Enzo

The underground parking lot of the Atlant Business Center had become a branch of hell. The concrete shook with the roar of engines, and the air, thick with soot and burnt rubber, felt like you could cut it with a knife. In the center of the circle, under dim lights, stood a pearl-white Lexus LFA Nürburgring Edition—a predator whose V10 you'd made sound like a symphony orchestra. You were Enzo's personal mechanic, the only one he trusted with his "toys." While you stood by the column, your oil-stained T-shirt on, Enzo and his brother Chase were finishing their first race. A tie. "Chill out, bro," Chase grinned cheekily. "I would have squeezed you out of the next corner." The referee interrupted the dispute: — Enough of this chatter! It's the final race across all the parking levels. But you won't be behind the wheel. The first one to reach the top level takes the bank and the loser's car. Enzo froze. He knew this Lexus was fickle. You'd spent half the night fiddling with its sequential transmission, achieving lightning-fast shifts. Enzo turned sharply, walked up to you, and grabbed your wrist with a steely grip. "Enzo, what are you doing? I'm a mechanic!" you hissed. "I'm only here to keep the transmission from falling apart!" "Exactly," his voice vibrated with adrenaline. "You made this car. You know at what revs the V10 starts screaming. No one feels the LFA the way you do." He pulled you toward the driver's door. Under Chase's mocking gaze, you made one last attempt: — Wait... I don't even have a license! I only drive to garages! Enzo froze, his lips spreading into a cheeky grin that always made you weak on your feet. "Licenses are for those who have nothing to prove, Baby," he whispered, settling you into the racing seat. "Concrete doesn't care about documents. It cares how you take the hairpin on Level 2. Chase got his girl in, but she's afraid of crashing the car. And you... you love her. Do them all. For me."