Matteo hammered the Mustang's throttle. The V8 screamed, shaking the ground. Thick smoke boiled from his melting rear tires. He grinned at Konrad, a picture of brute force.
Konrad ignored him. His world was the clutch bite point and the tachometer's red glow.
Marlena stepped forward, her red dress a slash of color in the night. "THREE! TWO! ONE! GO!"
Matteo dumped the clutch. The Mustang shrieked, its back end fishtailing wildly as it fought for grip. For a second, it was all noise and wheelspin.
Konrad was already moving. A smooth clutch release, a precise throttle input. The Mini launched forward like a bullet, clean and silent. He was a full car length ahead before Matteo's tires finally hooked up.
The crowd's gasp was lost to the engines.
Konrad focused ahead. He knew the straight was the Mustang's domain. A glance in the mirror confirmed it—the green beast was closing fast, its roar swallowing the Mini's whine.
Matteo slammed past, his window level with Konrad's. He screamed something lost to the wind, his face twisted in savage triumph.
Konrad just looked back, his expression cold. His lips formed two silent words. Oh. Scheiße.
Confusion flashed across Matteo's face.
Then—IMPACT.
The Mustang hit the arched cobblestones of Ponte Sant'Angelo at 160 km/h and went airborne. For a terrifying moment, all four tires left the ground. The car slammed back down with a crunch of tortured metal and suspension.
By the time Matteo wrestled the shuddering steering wheel under control, his heart was in his throat. He looked up.
The Mini's taillights were already vanishing into the next corner, gone.
Konrad's focus was absolute. Road. Bridge. Road. The Mini held the inside line. He wouldn't waste it.
A half-second early. A light brake tap. Downshift. His right foot feathered the throttle. He felt the tires bite through the steering wheel, a live connection to the asphalt.
He hugged the left guardrail. Bumps from the cobblestones sent shocks up his arms. He held the wheel firm.
Speed: 85 km/h. The body nearly scraped the rail. Tires squeaked in the stone grooves. The Mini slid smooth and low into the corner.
He tapped the brakes again. Prevented lock-up. Held the perfect line. The front wheels danced on the edge of grip.
Then he was through.
Brake off. Throttle floored. The Mini shot out of the turn, tail wiggling once before he caught it. Stable. Fast. It sliced onto Via Vittorio Emanuele II, now fully ahead of the Shelby.
The crowd at the bridge saw it. Phone lights waved. A disbelieving cheer ripped through the night.
The Mini was winning.
Matteo saw the taillights. Rage boiled over. He stamped the accelerator. The straight gave him back his power.
The Mustang surged forward. 100 km/h. 120. It became a green blur, closing the gap.
Matteo didn't wait. As his bumper neared the Mini's rear, he yanked his wheel left.
The Mustang, heavy and brutal, swerved to ram.
BANG.
Metal shrieked. The Mini's side slammed the guardrail. Sparks erupted.
Konrad's heart hammered. His breathing stayed even. He thought of Lorenzo's face. A smirk touched his lips.
He downshifted. Floored it. Cranked the wheel.
The engine screamed. The Mini's back end snapped out violently, swinging the car's nose away from the guardrail. The rear wheel lifted off the ground. A collective gasp from the crowd.
He was free. He cut back in, the Mini's stubby tail squeezing past the Mustang's confused front end. He stole the racing line.
Matteo stared, dumbstruck. His car wobbled. For a second, he didn't know who he was or where he was going.
Nausea hit him.
In that moment of dizziness, the Mini's throttle screamed. It pulled away. The taillights shrank and vanished.
The race was over before the first real corner.
On the riverbank, Lorenzo smiled. "Pathetic."
In the crowd, Todt watched, eyes alight. He turned to Samuel. "His brake taps. His line. It's like watching Senna in Monaco."
Samuel's jaw hung open. He couldn't believe it.
Then both cars plunged into the alleys toward the Spanish Steps.
Narrow passages. Two cars wide, barely. Wet cobblestones gleamed under the yellow streetlights.
Konrad led. A submarine in a concrete ocean. He braked. Downshifted. The suspension ate the brutal road. The Mini slithered through the "S" curves at 75 km/h, an antelope on stone.
In his mirror, the Shelby still followed. This was his chance. The last straight would give the Mustang its power back.
On a tight left, Konrad braked early. Hugged the inside. The car nearly scraped the ancient stone pillars. Tires screeched on the wet stone. A horrible, grating sound.
Matteo saw the Mini slow. His heart leapt. An opening!
He braked late. Accelerated hard. Pushed past 90 km/h. He took the outside line, desperate to pass.
He cranked the wheel at the apex.
The car didn't turn.
It plowed straight on, useless. Headed for a flowerbed.
Oh shit.
Shit shit shit shit!