Page 95 of Out of Control

I love you.

Just . . . I love you.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bellissima. I’m not leaving you,” he says, unknowingly reassuring me over the one thing I’ve feared my whole life.

Being left.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Sofia

This view.

This home.

It used to be my place of comfort. Where I’d go when I needed to feel good again. The only spot where I didn’t have to work for anything more than a laugh.

But as I stand here, the fields at my back, and a long line of linking tables sprawled across the travertine patio with lights strung overhead above it, it’s the first time in forever I feel like I don’t belong.

To everyone else, Cruz’s cold shoulder has gone unnoticed. He smiles at me when he needs to. When someone might notice if he doesn’t. But other than forced niceties on the jet here and our time at the villa, not a meaningful word has been said between us.

Maddix has tried to bridge that gap—God, has she tried—but either she doesn’t know the whole scope of what’s going on or she’s trying to remain neutral.

“He’s reckless. He proved as much this weekend,” our father says. “He was told to defend and he didn’t. He was told to—”

“He’s selfish,” el patriarca says in that quiet, unyielding voice of his that makes everyone stop.

“Aren’t all racers, though?” I ask, causing every head at the table to turn our way.

“Did you have something to say?” Cruz asks, his voice clipped. His eyebrows are raised in the challenge that’s lacking in his tone, but I hear it.

“I did. Yes. I said aren’t all racers selfish? Isn’t that what makes you good? Your pursuit at all costs of others?” I ask.

“Yes, but—”

“No buts, Cruz. Point made.” I lift my glass of wine and take a sip, my smirk hidden behind the glass.

“You’re wrong, Sofia,” our cousin butts in. “There’s a difference and Rossi put that difference on display yesterday for all to see. He didn’t heed his race engineer’s direction. He defied orders.”

“He has no place on the grid,” my father states.

“His car was faster.” I shrug and then turn to Cruz, welcoming the argument. “Can’t blame the guy for wanting to show it.”

“There’s a decorum you follow. Unwritten expectations,” Cruz says. Maddix reaches out and links her fingers with his. I can see her trying to calm him and it only infuriates me more by no fault of her own.

“Humph. Seems to me that pertains to all things on and off the track, no?” I ask and he damn well knows about me and my place in this family.

“Unruly and dangerous is what he is,” our cousin says.

It’s not the first time I’ve heard these arguments. They’re just a repeat of what was said when Rossi signed on with Team Gravitas. A lot of accusations, numerous opinions, and not a single one favorable.

The funny thing? I never stopped before to question my own family’s opinions. I simply believed them because that’s what this family does—it sticks together. It has each other’s backs. It rallies for one another.

And yet it seems Rossi has shown me that support is only if you ascribe to the popular opinion. It taught me I’ve been following blindly for so long that I fear I might have missed some very important things along the way.

Like my own independence.

“But if you broke those rules, Cruz, we’d all be here celebrating your podium, would we not?” I ask.