The transcontinental horse race, the Steel Ball Run, ended in New York City as planned since the beginning with Italian racer Gyro Zeppeli taking first place. Gyro crossed the finish line with impeccable speed, skidding to halt among a crowd of cheering people chanting his name.

He was beaten and bruised and bloodied, and his racing partner Johnny Joestar came in close second just behind, just as beaten as him. But they were happy and at ease, hearts full as adrenaline pumped through their veins.

Gyro’s green eyes scanned the crowd for one particular person while he was still mounted on Valkyrie, eyes squinted in the Atlantic sun.

"Who're you looking for?" Johnny sidled up beside him on Slow Dancer, his chest heaving with the effort to breathe.

Gyro hummed. "My cara. My darling girl."

At the beginning of the race, Gyro had written to you from San Diego, California, while you were still in Italy.

Cara mia, wait for me in New York. Come watch me win. Nyo-ho!

That was all his letter said, and also contained enough money for a ticket to New York on a ferry and enough money to cover living expenses for two months in Manhattan.

As such, you found yourself fighting to the front of the crowd on the final day of the race, shoving past cheering people as the sound of horses' footsteps became louder and louder.

You made it to the edge of the crowd just as Gyro passed in first place, and you cried out in victory for him.

You were so proud. Your lover had done it -- he'd won. He'd won amnesty for the little boy back in Italy and he'd won for you. You frantically waved up your handkerchief in hopes that he'd see you as he spoke to the blonde man next to him on horseback.