The roar of engines filled the Roman night as I adjusted my leather jacket, the cool air nipping at my exposed collarbone. Tonight wasn't my race, but the familiar surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins anyway. Louis, my dear troublemaker of a brother, was about to show these amateurs how a Lombardo handles the streets.

"Luca!" A familiar voice called out as I stepped out of my black Mustang. My sister Leona appeared, her signature red leather pants and cropped black top making her stand out even in this crowd of flashy racers. As always, she managed to look effortlessly royal even in street wear. "You're late. Louis has been insufferable, asking where you were every two minutes."

I rolled my eyes, falling into step beside her as we made our way through the gathered crowd. "Some of us actually had to make excuses to get out of that charity gala. Not everyone can claim a 'sudden migraine' like you did."

"Please," Leona smirked, linking her arm through mine. "Father's so used to my migraines conveniently appearing during boring social events that he doesn't even question it anymore. You should have just said you had an art exhibition to prepare for."

The exclusive gathering place was hidden away from the prying eyes of Rome's elite, tucked between ancient buildings that had seen centuries of secrets. If our father, the esteemed Arc Duke, knew his three children were regular fixtures at these illegal races, he'd probably have another one of his legendary meltdowns. But then again, being born into Italian royalty didn't mean we had to play by all the rules.

The lunar phase tattoo on my back tingled slightly as I stretched, my white tank top riding up just enough to give a glimpse of ink to anyone watching. My dragon tattoo, sprawling across my left arm, caught the gleam of the street lights. Beside me, Leona was already scanning the crowd with her sharp eyes - she always said she could spot trouble before it happened.

"New faces tonight," she murmured, nodding subtly toward a group near the starting line. "That black Lamborghini wasn't here last week."

Before I could respond, someone's broad shoulder collided with mine. "Watch it!" I snapped, looking up - and up some more - to find myself staring into the coldest pair of eyes I'd ever seen. The man towered over me, his long hair tied back revealing a sharp jawline decorated with subtle stubble. But what caught my attention was the intricate sigil tattoo visible through his partially unbuttoned shirt, etched onto the left side of his chest.

For a moment, our eyes locked. There was something predatory in his gaze, something that made my artist's fingers itch to capture on canvas. The stranger's presence seemed to command attention without trying, and I noticed even Leona had gone unusually quiet beside me.

Without a word, I stepped around him, pulling Leona along with me. I could feel his gaze burning into my back as we walked away.

"Well," Leona whispered, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "That was interesting."

"Don't start," I warned her, but she just laughed.

We found Louis by his custom Aston Martin, his pre-race ritual of checking every detail of his car already in progress. Our brother looked up as we approached, his face breaking into a grin. "Finally! I thought you two were going to leave me to destroy these amateurs without an audience."

"As if we'd miss your moment of glory," Leona teased, reaching out to fix his collar. "Though you might have some real competition tonight."

Louis raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Black Lamborghini," I said, trying to sound casual. "Guy's new around here."

"That's Sin," a voice piped up beside us. Marco, one of the regular race organizers, had appeared with his clipboard. "Been making waves in Milan's circuit. Nobody knows much about him except that he never loses."

Louis's eyes lit up with that familiar competitive spark. "Never loses, huh? Well, there's a first time for everything."

The crowd's energy was building as the racers lined up. Through the sea of people, I caught another glimpse of the mysterious Sin as he slid into his matte black Lamborghini. The engine's purr was distinctive, almost challenging.

"Fifty euros says he gives Louis a run for his money," Leona whispered to me.

"Make it a hundred," I replied, watching as the cars aligned at the starting line. "And throw in your Gucci sunglasses if Louis wins."

"Deal. But if Sin wins, you're doing my portrait for Father's birthday gift instead of your own piece."

I watched as Sin revved his engine, the sound cutting through the night like a blade. Louis caught our eyes from his car and gave us his signature troublemaker grin. My brother was good, one of the best street racers in Rome, but something told me tonight would be interesting.

The flag dropped, and the cars shot forward like bullets from a gun. Leona gripped my arm, her nails digging in slightly as we watched. Louis took the lead early, as he always did, but that black Lamborghini stayed right on his tail, matching every move, every drift, every acceleration.

Through the turns of Rome's ancient streets, they danced a dangerous duet. It was like watching two master painters at work - except their canvas was asphalt, and their brushes were powered by hundreds of horses under sleek hoods.

"He's good," Leona breathed, eyes fixed on the race. "Really good."

The feed from the cameras positioned along the route showed us every moment on the massive screens set up for spectators. Sin's driving style was unlike anything I'd seen before - precise yet aggressive, calculated yet seemingly fearless. There was something familiar about it, something that tugged at my memory, but I couldn't place it.

The final turn approached, and that's when it happened. The black Lamborghini moved with impossible precision, finding a gap that shouldn't have existed. Sin slipped past Louis's defense like a shadow, crossing the finish line mere seconds before our brother.

"Holy shit," Leona whispered, then louder, "Holy shit!"

The crowd erupted, but I stood silent, watching as Sin stepped out of his car. His movements were graceful despite his imposing frame, and that damned sigil tattoo seemed to mock me in the streetlight. He didn't celebrate like other winners usually did. Instead, his eyes found mine in the crowd, and the corner of his mouth lifted in what might have been a smirk.

"I don't like this," Leona muttered, already moving toward Louis's car. "Nobody beats our brother. Nobody we don't know anything about, anyway."

I followed her, but I could feel those eyes still on me. Leona was right - there was something off about this mysterious racer. The way he carried himself, the precision of his driving, the quality of his car... it all screamed old money, not street racer.

Louis was already out of his car when we reached him, his expression a mix of frustration and intrigue. "Did you see that move at the end?" he demanded. "Where did he even come from?"

"Milan, apparently," I said, watching as Sin disappeared into the crowd, a few admirers already trailing after him. "But something tells me there's more to the story."

"Much more," Leona agreed, her eyes narrowing. "The way he drives... it's too polished. Too professional. Street racing isn't his only game."

"You two and your conspiracy theories," Louis scoffed, but I could tell he was thinking the same thing. "Maybe he's just good."

"Nobody's just good," Leona countered. "Not like that. Not in our world."

I half-listened to their debate, my mind already working on a different track. The sigil tattoo I'd glimpsed - there was something about its design that nagged at me. As an artist, I noticed details others might miss, and that symbol... I'd seen something similar before, but I couldn't place where.

"Earth to Luca," Leona waved her hand in front of my face. "Stop plotting and help me convince Louis to dig into this Sin character's background."

"I'm not plotting," I protested, though I was. "I'm just thinking."

"Same thing with you," she smirked. "That's your 'I'm about to start trouble' face."

"Please," I rolled my eyes, "that's rich coming from the girl who once crashed a royal garden party with a pet snake."

"It was a cultural statement," Leona defended, making Louis snort.

The night was winding down around us, the crowd beginning to disperse. But the energy had shifted - everyone was talking about the mysterious newcomer who'd defeated Rome's undefeated street king. Questions buzzed through the air like electricity: Who was he really? Where did he come from? Would he race again?

I had a feeling we'd be seeing more of Sin, and soon. Something about the way he'd looked at me, that knowing smirk... he wasn't done with whatever game he was playing. And despite my better judgment, I wanted to know more.

"Come on," Leona linked arms with both her brothers. "Let's get out of here before Father sends the guard dogs to look for us. We can plot our investigation over breakfast tomorrow."

"No plotting," Louis grumbled, but he was already checking his phone for information about Milan's racing scene.

As we walked to our cars, I caught one last glimpse of that black Lamborghini disappearing into the night. Whoever Sin really was, he'd just made the game a lot more interesting. And if there's one thing the Lombardo triplets never could resist, it was an interesting game.

The Roman night swallowed us up as we drove home, three royal siblings with too many secrets and not enough sense to stay away from trouble. But then again, trouble had always been our favorite playmate, and this mysterious racer was trouble wearing a very intriguing disguise.

(Author's note hello everyone I'm pleased to say that after a half a year I had procrastinated to weather I should write or not but I decided to give it a shot anyways Im a big fan of car racing and art so I decided to blend these two liking into a story and this is how driven by you was created.)

I have uploaded this story in Wattpad too

The hot water cascaded down my back, washing away the night's adrenaline, but not the memory of those eyes. I leaned my forehead against the marble shower wall, letting steam fill my private bathroom as my mind wandered back to the race. To him.

He'd looked at me with such defiance when we collided, not an ounce of intimidation despite our height difference. That delicate face with its sharp edges, the dragon tattoo curling around his toned arm, the way his white tank top had revealed just enough skin to make my imagination work overtime...

"Get it together, King," I muttered to myself, shutting off the water with perhaps more force than necessary. The bathroom mirror had fogged up, obscuring my reflection, but I could still make out the dark lines of the sigil tattoo on my chest – which showed my teenage rebellion phase towards my late father.

Sleep proved elusive that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him watching me from the crowd, saw the way his lips had parted slightly in surprise when I'd overtaken his brother at the finish line. I hadn't meant to race tonight, hadn't meant to draw attention to myself in Rome's underground scene, but something about that arrogant stance of his brother's Aston Martin had called to the competitor in me.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my bedroom, I could see my mother's garden bathed in moonlight. The roses she'd planted years ago still climbed the ancient stone walls, their shadows dancing in the gentle breeze. This estate, far from the city's prying eyes, had been her sanctuary first, before becoming mine. The sound of the central fountain – her favorite feature – drifted up, a constant, soothing presence in the night.

Morning came too soon, sunlight streaming through the windows. I pushed myself out of bed at exactly 5:30 AM – old habits die hard. The private gym I'd built in the east wing had become my sanctuary over the years, and today was no different. Each rep, each mile on the treadmill helped clear my head, helped me focus on what really mattered.

By seven, I was halfway through my morning routine. The hot towel treatment, the precise trimming of my stubble, the careful attention to each detail that being Nicholas King, CEO of King Industries Europe, demanded. My hair, still damp from the post-workout shower, was slicked back with practiced precision. The navy blue suit fitted perfectly. it should, considering my personal tailor had spent hours getting every measurement exactly right.

Before leaving, I took a moment in the indoor garden room where my mother's prized orchids still bloomed under careful climate control. She'd always said these delicate flowers taught the best lessons about patience and attention to detail. "Just like business, tesoro," she would say, adjusting the humidity levels with practiced care. "The most beautiful results require the most careful cultivation."

The Range Rover purred to life as I made my way down the curved driveway, cypress trees standing sentinel on either side. Most days, I preferred to drive myself rather than use a chauffeur. The control, the solitude – it centered me before facing the corporate wolves.

"Good morning, Mr. King," my assistant, Sarah, greeted as I strode into the office. "Your schedule's been updated. The board meeting has been moved to 10 AM, and the Arc Duke of Italy has confirmed dinner after your afternoon meeting."

I paused at that last bit. "Fredrick Lombardo?"

"Yes, sir. He specifically requested the dinner addition to your meeting. Something about catching up properly."

My father's voice echoed in my memory: "Fredrick Lombardo is one of the good ones, son. Remember that." They'd been close once, my father and the Arc Duke, back when the world seemed simpler. Before the accident that took my father's life and thrust me into this position far too young.

The day passed in a blur of meetings, conference calls, and strategy sessions. I maintained my reputation for being coldly efficient, ruthlessly precise in every business dealing. It was easier that way let them think I was made of ice. Let them never see the part of me that raced through Rome's streets at night, seeking something I couldn't quite name.

At precisely 3 PM, Fredrick Lombardo walked into my office. He hadn't changed much since I last saw him at my father's funeral – still carried himself with that mixture of regal bearing and genuine warmth that made him unique among nobility.

"Nicholas," he smiled, embracing me like a long-lost nephew. "You look more like Xavier every time I see you."

"Your Grace," I returned the embrace, allowing myself a moment of genuine emotion. "It's been too long."

"Please, it's Fredrick when we're not in official meetings. Your father would roll his eyes at such formality between us." He settled into one of the leather chairs across from my desk. "Though I must say, you've done him proud. King Industries' expansion into the European market has been remarkable."

The meeting was surprisingly personal for a business discussion. We talked about potential collaborations between our enterprises, yes, but there was an undercurrent of something more paternal in his questions about my life, my happiness.

"You know," Fredrick said as we were wrapping up, "Xavier always hoped our families would be closer. He had such plans..."

There was something in his tone that made me look up sharply, but his expression gave nothing away. Before I could probe further, he was standing, checking his watch.

"Shall we move this to dinner? I know a place that makes pasta that would make the gods weep."

Dinner with Fredrick was a revelation. Away from the office, he transformed from the powerful Arc Duke into something closer to the man my father must have known in college. He told stories of their adventures, of pranks pulled and rules bent, of the woman who would become his wife and how Xavier had helped him win her heart.

"She was so far out of my league," he laughed, swirling his wine. "But Xavier, he convinced me to serenade her at this horrible little café. Made a complete fool of myself, but she said it was the bravest thing she'd ever seen. Been head over heels for each other ever since."

"Father never told me these stories," I said softly.

"No, he wouldn't have. Xavier was always looking forward, never back. But he loved you fiercely, Nicholas. Everything he did was for your future."

Something in his words felt weighted, significant, but before I could ask, my phone buzzed. Jonathan's name flashed on the screen.

"Go on," Fredrick smiled, seeing my hesitation. "You're young – you should be out enjoying yourself, not listening to an old man's stories all night."

After saying our goodbyes, with promises to not let so much time pass before our next meeting, I found myself pulling up to Essence, Rome's most exclusive nightclub. Jonathan and Daniel were waiting outside, my cousin's arm draped possessively around his boyfriend's waist.

"Finally!" Jonathan called out. "We thought you'd stood us up for some boring business dinner."

"The dinner wasn't boring," I defended, following them inside. The bass immediately thrummed through my chest, the exclusive VIP section already prepared for our arrival.

"Right," Daniel smirked, signaling for drinks. "Because dinners with nobility are always thrilling."

If they only knew who I'd been racing against last night... but that was my secret to keep. The mysterious beauty with the dragon tattoo and his siblings could remain my private obsession for now.

The nightclub scene played out as these nights usually did. Beautiful people gravitated toward our table, drawn by the obvious wealth, power, and Jonathan's natural charisma. A particularly bold woman in a red dress tried to slide into my lap, but Daniel's sharp glare and sharper tongue sent her scurrying.

"Honestly," Daniel muttered, taking another sip of his cocktail. "Do they think we're running a charity for gold diggers?"

"Be nice," Jonathan laughed, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend's temple. "We can't all find true love in a board meeting."

"That was one time," Daniel protested, but he was smiling. Their love story was legendary in our circle – the fierce corporate lawyer who'd fallen for my cousin during a particularly heated negotiation.

Around midnight, as the club reached its peak, I found my mind wandering back to the race. To those eyes that had watched me with such intensity. There was something about him, something that called to the part of me I kept carefully hidden behind designer suits and corporate masks.

"Earth to Nicholas," Jonathan waved his hand in front of my face. "You're thinking too hard for a club night."

"Just business," I lied smoothly, standing. "And speaking of which, some of us have early meetings tomorrow."

"Boring!" Daniel called after me, but his smile was understanding. He knew better than most the weight of responsibilities I carried.

The drive home took me away from Rome's ancient streets, out to where the city lights faded and the stars became visible again. The tall iron gates opened silently at my approach, and I felt something in my chest loosen as I drove up the familiar cypress-lined drive. No matter what mask I wore in the world, this place knew who I really was.

I parked the Range Rover and stood for a moment in the garden, letting the familiar scents calm my racing mind. The fountain at the center provided its gentle soundtrack to the night. My mother had always said that water brought life to a garden, made it more than just a collection of beautiful things.

Inside, the house was quiet save for the subtle hum of the climate control system keeping her precious orchids at their preferred temperature. My footsteps echoed on the marble floors as I made my way to my wing of the house. It was too big for one person, I knew that, but every room held memories I couldn't bear to change.

As I loosened my tie, my mind wandered back to those defiant eyes, that dragon tattoo, the grace in every movement. Here, in my mother's garden, it felt almost like a sign – she'd always told me I'd find something worth breaking my rules for. "Life isn't all business plans and profit margins, tesoro," she'd say, tending to her roses. "Sometimes the most beautiful things grow in unexpected places."

Tomorrow, I would be Nicholas King again, the ice king of European business, the man who never lost control. But tonight, as I drifted off to sleep, I allowed myself to remember the fire in those eyes, the grace in that defiant stance, the art in every movement. And for the first time in years, I wondered if maybe there was something more to life than the careful balance I'd maintained since losing my parents.

The last thing I saw before sleep claimed me was his face, proud and beautiful in the street lights, watching me win a race that suddenly felt like the beginning of something much bigger than either of us could imagine. In the distance, the fountain's gentle splash provided a rhythm to my thoughts, as if my mother's garden itself was telling me to pay attention to this feeling, this moment, this crack in the careful walls I'd built around myself.

To be continued..

My fingers were stained with various shades of blue and black, evidence of hours spent trying to capture something that kept slipping through my grasp. Sunlight was starting to peek through the large windows of my studio, casting long shadows across dozens of attempts scattered around me. I hadn't slept, couldn't sleep, not when those eyes haunted my every thought.

The studio, my sanctuary within the palace, was a chaos of half-finished canvases and paint-splattered surfaces. But amid the creative disorder, one painting demanded attention - my latest attempt to capture him. The mysterious racer called Sin. I'd been working on it since returning from the race, trying to translate that magnetic presence onto canvas.

The basic elements were there: the commanding height, the long hair that had caught the street lights, the hint of that intriguing sigil tattoo visible through his partially unbuttoned shirt. But something was missing. Something vital. I'd mixed colors until my palette looked like a battlefield, tried every technique I'd learned in fifteen years of painting, but it still wasn't right.

"This is... breathtaking."

I jumped at Leona's voice, not having heard her enter. My sister stood in the doorway, still in her silk pajamas, studying the painting with an intensity I recognized from our mother.

"It's not finished," I mumbled, running paint-stained fingers through my messy hair. "Something's missing."

Leona walked closer, her bare feet silent on the paint-splattered floor. "Luca, this might be the best thing you've ever painted." She gestured to the way I'd captured the street lights playing off the subject's features, the suggestion of movement in the composition. "The way you've caught the light in his eyes... it's like he's about to step right off the canvas."

"But it's not right," I insisted, frustrated. "There's something... I can't quite grasp it. Every time I think I've got it, it slips away."

My sister's hand came to rest on my shoulder, and I realized I was swaying slightly from exhaustion. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Sleep is for the weak," I quoted our brother's favorite phrase, making her roll her eyes.

"Put it aside for now," she advised, studying the painting again. "Sometimes you need to step back to see what's missing. Let it breathe. The missing element will come to you when you're ready to see it."

I wanted to argue, but years of experience had taught me she was usually right about these things. With a sigh, I began cleaning my brushes, a routine so familiar I could do it half-asleep.

"Go shower," Leona ordered. "You look like you got into a fight with your paint tubes and lost. Breakfast is in twenty minutes, and you know how Mama gets when we're late."

The hot water helped clear my head somewhat, washing away layers of dried paint and the fog of an all-night creative binge. By the time I made my way to the family dining room, I felt almost human again.

The scene that greeted me was familiar chaos. Louis had apparently decided that breakfast was the perfect time to reveal his latest racing trophy, which he'd somehow managed to sneak into the palace without our parents noticing.

"It's not even a proper trophy!" Leona was saying, gesturing with her coffee cup. "It's a modified hood ornament!"

"It's symbolic," Louis defended, holding his prize out of her reach. "And I won it fair and square!"

"Children," our father, Frederick Lombardo, Arc Duke of Italy, tried to intervene while hiding his amusement behind his newspaper. "Perhaps we could have one peaceful breakfast?"

"Impossible," our mother, Isabella, declared from her seat at the head of the table. "I'm convinced they save up all their energy just to create maximum chaos at breakfast."

I slid into my usual seat, reaching for the coffee pot before anyone else could claim it. "At least we're consistent."

"Consistently exhausting," Mama teased, but her eyes softened as she took in my appearance. "You've been painting all night again, haven't you?"

Before I could answer, Louis interrupted with an exaggerated gasp. "Is that paint behind your ear? Luca, you rebel, what would the gossip columns say?"

"Probably the same thing they said about your 'mysterious midnight drives,'" Leona shot back, making Louis stick his tongue out at her.

"That's it!" Mama announced, rising from her seat with mock severity. "All three of you, out! Out of my dining room before I lose my mind!"

"It's technically Papa's dining room," Louis pointed out, earning himself a swat with a napkin.

"Out!"

We were all laughing as we retreated to the garden, our favorite refuge since childhood. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of roses from Mama's prized garden. She joined us moments later, having forgiven our breakfast chaos as quickly as always.

"Now then," she said, settling onto her favorite bench. "Tell me what's really bothering you three."

We exchanged glances. Mama had always had an uncanny ability to sense when something was on our minds. Maybe it came from raising triplets, or maybe it was just her natural intuition.

"Luca's been painting all night," Leona offered, earning herself my betrayed look.

"A new inspiration?" Mama asked, patting the space beside her until I sat down.

"Something like that," I admitted. "There's this... person I'm trying to capture, but I can't quite get it right."

"Ah," she smiled knowingly. "The mysterious racer from last night?"

We all froze. "How did you...?"

"Please," she waved off our surprise. "I've been your mother for twenty-three years. Did you think I didn't know about your little racing adventures?"

"Does Papa know?" Louis asked, suddenly looking nervous.

"Your father likes to pretend he doesn't know," she laughed. "It helps him sleep better. But he was young once too, you know. The stories I could tell you about his wilder days..."

"Please do," Leona leaned forward eagerly.

"Another time," Mama promised, her eyes twinkling. "Right now, I want to hear about this person who's got my Luca so captivated he's forgetting to sleep."

I felt my cheeks warm. "It's not like that. He's just... there's something about him I can't quite capture on canvas. Something in his eyes, maybe, or the way he carries himself..."

"The way he beat me," Louis grumbled, but there was no real heat in it.

"The missing element will come," Mama assured me, running her fingers through my hair like she used to when I was small. "Art is like love - you can't force it. It reveals itself in its own time."

"That's what I told him," Leona said triumphantly.

"Of course you did, tesoro. You've always had my wisdom."

"And my charm," Papa's voice joined us as he emerged from the house. "Though hopefully not my tendency to get into trouble."

"Too late for that," Mama laughed as he bent to kiss her cheek.

We spent the next hour in the garden, listening to Mama tell stories from her early days of courting Papa. We'd heard them all before, of course - how they'd met at a garden party, how he'd been too nervous to speak to her until his friend Xavier had pushed him into the fountain, giving her the perfect excuse to come to his rescue with a towel and her sympathy.

"Sometimes the best things in life come from unexpected moments," she concluded, looking at me meaningfully. "From people who catch us completely off guard."

I thought about the painting waiting in my studio, about those eyes that seemed to hold secrets I couldn't quite grasp. Maybe Leona and Mama were right. Maybe I needed to let the missing element reveal itself in its own time.

"Now," Papa cleared his throat, checking his watch. "As much as I hate to break up this lovely morning, I have meetings to attend. And you three..."

"Have lots of important things to do," Leona finished innocently.

"Just try to stay out of the gossip columns today," he requested, but his eyes were twinkling. "Your mother can only deflect so many questions about mysterious midnight activities."

"No promises," Louis grinned, ducking the light swat Papa aimed at his head.

As our parents headed back inside, I found myself looking toward my studio window, visible from the garden. The painting waited there, imperfect but promising. Like a mystery waiting to be solved, or a story waiting to be told.

"You'll figure it out," Leona said softly, following my gaze. "The missing piece. It'll come when you least expect it."

"Maybe," I agreed, breathing in the morning air. "Or maybe I need to see him again. To understand what it is I'm trying to capture."

"Careful, little brother," she teased. "You're starting to sound like one of Mama's romance novels."

"We're the same age," I reminded her, making her laugh.

The morning sun had fully risen now, warming the garden and casting long shadows across the perfectly maintained lawn. Somewhere in Rome, I thought, a mysterious racer with cold eyes and hidden depths was probably starting his day too. And somehow, I knew our paths would cross again. The painting could wait until then.

To be continued..