55. Third Attempt

Modena, Italy. May 2022.
ManiratInfiniteDrift’s Modena branch looks more like a museum than a workshop. The pristine glass windows and sleek, modern architecture are out of place in Modena but scream exclusivity. This is the kind of place that houses cars worth more than small towns. Kit and Jet chose it for that very reason: no one here asks questions.
Inside, the workshop floor buzzes with quiet activity. Technicians in branded jumpsuits work under soft, white light, adjusting panels, tuning engines, and running diagnostics on some of the world’s rarest cars. In the center of it all, a sleek black McLaren, stripped down to its core, gleams under the spotlights. Jet stands in his office above the floor, watching the team through the glass wall. Interpol sent Kit on another assignment, so Jet’s currently running the workshop on his own.
His office, a minimalist space with a desk of polished steel, is a sanctuary. He hasn’t been on the floor in hours, preferring the silence of his office. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the car below. Anything to distract him from the weight pressing against his chest—the betrayal, the lies, the way everything has fallen apart with Luca after Kai’s death.
A knock on the door breaks his focus. Jet ignores it, pretending to sift through the digital paperwork glowing on his monitor. The knock comes again, firmer this time. He exhales sharply, his jaw clenched.
“Busy,” Jet hopes the tone of his voice will send whoever it is away.
The door opens anyway.
Jet looks up, irritation flashing across his face—until he sees Luca standing in the doorway.
Luca is the last person Jet wants to see. He leans against the doorframe, hands tucked in the pockets of his leather jacket, looking like he’s rehearsed this moment a thousand times before stepping inside. The jacket is too warm for Modena in the summer, but Luca has always been dramatic. His eyes, though, are softer than usual, tentative.
Jet’s grip on the edge of his desk tightens, knuckles white.
“The hell are you doing here?” Jet’s voice is cold, flat, and edged with months of unspoken anger.
Luca doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he steps fully into the room, closing the door softly behind him as if he can trap whatever peace they once had inside with them. He moves closer, stopping just short of Jet’s desk, eyes scanning the room before finally settling on Jet.
“Mi dispiace,” Luca’s voice is quieter than Jet remembers. “I came to talk. To explain.”
“Explain?” Jet scoffs, bitter and sharp. He pushes himself out of the chair and walks around the desk, putting the physical barrier between them aside. His eyes burn into Luca’s, the rage he’s been holding onto for months bubbling to the surface. “There’s nothing left to ‘explain’, Luca. You lied to me. You used me. And you let Nail get away with—”
“I didn’t let him get away with anything!” Luca cuts in. “I didn’t want it to happen that way. I didn’t want any of this—”
“But it did happen, didn’t it?” Jet’s eyes flare with anger. “Kai’s dead. Nail’s the one who killed Chalam, and you…You let me believe everything was different. You let me trust you.”
Luca flinches at the word “trust,” a shadow crossing his face. He runs a hand through his hair, frustration mixing with guilt.
“I know I messed up, Jet. But I thought—” he hesitates, searching for the right words, “I thought I was protecting you.”
Jet’s laugh is bitter. “By lying? After you swore you’d never do it again, you keep me in the dark until there’s no other option? That’s not protection, Luca—that’s manipulation.”
Luca’s shoulders slump, and for a moment, he looks as defeated as Jet has felt all those months after everything has gone wrong. “I made a mistake. I was trying to keep you safe, but I—I lost you instead.”
Jet turns away, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he stares out the office window, watching the technicians work on the cars below. The silence in the room stretches, thick with unsaid words.
“I didn’t come here to make excuses, Jet.” Luca takes a step closer, testing the waters. “I came because…I don’t want this to be the end. Not like this.”
Jet’s eyes flick toward him but he doesn’t move. He can hear the sincerity in Luca’s voice, the desperation, but it does nothing to quell the fire burning inside him.
“You think showing up here, months later, is going to fix anything?” Jet’s voice is low, dangerous. “I built my life around people I thought I could trust. I trusted you. And you destroyed that.”
“I know I can’t change what happened, Jet. But I’m here because I want to try.” Luca looks down, the guilt and regret weighing heavy on his face. “I’m not asking for forgiveness, not yet. I’m just asking for a chance.”
“You’ve got a damn nerve, coming here and asking for a second chance after everything.” Jet turns fully to face Luca, his expression hard but faltering. His voice is cold, but there is a crack in it.
“You’re right.” Luca meets his eyes, holding Jet’s gaze with the same intensity that once drew Jet to him in the first place. “I have no right to ask for anything. But I’m asking anyway.”
Jet looks at him for a long moment, the conflict playing out in his expression. The anger, the betrayal, the need to break Luca’s jaw—it’s all there. But there’s something else too. Something more complicated.
“I’ll be in town for a while.” Luca hesitates, watching Jet carefully. “Can I at least—take you to lunch?”
“If I say yes, will you get the hell out of my office?” Jet’s voice is tight, but not as sharp as it could be.
Luca nods.
“Fine. Lunch. Now get out.” Jet keeps his gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to watch Luca leave. The door clicks shut behind him, and the room falls into silence once more.
But that silence isn’t the same as before.
Jet stares at the McLaren below, the engine idle but full of potential, waiting for someone to bring it to life.
Much like the part of him that still cares.
◼️◼️◼️◼️
The restaurant is at a small trattoria charming in an old-world way: rough stone walls, wooden beams across the ceiling, tables with checkered cloths under a lazy midday sun. The kind of place Jet would normally like, if the company wasn’t Luca.
Jet has no idea why he’d yes.
Awkward doesn’t begin to describe the atmosphere.
Jet stabs at his pasta with a fork, his eyes glued to his plate. Luca sits across from him, arms folded on the table, looking almost nervous. Almost.
“So…” Luca trails off when Jet’s eyes snap up to meet his, waiting for whatever half-hearted attempt at small talk is coming next. Luca shifts in his seat. “How’s work? ManiratInfiniteDrift doing alright?”
“You dragged me out to lunch to ask me about work?” Jet snorts, dropping his fork. “Come on, Luca. You can do a hell of a lot better than that.”
Luca smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m trying to do this right, but I know I’ve got a long way to go.”
Jet sighs, leaning back with his arms crossed. He isn’t even sure what he wants out of this lunch. Closure, maybe. Or some form of peace. But here they are, both skirting around the real issue like they’re afraid of touching it.
“Luca,” Jet begins, his voice low but firm, “if you want to make this right, then stop dancing around it. We both know why you’re really here.”
“You’re right.” Luca exhales slowly, leaning forward, his eyes locking onto Jet’s with a kind of intensity Jet hasn’t seen in months. “But after yesterday, I didn’t want to push.”
Jet clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t say anything. He waits. Luca seems to take that as permission to continue.
Luca’s voice softens as he speaks, the guilt weighing on each word. “I know I messed up. I should’ve told you the truth from the start. About Nail, about what I asked him to do. But I was afraid, Jet. Afraid you’d hate me. Afraid you’d walk away.”
Jet scoffs, his eyes narrowing. “And you thought lying would stop that from happening?”
“I thought I was protecting you,” Luca’s voice is quieter this time, but Jet hears the desperation creeping back into his voice. “I was trying to make sure you didn’t get caught up in the mess. I didn’t think you needed to know the details until it was over. But…I was wrong. I should’ve trusted you.”
“You know what’s funny?” Jet’s voice is low and dangerous. “I actually wanted to believe that. I wanted to believe you were keeping things from me because you were trying to protect me. But in the end, Luca, it’s not about what you thought. It’s about what you did.”
Luca nods slowly, his eyes dark with regret. “I know.”
Jet stares at him, his chest tight with a mix of anger and something else. Something he doesn’t want to name. “I’ve spent months trying to figure out what I could’ve done differently. But the truth is, I don’t know anymore.”
Luca doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches Jet, his face etched with guilt and something close to pain. “I can’t can’t undo the lies I told you. I know that. But I’m here because I want to try to make it right. Whatever that means. I’ll do whatever it takes, Jet.”
Jet lets the words sink in. He can feel the sincerity in Luca’s voice, the weight of what he’s offering, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Forgiveness isn’t something he can just hand over. Not like this. “I don’t know if we can fix this, Luca. I—I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.”
“I understand.” Luca’s eyes flicker with something like pain, but he doesn’t flinch. “I don’t expect you to trust me again overnight. But let me show you that I’m serious about making this right.”
Jet sits there, staring at Luca. He wants to believe Luca means it. That maybe there’s something left to salvage.
“You really want to prove it?” Jet’s expression remains guarded. “You’ve got one shot.”
Luca exhales, relief flooding his features. “I won’t waste it.”
They sit in silence for a few moments, the weight between them still heavy but not unbearable.
Luca reaches for his glass of wine, offering a tentative smile. “I sentimenti erano reali.”
“Don’t just say your feelings were real.” Jet rolls his eyes, but there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Prove it.”
Luca chuckles softly, raising his glass. “Noted.”
“You know what that means, right?” Jet leans forward slightly, raising his own glass. “One shot. Make it count.”
As they clink their glasses together, the weight between them feels lighter. Not gone, but at least more bearable.
◼️◼️◼️◼️
Luca is persistent. Subtle, but persistent. He doesn’t push, doesn’t force his way in. A text here, a coffee dropped off at the workshop there. Little gestures, nothing that demands Jet’s attention but just enough to remind him that Luca isn’t going anywhere.
It’s a Wednesday afternoon when Luca shows up again, this time carrying two coffees and a look of quiet determination. Jet is in his office, reviewing numbers from a new client deal.
Luca knocks lightly on the glass door. “Busy?”
“You’re already here.” Jet sighs but nods toward the chair in front of his desk. “Might as well come in.”
“Figured you could use a break.” Luca grins a little—one of those small, careful smiles he seems to be using more often around Jet these days—and steps inside, setting the coffees down. “Still Iced Americano?”
Jet eyes the coffee but doesn’t touch it yet. “I’m starting to think you’ve got some kind of caffeine dependency.”
Luca chuckles. “Maybe. But I know you, Jet. You’ll stay in here all day if no one stops you.”
Jet can’t help but smile, though he quickly masks it by taking a sip of the coffee. It’s good. Luca still remembers how he likes it. “So, what’s your excuse for coming by this time?”
“I’ve been thinking,” Luca leans back in his chair, eyes steady but careful. “I know I have a lot to prove. That you don’t owe me anything after what happened. But I’m not going to walk away. Not unless you tell me to.”
Jet doesn’t answer immediately. He stares at Luca, trying to gauge his sincerity. “You’re right. I don’t owe you anything. But…I don’t know, maybe I don’t want you to walk away either.”
“Ok.” Luca’s brow furrows. “What does that mean?”
Jet sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It means I’m still angry. Still hurt. But I don’t hate you, Luca. I thought I did, for a while. But I don’t.”
Luca’s shoulders relax slightly, relief flickering across his face. “That’s something.”
“Look,” Jet leans forward slightly. “If we’re gonna try… whatever this is, I need to know it’s real. I need to know that you’re not just here to make yourself feel better.”
“È reale.” Luca nods slowly. “It’s real, Jet. I promise you that.”
“We’ll see.” Jet sips his coffee, unable to take his eyes off Luca’s face.
Luca leans forward. “Non ti lascerò andare. I won’t let you go.”
Jet’s gaze softens at the sincerity in Luca’s voice, the Italian phrases washing over him like a balm.
◼️◼️◼️◼️
The annual ManiratInfiniteDrift showcase in Bologna is one of Jet’s favorite events, a place to show off their best projects and network with other high-end car customizers. It’s a world Jet loves, a place where he can lose himself in the mechanical symphony of high-performance cars. Every rev of an engine, every curve, every modification tells a story. It was somewhere Jet felt most like himself.
Which was probably why Luca looked so damn uncomfortable.
Jet hadn’t thought Luca would show. Actually, he half-expected Luca to back out at the last minute. To his surprise, he showed up on time, looking slightly out of place in his fitted jacket and casual jeans.
Jet can feel the sidelong glances of some of the regulars as he and Luca stroll through the rows of modified cars. Luca knew how to work crowds, just not one full of gearheads and car aficionados. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, his posture slightly stiffer, quieter than usual.
“Didn’t think this was your kind of scene,” Jet glances over at Luca as they move toward a sleek, modified Maserati.
“It’s not.” Luca shrugs. “But I figured it’d be a good way to… catch up.”
“Catch up?” Jet raises an eyebrow. He’s never seen Luca hesitant before. “By looking at cars?”
“Why not?” Luca laughs lightly. “You love this world. I wanted to see it.”
Jet smiles—his first genuine smile in a very long time. He didn’t expect Luca to understand why this mattered so much to him, let alone try to be part of it. At least, not this part.
“This one’s ours.” Jet gestures to a deep blue Ferrari, its polished exterior gleaming under the lights. “Fully custom bodywork, engine mods, everything.”
The car is a masterpiece. The azure paint pulses with energy, feeling almost alive, emphasizing every low slung curve and silky smooth side panels. Sleek headlights dominate the front, catching the reflections of the spotlights overhead. Black alloy rims glisten, hugged by thin, high-performance tires that cling to the ground underneath. The engine under the hood has been modified within an inch of its life, designed to allow the driver to experience smooth handling and adrenaline pumping speed. Every inch is a testament to the hours of work Jet and his team put into making it more than a machine. It’s personal. Part of him.
“È bellissimo.” Luca’s eyes widen slightly as he takes in the car, his appreciation of its beauty genuine. “You’ve really built something.”
“Yeah.” Jet glances at him, something in Luca’s tone striking a chord. “Yeah. We have.”
Luca runs his hands reverently over the intricate design, genuine awe in his expression. There’s something different about Luca today, an openness that wasn’t there before. He seems to be wrestling with his thoughts, his gaze wandering over the lines of the car. His jacket sleeve slides up, revealing a line of blue ink that wasn't there before.
“Luca.” Jet stretches out one of his hands to touch what he’s pretty sure are the beginnings of a tattoo, and makes himself stop. “Is that new?”
Luca glances down at his forearm. “Yeah. Just something I’ve been working on.”
He readjusts his jacket sleeve, the tone of his voice telling Jet not to ask any more questions. Jet obliges him by changing the subject.
“You think that’s in your price range?” Jet is only half serious. “Won’t it make your baby jealous?”
“I sold it.” Luca speaks to the hood of the Ferrari, rather than Jet.
The words hang in the air, mingling with the conversations of other vendors, the roar of other car engines. Jet stares at him, waiting for an elaboration that doesn’t come. There’s something wistful in the way Luca looks at the Ferrari.
“Luca.” Jet puts a hand on Luca’s arm. “What do you mean, you sold it? Sold what?”
“My baby.” Luca’s eyes meet Jet’s, voice softer than before. “I sold it back to Kam. It took all of my Nightshade severance pay to buy the plane ticket. ”
“You…quit Nightshade.” Jet blinks, processing Luca’s words. “And you sold your car.”
“I needed a place to rent—for as long as it takes to start over.” Luca’s fingers brush subconsciously over his forearm, dropping his gaze back to the car. “Ne vale la pena.”
Jet stares. Part of him still wants to push Luca away, telling him that too much has happened. But another part of him—the part that remembered what it was like before—wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, this was a start.
“You think I’m worth selling your car.” Jet’s voice is softer than before. He continues in Italian rather than Thai. “Quindi l’hai fatto per noi.”
“Yeah.” Luca’s expression is deadly serious. “I’d do anything for us.”
“Penso che valga la pena anche per me.” Jet exhales, glancing back at the Ferrari. “You must really want this.”
“Yeah.” Luca knows Jet doesn’t mean the car, grinning as he repeats Jet’s words back to him. “I think it’s worth it for me too.”
They stand in silence for a minute, the showcase bustling around them. Something inside Jet seems to shift. Maybe Luca is really serious this time. Maybe things really could be different.
◼️◼️◼️◼️
Lunches become breakfasts, then dinners, then all three. Jet takes Luca on test drives, and Luca teaches Jet the art of making gelato. They walk, they go on runs, Luca improves Jet’s fashion sense by continuing to buy him clothes. And they talk—they even switch from speaking Thai to Italian and back mid conversation, just to keep things interesting.
It has been weeks of slow, careful progress. Jet doesn’t know how they’ve gone from being enemies—or whatever they were—to this. But as Luca leans back, his arm resting on the back of the couch in the front room of Jet’s apartment, Jet realizes something: he doesn’t mind it.
In fact, he kind of likes it.
“What?” Luca has caught Jet staring.
Jet smirks. “You’re a terrible judge of good entertainment.”
“The Fast and the Furious?” Luca grins, throwing a cushion at him. “It’s a classic. I thought all car guys liked the franchise.”
“The word is ‘aficionado’.” Jet catches the cushion easily, shaking his head. “Or would you prefer ‘appassionato di auto’?”
“You know,” Luca’s grin widens. “It sounds so damn good when you speak Italian.”
Jet tosses the cushion back at him. “You’re annoying.”
Luca rolls his eyes, turning back to the tv. “Are those guys driving the same type of car?”
“The term is ‘make and model,’ and no they aren’t.” Jet scoffs, a teasing smile dancing on his lips. “Honestly, how do you not know the difference between a Lamborghini and a Ferrari?”
“I mean,” Luca raises an eyebrow, his expression mock-serious. “They both have wheels, and go ‘vroom, vroom’.”
“ ‘Vroom, vroom’?” Jet matches Luca eyebrow for eyebrow. “What are you, four?”
“That’s what an engine sounds like.” Luca retorts. “And they both go fast, so what else do I need to know?”
Jet snorts. “That’s like saying a steak and a hot dog are the same because they’re both meat.”
“Hot dogs are more versatile.” Luca points out. “Especially if you add the right toppings.”
“It doesn’t matter what toppings you add.” Jet leans forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “A hot dog is still a sad excuse for a meal. You’re Italian. You should know that.”
“Half-Italian.” Luca corrects him. “Which means my culinary skills could beat yours into the ground.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
Luca winks at him. “Both.”
Jet glances down at the tattoo encircling Luca’s bare forearm—red around the edges from recent application. It’s no longer just a series of blue lines anymore. It’s a snake eating its own tail.
“That’s an ouroboros.” Jet’s fingertips brush against the tattoo.
Luca’s hand covers the lines of blue ink. “It’s not finished yet.”
“You quit your job, you sell your car, you get a tat that matches mine.” Jet grins at him. “What’s next, some melodramatic declaration?”
“You know I got the tat for more than one reason. Just thought I’d make mine a little more…personal.” Luca’s smile softens, and for a moment, there’s something unspoken between them. Something that feels… right. “I said I’d try. This is me trying.”
Jet smirks. “Non sono facile da impressionare.”
“You are so easily impressed.” Luca rolls his eyes. “Do you have to tease me in Italian?”
Before Luca can say another word, Jet cups the back of Luca’s neck. He leans in, their faces centimeters apart. Luca’s breath hitches as Jet’s lips meet his in a slow, careful exploration. Luca’s hands slide to the small of Jet’s back, fingers tangling in Jet’s hair. The scents of sandalwood, basil and lime fill the apartment.
A low sound escapes Luca as Jet presses him back onto the couch, tilting his head back and allowing the kiss to deepen. Jet’s hands move over Luca’s shoulders, his chest, feeling every muscle beneath the fabric of his clothing. Luca’s own hands slip beneath the hem of Jet’s shirt, cool fingertips sending a shiver up Jet’s spine. Jet’s shirt is on the floor, and then Luca’s. Their lips move in perfect sync, exploring, tasting, needing.
With a sudden burst of energy, Luca pushes back, flipping them so Jet is the one pressed against the couch. In the same movement, Luca’s fingers wrap around Jet’s wrists, pinning them above Jet’s head. Jet is completely at Luca’s mercy—and loving it.
Luca lowers his head, his breath tickling Jet’s ear. “I win.”
“Vedremo, tesoro.” Jet twists his body, rolling to gain the upper hand and sending them both off the couch. Now it’s Jet’s turn to pin Luca beneath him, and the shock in Luca’s eyes sends a thrill through Jet’s blood as he repeats the phrase in Thai. “We’ll see…darling.”
But Luca isn’t done. His lips collide with Jet’s and he shifts, pushing Jet to his knees, and then his feet, guiding them toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss. Jet follows, pulling Luca closer with every step, teasing, playing, exploring. As they reach the doorway to the bedroom, Luca pauses, pulling away long enough to allow Jet to catch his breath.
“Jet.” Luca’s voice is a low murmur. “Are you sure?”
Their eyes meet, both fully aware of what the rest of tonight will mean.
Jet nods. “Sei il mio preferito.”
“You’re my favorite, too.” With a decisive motion, Luca kicks the bedroom door closed.