Milano Police Headquarters — Two days later
Luca hated police stations.
Not because he feared being arrested — he'd been, more than once. But because he knew the best-pressed uniforms often hid the dirtiest hands.
He waited in a room with peeling walls, stale coffee in the air, and moldy paper in the drawers. Across the table, Inspector Ricci examined the photos.
"So, you're claiming these images show sabotage?"
"I'm not claiming anything," Luca replied. "I'm asking why no one else is."
Ricci was a thick man with a flushed face and narrow eyes that dodged eye contact. He flipped through the prints like garbage.
"We've received the official report from the team. It says mechanical failure. Wear and tear."
"And you believe that?"
Ricci paused. Sighed. Met Luca's eyes briefly.
"I believe what I'm told to believe, Mr. Ferretti. And maybe you should too."
Luca didn't blink.
"How many more drivers have to die before this becomes a real case?"
The inspector leaned back, folding his arms.
"You're digging in the wrong soil. These people… they have protection. Money. Friends everywhere."
"Even here?"
Ricci didn't answer. He just slid the envelope back across the table.
He knew. And he wouldn't touch it.
Luca stood, collected the evidence carefully. As he left, the corridor felt longer. Eyes followed him. Not friendly ones.
Outside, the sun was high. But everything felt colder.
Now he knew what he was up against: not just corruption in racing, but a network of complicity that reached the very institutions meant to protect justice.
And still, he wouldn't stop.
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If you want to see Luca tear down the silence behind authority, drop a Power Stone to show that truth still matters.
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