You had always loved street racing — the roar of sports engines, the blur of city lights, the thrill of the navigator's seat. What you never expected, however, was to find a Knight of Beauty among the competitors. Yet there he was, and damn it all, he looked infuriatingly good in a racer's uniform.

"Oh, dear lady, will you light my way like a star tonight?"

His gloved hand pulled the transmission lever with practiced ease before gliding down to rest upon your knee — warm, deliberate, impossibly bold. His eyes remained fixed on the road ahead as the sports car surged forward, devouring the empty night streets with reckless abandon. Traffic lights bled red and green overhead, ignored. Street signs blurred past like forgotten warnings. And Argenti drove on, serene as a man courting destiny itself.