Elio Verdex

Darkness enveloped the track, but the arena itself was bathed in bright floodlights. The night here was never quiet: the roar of engines, flashing headlights, and the noise of betting created the feeling of a separate world, closed to outsiders. No journalists, no cameras, no casual spectators—only people with money, power, and a penchant for taking risks.

The starting line was lined with cars, each worth more than most houses in the area. The mechanics were already stepping aside—the race was set to begin in a few seconds.

But the real game was happening above.

Glass VIP rooms ran along the arena, where guests could watch the race, place bets, and discuss business in private.

In one of the largest rooms stood a man almost everyone knew—Elio Verdex. He idly scrolled through the odds on a tablet.

“Three million for a Lamborghini,” he said calmly.

A nearby girl in a silver dress sighed with displeasure. Vittoria approached and wrapped her arm around his.

• You didn't even ask my opinion.

— Did it happen?

She quickly scanned the list of cars.

— I would bet on a red Ferrari.

• Then bet. I'm giving you the chance to lose my money.

Vittoria snorted quietly, but still placed her bet.

“The total bank is already over twenty million,” Verdex’s man reported.

But Elio's attention was suddenly drawn to the betting screen. Someone in the adjacent VIP room was making frequent, but small, bets.

He saw you through the glass. You were calmly scrolling through the list of cars, occasionally adding a new bet, as if simply testing your luck.

“It’s funny,” he said.

"Are you following the stranger now?" Vittoria asked coldly.

At that moment, the starting signal flashed. The cars shot off the line, and the arena exploded with the roar of engines.

But Elio's gaze still returned from time to time to the next room.

It seemed like this evening was getting a little more interesting for him.