Page 58 of Green Flag
I nodded, my expression softening at any mention of him. “The man himself.”
“I’m so sorry to hear what happened,” he said gravely, looking down at his hands clutching the bar. “Please tell Cally I’m thinking of her.”
How did he know Alv’s wife? My cousin had done everything possible to keep her name out of the press. No one in the media even knew he had children.
“You know Alv?”
He nodded, a serious expression still on his face. “We used to work together here. We were quite good friends.”
Anyone who worked with him would have been his friend. It was impossible not to enjoy being around him.
“So how come Bacque said you can’t qualify?”
“Broken bone,” I said with a sigh, looking down at the damage. “In my hand.”
“You’re holding that whiskey fine,” he said, gesturing towards it. “I would have let you race. I’ve raced with worse.”
I was holding it with my right hand, not the left, but I purposely waved my left to make a point, even though it ached.
“You raced?”
“Yeah, nearly twelve years ago,” he said, taking his drink from the waiter. Now that I looked at him again, there was something vaguely familiar about him, but back when I was thirteen, the only racer I cared for was my cousin. “Wasn’t until I crashed and had to have metal plates put in my knee that I knew I was out. My career didn’t end well with Cris, though.”
Not surprised. Unless you were Nixon Armas, who could get away with anything and everything. If he had a broken wrist, I didn’t doubt he’d still be on the track.
“Luca,” I said and gave him my left hand, refusing to wince when he took it.
“Pedro,” he said before taking another sip of his drink. “Surprised you signed with Ciclati for next year.”
Same, I wanted to say, but Cris reminding me of my contract stopped me short.
“How come?”
“I assume it was before that business with the helmet came out? No wonder you’re not a fan of your boss,” he grunted even though he hadn’t given me the chance to confirm or deny. Cris wasn’t the problem here. It was Don. He was still avoiding me despite my desperate emails, calls and begs to his PA. “But who is around here?”
I shrugged, looking around pointedly, hoping my act was working. “Not even his daughter.”
It felt wrong to lie and slag off Cris, who had been nothing but good to me, but there was something in the presence of this man. Something within this stranger made me want to appease him.
“Not the first time he’s behind something dodgy like that,” he muttered darkly in Italian.
Through my narrowed eyes, he took a large gulp of his drink, looking up at one of the screens where they were finishing Sprint2’s celebrations, the last racers returning to the pit box.
I was a good judge of character. Rarely had I been proven wrong by my instincts. This guy… he was giving too much too easily. I didn’t need my ego stroked by him, yet there he was, ready to pet it.
And somehow, he was here with exactly what I needed—in Italian. He knew my cousin, and he knew my mother tongue.
“Don’t go all ominous,” I laughed, speaking back in the same language. “You’ll have to disclose a little more.”
He shrugged.“Just look at his family. Look at the history of Ciclati. Ever knows all about it.”
Ever not Everly.
He knew the family intimately.
My broken fingers itched to text her about this strange man who seemed to know more than he should.
But with someone like this… he would be perfect to use. We had enough in common.
