumn air, the atmosphere thick with the smell of gasoline, burnt rubber, and alcohol.
Then, Malèna stepped forward.
Her red dress billowed in the fierce wind, her long hair flying wildly. In the dark of night, her beautiful eyes held a glint of steely determination.
She strode into the space between the two cars, and in an instant, she became the center of the universe, drawing every single eye.
Malèna raised her hands high. She glanced at Matteo, who was still obnoxiously honking his horn, then at Kai, who sat calmly in his driver's seat. She lifted her chin, a flicker of anticipation and excitement in her own eyes, and her voice cut through the chaos.
"Three! Two! One!"
"GO!"
The Shelby GT350 exploded off the line, the five hundred horsepower of its V8 engine unleashed like a tidal wave. Matteo's movements were a blur of throttle, clutch, and handbrake.
Zero to a hundred kilometers per hour in just four seconds.
The military-green machine shot forward in a blaze of blinding headlights, its tires screaming for grip on the stone pavement. Matteo flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror, searching for the pathetic loser he'd left in his dust. Instead, in his peripheral vision, he caught a flash of navy blue, a submarine slicing through the night.
In the flickering neon lights, it was just a blur, a ghost that shot past him.
And then, all he saw were taillights. The arrogant smile on his face froze solid.
The entire square fell silent.
A vacuum of disbelief descended upon Piazza Cavour. One second, they were anticipating a complete demolition by the Mustang; the next, the Mini Cooper was leading the pack.
Wait, what did they just see?
Leaning against a lamppost, Lorenzo smirked and tapped a finger against his beer bottle. Just as he'd predicted, Matteo had spun his tires. The loss of traction had cost him, slowing his launch by a crucial half-second and preventing his engine's power from fully connecting with the road. Meanwhile, the unflappable Kai, with his perfect clutch work, had used the Mini's lightweight advantage to its fullest, pouncing ahead like a cheetah.
Matteo had to be panicking. His entire plan had gone wrong from the very first second.
Kai was completely calm and focused. It was his greatest strength. Whenever he sat behind the wheel and felt the roar of the engine, it was as if he became one with the wind. The thrill of speed sharpened his senses, drawing all his attention into a new reality.
Hearing. Sight. Touch. Smell. Even his perception of the world itself—everything was different.
The navy-blue Mini Cooper flew like a phantom through the night, but Kai's eyes never left his rearview mirror.
The Shelby was closing in.
He wasn't surprised. He knew the straights belonged to the Mustang. Even if he'd managed to snatch the lead with his superior reflexes and launch, the Shelby's raw horsepower would easily erase the gap here.
But it didn't matter. The streets of Rome were about more than just horsepower.
The road shot straight from the Castel Sant'Angelo down the Corso Vittorio Emanuele II. The wide asphalt was bathed in the mottled light of the streetlamps, and the trees on either side groaned in the wind.
The Mustang, like an untamed beast, was gaining speed relentlessly. 120 km/h, 140 km/h… A wave of heat blasted from its exhaust pipes. Matteo kept his foot glued to the floor, the initial shock and humiliation having burned away all reason.
The force of the acceleration was intoxicating, a firework of adrenaline exploding in his veins. He was visibly closing the gap. In a blink, the needle on his speedometer was approaching 160 km/h. Even with its own throttle pushed to the limit, the Mini was simply outmatched.
"Ha!" Matteo roared with laughter, the sound laced with a crazed fury as he pulled parallel to Kai. "Hahaha!"
Kai turned his head, meeting Matteo's wild gaze. He watched as the Mustang, its engine screaming, finally completed the overtake and pulled ahead. He could see the triumphant madness on Matteo's face. Kai simply raised an eyebrow and mouthed a single word.
"Oh. Bummer."
Matteo caught the word. Bummer? What was that supposed to mean?
The next second—
CLANG!
From Piazza Cavour, the crowd watched in horror as the Shelby Mustang literally took flight, and a collective gasp of shock ripped through them.
The Mustang had successfully retaken the lead on the straight and was the first to enter the Ponte Sant'Angelo. But the ancient stone bridge had a different surface and a different structure—a slight, almost imperceptible arch. Matteo, still at full throttle, was about to find that out. The outcome was inevitable.
The arch of the Bridge of Angels was subtle, but it was more than enough to punish any car with a poorly tuned suspension. At nearly 160 km/h, the Shelby Mustang went airborne, looking like the flying bicycle from E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial on its way to the moon.
Malèna stood at the foot of the bridge, her red dress whipping in the wind, her eyes locked on the Mini Cooper, her heart in her throat.
The Mini had been in the lead for less than a few seconds before being overtaken. Now, with a stable and fluid line, it once again surged past the airborne Mustang and raced on.
Thud!
The Shelby took flight, and Matteo's heart went into zero gravity with it.
Before he could even process what had happened, his stomach slammed back down as the car crashed back to earth. The chassis bucked violently. Matteo gripped the steering wheel with all his might, trying to wrestle the bucking beast back under control as it weaved between the shadows of the angelic statues lining the bridge. He fought desperately to stay side-by-side with the Mini.
Wait!
A corner!
By the time Matteo realized it, it was too late. He yanked the steering wheel, and the Mustang's rear end swung out in a wild arc. The tires shrieked against the stone as he narrowly avoided slamming into the guardrail. Before he could even catch his breath, he looked up and saw the Mini Cooper's taillights disappearing into the turn.
Damn it!