Outside the auto shop, the hood of the GTR was propped open while Toretto and several of his guys gathered around it. The moment they got a good look at the engine and internal setup, their expressions froze like they'd just seen something unusual.
From the engine block and turbo intake to the suspension, chassis, and tires—almost everything had already been upgraded, meaning the nitrous system had been removed entirely—and just tallying those parts alone easily pushed the cost into seven figures. Toretto couldn't help but suspect some rich guy had shown up just to flex.
He looked at Luca, a hint of disbelief in his eyes. "You're already running top-tier parts across the board. What exactly do you still want to change?"
"Refinement. Control," Luca replied calmly, meeting Toretto's gaze. "A great car isn't just about stacking expensive parts—it needs the right driver to bring it to life. I've heard you're one of the fastest guys in Los Angeles, so I want you to help me push this car to its limit. You decide how it's tuned and customized."
Toretto's heartbeat skipped slightly. A car built like this, pushed to its edge… that was pure street-racing dominance. How many racers in L.A. could even keep up? Still, he didn't agree right away. Deals that fall into your lap from strangers are rarely clean, and as someone who lived in the gray, Toretto never let his guard down.
"With specs like this, you could've gone to a major shop," he said, probing. "They've got better teams, more resources. Who pointed you my way?"
"Your reputation did," Luca said lightly, pulling out his keys. "Ask anyone in the underground scene—your name carries weight."
Toretto's reputation wasn't just talk. When he won races, people copied his setups, bought the same parts, and even boosted nearby shops' business. His influence was real.
"I trust a champion's judgment," Luca added, tossing the keys over. "This GTR's yours to handle. Build it however you see fit. Tell Brian what you need—money isn't an issue."
Toretto caught the keys, the solid weight grounding him for a second. Even if it was temporary, having control over a car like this still felt unreal.
"Let me ask you something," he said. "You building this for racing… or something else?"
"Racing's just the excuse," Luca replied with a faint smile. "There's a high-speed run coming up in the Mojave Desert. I plan to take this out there, so I need it ready before then."
The desert race—an annual summer event. Cars, sand, bikinis, beer—the whole scene.
Toretto nodded slowly. "What's your budget?"
"Start at a million. No ceiling."
"…."
For a moment, Toretto was genuinely stunned. This wasn't just money—this was absurd money. Compared to that, hijacking trucks suddenly felt like small-time work. Hell, just taking supplier kickbacks from a job like this would be more than enough.
To seal it, Luca popped open a case and set it down. Inside: neatly stacked cash. One million, upfront.
"Deposit."
Money talked—and right now, it wasn't just talking, it was shouting. If cash alone could stop these guys from hijacking trucks, Luca had no problem paying. Better to turn enemies into friends, race a few cars, throw some parties, and keep things peaceful. That left him free to deal with the real problem—the Los Angeles family's internal mess, especially that second-in-command.
At that moment, Toretto stared at the money in silence. The timing was almost too perfect. Just when he needed cash the most, a deal like this dropped right in front of him.
Do it… or walk away?
He glanced sideways—and immediately saw Brian chatting a little too comfortably with Mia. His expression darkened instantly.
Is this guy here to tune cars… or hit on my sister?
"Give me a minute," Toretto said, turning back to Luca. "I need to check what parts we've got in stock."
He pulled Mia aside, out of Brian's orbit, and quickly explained the deal.
"The deposit alone is a million," he said, eyes lit with excitement. "If we take this, we're looking at several hundred thousand profit easy. Only problem is time—the desert race is at the end of August. We've got just over two weeks."
"That's enough," Mia said firmly. "We can make this kind of money clean. No need to risk another job."
Toretto hesitated. "It's not just me. I've got people to look after."
The shop was his—but the crew wasn't. If he backed out of their operations completely, his guys would be the ones left hanging.
Mia sighed. She admired his loyalty, but sometimes that same loyalty dragged him into trouble he didn't need.
"Then at least delay it," she said. "Finish this deal first."
Toretto thought it over. "…I'll talk to them."
"You should take this job first."
"…Alright."
Even he couldn't deny it—the money was too good to pass up. Deals like this didn't come twice, and he wasn't about to watch it go to another shop—especially not those rival crews lurking around Chinatown.
From there, things moved fast. Toretto signed with Luca, took the deposit, and agreed to handle the build.
[Bond: Attention] ×2
With the connection established, Luca didn't stick around. He left with Mathilda, while Brian stayed behind to handle details—and continue his "undercover" act.
Mia walked Luca to the roadside. "You left your car here—how are you getting back? Need a ride?"
Before she even finished, a stretched Lincoln pulled up. A man in a black suit stepped out and opened the door for Luca.
Mia closed her mouth. Of course. A guy like this wasn't going to be stranded.
Back inside, she found her brother already arguing with Brian over the green Mitsubishi. Toretto didn't like Brian's tuning ideas; Brian wasn't backing down. With a small shake of her head, Mia smiled and walked off.
"This place is about to get real lively," she muttered.
The driver who picked Luca up belonged to the Los Angeles family. Their current boss, Milano, and his underboss—Sparazza, the old man in need of a heart transplant—were waiting to meet him.
Despite their history, the declining L.A. family didn't put on airs in front of Luca. Compared to his current influence—committee referee, power broker across multiple families—they simply weren't on the same level anymore. At this point, Luca could move freely across Mafia territory nationwide.
Still, even a fading family had its foundation. Their operations in L.A. had been eaten away by other gangs, leaving them mostly active around Monterey Park and parts of Hollywood. Casinos, film investments, high-end escort services—they still had money, connections, and reach.
'Even a starving lion is still the king of the jungle'
From the back seat, Luca asked casually, "How's Mr. Sparazza holding up?"
The mafioso in front smiled. "He wanted to greet you personally, but he's still in the hospital. Not in any shape to travel."
"I'll visit him once he's recovered," Luca replied warmly, then steered the conversation toward Las Vegas—specifically Buddy and his growing faction.
"Buddy was raised by Sparazza," the underling explained. "Back then, he was just a decent magician in Vegas. The old man liked him, brought him in. Now? He's using our name to run wild—drugs, extortion, murder, even bank jobs. Way too high-profile. He's drawn heat from both the Committee and the cops."
The complaints went on for a while, and honestly, Luca couldn't disagree. Vegas was supposed to be neutral ground—shared territory for all families. Gambling was legal, money flowed clean, and everyone stayed quiet.
Simple rule: peace.
Anything that threatened that balance had to go.
Before long, the Lincoln pulled into a luxury seaside hotel. The underling arranged to pick Luca up later that evening for a meeting with Milano.
Once they were alone, Mathilda—already excited—dragged Luca to change clothes and head to the beach.
Under the blazing sun, Luca lounged in shorts and sunglasses, drawing plenty of attention. Most people stared with both eyes—but one gaze stood out.
Just one.
A shadow fell over him. Luca looked up to see Elle Driver in a bikini, blocking the sun.
"Miss, I'll admit—you've got the figure," Luca said lazily. "But you don't have to stand right on top of me."
"Dove … you actually came to California?" Elle dropped into the chair beside him. "I thought you were kidding."
"You wrote it down in your little notebook, didn't you?" Luca smirked. "Figured I'd grant your wish."
Elle rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right."
Then she added, "Why shouldn't I take that Vegas job? Think I can't handle it?"
"You shouldn't get involved," Luca said flatly.
Vegas was packed with killers—special forces veterans, extremists, masters of disguise, entire crews. It was a mess waiting to explode. Even if they weren't top-tier monsters, they were dangerous enough—and Elle, frankly, didn't have the margin for error.
In the original timeline, that hotel would turn into a slaughterhouse. Most of the assassins would end up dead or crippled, and Buddy would still end up in FBI custody.
Now, with even more players involved, things would only get worse.
But Elle's next words made Luca pause.
"The Black Mamba's in Vegas too."
Luca raised an eyebrow. "She took the job?"
"No idea," Elle shrugged. "I just know she's there. Last time I was at the casino, she reached out—asking questions. Weird thing is, she actually left Bill's side for once."
That was… unusual.
Luca narrowed his eyes slightly.
So the bride had moved early.
Was she already looking for a way out?
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