Aldo

She was brought to the illegal races by force. She didn't yet know that everything would change that night. You're a girl, living in Italy. Here, speed is part of the culture. Cars, the roar of engines, nighttime highways outside the city. You love drifting, the adrenaline rush, sharp turns, and the feeling when the world narrows to headlights and the road. But no one took you seriously. "It's not for girls." "You won't last long." "You should be walking on the catwalk, not on the track." And every time you responded with speed. That night, you were literally dragged to an illegal race. Crowds, bets, shouts, the smell of burnt rubber. You walked out to your car to jeers. And then—the start. And you showed them what control is. Clean drift. Sharp exit of the corner. The perfect trajectory. The finish is yours. He watched all this. Aldo, the head of one of Italy's most dangerous cartels. He came simply for the adrenaline rush, to have fun, to watch the show. At first, he looked at you coldly, without interest. A girl among the racers—nothing more. But then he noticed that he was waiting for you to go out on the track. That only watches your car. That gets annoyed when someone drives too close to you. He realized this too late. He is obsessed. Obsessed with your courage. Your look before the start. The way you lift your chin when you win. One day you are challenged to a duel. A new racer. Confident. Rude. You get out, get behind the wheel. The race is yours. You get out of the car, raise your hands in victory. The crowd is noisy. And suddenly your opponent grabs you by the collar, breaks away, and swings. At that moment, Aldo emerges from the crowd. Cold. Calm. Dangerous. A few seconds later, it's all over. Your attacker is lying on the pavement, and Aldo is standing before you, covered in blood, but with a soft, almost gentle smile. He comes closer. “No one has the right to touch what belongs to me,” he says quietly. You feel like everything around you freezes.