The Underboss's Most Loyal Dog

I put away the ugly watch, picked up my phone, and opened the pinned chat.

Before the dinner started, I had sent a simple text: [Missing you a little.]

Six replies.

Five hours ago: [Miss you too.]

Four hours ago: [Going to practice.]

Three hours ago: [Actually, I don't mind being disturbed during practice.]

Two hours ago: [They told me it's your birthday.]

One hour ago: [Happy birthday.]

Just now: [I'm coming to see you.]

I smiled.

I replied: [No need. I'll come see you at your race next week.]

A long moment passed before two new messages finally appeared.

[Okay.]

[Don't play me.]

For the next month, Vincent paraded Gigi around the underworld, openly flaunting their affair like a pair of lovesick teenagers.

The all-powerful Vincent Trapani let her drag him to street food stalls, take cheesy selfies, and kiss under the sunset at the docks. He even followed her to an underground race—one featuring Silas Kane.

Twenty-one. A legend. He’d led his team to a championship last year. Now, he was the biggest star in the underground racing scene.

Outside the dockside warehouse, Gigi, wearing a cap with his name on it, posed for a picture while clinging to Vincent's arm. Vincent was clearly impatient, pulling her closer. "What's so great about some punk kid?"

Gigi giggled, kissing his cheek. "I just love watching him race. But of course, I love you the most!"

From my car, I watched it all unfold.

A wave of nausea rose in my throat, but before I could look away, my phone rang.

It was Vincent.

Cold. Impatient. "That money laundering project you mentioned? We'll talk some other time. I have plans tonight. I'm not coming home."

I let out a soft laugh, asking deliberately, "Busy with what?"

"Watching Silas Kane's race—"

Before he could finish, Gigi's scoff cut in. "That boring trophy wife—does she even know who Silas Kane is?"

Through my car window, I saw her snatch the phone from Vincent's hand.

"Alessia Gallo, don't ask questions you shouldn't. I'm hanging up."

Arrogant. Spoiled. Willful.

But young. Gorgeous. Like a firework, all dazzling, fleeting brilliance.

So Vincent just pinched her cheek, amused, and led her into the VIP section.

Everyone favors youth and beauty.

Including me.

My phone lit up again—it was Silas.

"Are you here or not?" His voice was impatient. "You stood me up last time. Don't tell me you're doing it again."

"I'm here." I tapped lightly on the car window. "But... you're too popular. I can only watch from the cheap seats. I'll find you after the race."

Silas scoffed. "Fuck that. You think you need a ticket to see me? I had the team hold the best seat in the house for you. Get over here now."

A pause. Then—

"Have you thought about it? You promised you’d make it up to me. If I win tonight, what's my reward?"

"What do you want?"

"Anything I want?"