Racing My Heart to You

As the Principessa of the Falcone family, I craved danger and absolute freedom. But on my ninety-ninth attempt to escape my arranged marriage, Vito Moretti finally caught me. My dangerously handsome betrothed cornered me at an underground racetrack. "No one walks away from me, Liliana," he smirked from his modified Mustang. "You're the first." With my weakness for dangerous men, I made a life or death wager. "Beat me on the track, and I'll marry you. Lose, and you get out of my life." Our engines roared as we tore along the cliffside road, its curves dangerously free of guardrails. Nearing the finish line, I took a turn too fast and hurtled toward the edge. But just inches from victory, Vito jerked his wheel. He slammed his car into mine, knocking me to safety as his own plunged into the icy bay below. I scrambled down the cliff, terrified, and dragged his bleeding body from the water. "I lost," he gasped, life fading from his eyes. "You're free." My heart shattered into a million dazzling pieces as tears streamed down my face. Startled by my reaction, Vito swore softly. "Don't cry. I'll tell our fathers the broken engagement was my choice. No one will dare lay a finger on you." I sobbed and pressed my lips to his. "To hell with the bet, Vito Moretti. I'm marrying you!" Chapter 1 I had always yearned for absolute freedom. This was my ninety-ninth attempt to escape an arranged marriage, and this time, my fiancé Vito finally cornered me at an underground racetrack. I lifted my chin and challenged the Moretti heir to a bet. If he won the race, I would marry him. My car skidded out of control on a cliffside turn. Vito had been poised for an easy win, but he slammed his car into mine, knocking me back to safety as he plunged into the sea. Dragging him from the water, his face a mask of blood, I had to admit the truth to myself. I had lost. Completely and utterly. The union between the Moretti and Falcone families sent shockwaves through the New York underworld. Our elders breathed a collective sigh of relief, as if their most troublesome problem had just been solved. My friends all joked that the wild rose who'd run from ninety-nine arranged marriages was finally caught by the Mafia heir. They said he would lock her in his manor and tame her. But they were all wrong. The shackles of marriage couldn't chain my wild soul. At the wedding, I brazenly challenged his men to tequila shots. My father's face turned ashen with rage. He rushed over, ready to drag me over to apologize to Vito. But Vito shielded me, nodding with a lazy smile. "Let her drink. Whatever my wife wants, she gets. Her rules are Moretti rules now." After the wedding, I didn't settle down. I took up skydiving. Vito just raised an eyebrow. He tossed me a no-limit black card and chartered a private helicopter. Shivering in the cold wind at thirty thousand feet, he pulled me fiercely into his arms from behind, his lips brushing my ear. His indulgence was boundless. He granted me unimaginable wealth and absolute freedom. Whenever I craved a thrill, whether it was an illegal street race or a deep sea dive, he would always make time to join my madness. These were things even my own parents, the heads of the Falcone family, would never allow. I was certain that my feelings for Vito had long surpassed the gratitude I felt for him saving my life. I had fallen in love with him, completely and without reservation. And Vito's boundless indulgence of me moved even our families and friends. But I still felt that something wasn't right. It was a vague emptiness, a void I couldn't name. Until Isabella Moretti ended her disastrous arranged marriage and returned to New York. She was Vito's adoptive sister, a woman with a reputation for being sweet and innocent. I first properly met her at an underground shooting range. That day, I had just set a new target-shooting record. I snapped a photo of my modified pistol and sent it to Vito. "Darling, care for a match tonight?" Vito replied quickly with a voice message. I could hear a meeting in the background, but his voice was a soft, intimate murmur meant only for me. "Of course. Just don't come crying and begging for mercy in my bed when you lose." I smiled. I knew that no matter how much blood was on his hands or how busy he was, he would always keep his promises to me. I sat on the bench in my shooting lane, scrolling through my phone while I waited for him. As I was getting bored, someone tapped on the partition. A beautiful woman with a gentle voice invited me, "You're an amazing shot. Mind if I try a few rounds?" I glanced at the clock on the wall. It would be a while before Vito arrived. So I removed the magazine, swapped in training rounds, and agreed. After just two shots down the lane, the woman glanced at her phone, and the color drained from her face. She screamed in terror, "Stop! Stop... my brother is on his way!" The words had barely left her mouth when a familiar figure strode toward us, his face dark. I froze. Why was Vito here? He was supposed to be in a meeting. The next second, Vito snatched the gun from her hand and yanked her out of the lane. "Isabella! Who the fuck gave you permission to come to a place like this? Don't you know a misfire can kill you!" "Have you forgotten how much you bled when you fell down the stairs? One wrong move here and you could lose a limb, or end up a corpse!" Isabella cowered, her shoulders trembling, her face a mask of embarrassment and helplessness. "I'm sorry, Vito... I just wanted to see what it was like..." Vito's face was terrifyingly dark, a flicker of fear from a near miss in his eyes. "If something happened to you, how could I explain it to your father? Who put you up to this?!" "No one! I wanted to do it myself!" Vito was already too furious to listen to any explanation. "Today, I find out which piece of trash put you up to this, and I swear I'll put a bullet in their head!" His gaze finally moved past Isabella and landed on me. I looked at the enraged Vito, and it all clicked into place. Isabella had only fired two training rounds, and he had nearly lost his mind with fear. The face that always wore a lazy, wicked smile for me was now contorted with fury, veins bulging as he protected another woman. But what about me? I raced on cliffs without guardrails, dived in the deepest bays, and jumped from thirty thousand feet in the air. Vito had always just smiled and let me. I'd mistaken it for respect and trust, his desire to give me complete freedom. The truth was simpler: he just didn't care if I lived or died. So that was it... that was the truth. The air left my lungs, my mouth falling open as I struggled to breathe. Watching my husband advance on me with murder in his eyes, the fingers gripping my pistol began to cramp uncontrollably. In that moment, I actually felt the urge to run. Our eyes met. Vito clearly froze, subconsciously reaching a hand toward me. "What are you doing here?" Such a casual question. He had forgotten my message, forgotten our shooting date, forgotten even me. I finally understood. In the time it took him to ditch a meeting with our family's capos and rush here, his world held only Isabella. I dropped my gaze, silently taking off my safety goggles and walking away. Through the glass, Vito stared at his hand, suspended in midair. It remained there for a long time. Chapter 2 I went back and looked through Isabella's social media accounts. We had exchanged contact information at the racetrack that day. I discovered that Isabella had a "He" whom she loved deeply. Three years ago, when Isabella was forced to marry the heir of a rival family. She wrote: "Power and blood debts tear lovers apart. I never thought I'd be one of the sacrifices. He defied his family's wrath for me, and all I could do was watch them tear him down. To keep him safe, I had to let go." When Isabella was married off, she vowed: "I am marrying a man I do not love, but he can protect Vito's life. What is my own happiness compared to his safety?" A year ago, when Isabella was filing for divorce, she lamented late at night: "Why is fate so cruel? Why must your marriage be the price for my freedom? If the cost of my return to New York is you marrying another woman, I would rather stay in that hell forever." That day was my wedding day with Vito. Piece by piece, the puzzle came together. The "He" in her posts was Vito. So, Vito marrying me was just the price the Moretti family paid to use their underworld influence to help Isabella escape her marriage. And I had been foolish enough to think I had found true love and given him my whole heart. In the end, I was just a stepping stone in their love story, one they trampled until I was a bloody mess. The dull ache in my heart sharpened into a blade, twisting in my gut until I felt torn apart. My mind went blank. I could only mechanically lift one foot after the other. It wasn't until a car horn blared behind me that I remembered I hadn't driven here. Vito himself had brought me to this remote underground shooting range. Now, Isabella was in my passenger seat, sitting there like she owned it. I only glanced at them before continuing to walk. Vito probably thought I was throwing a tantrum. I loved to cause a scene, so he must have assumed I was angry that he forgot our date. He knew I was waiting for him to coax me, but with Isabella in the car... I don't know how long that black Rolls-Royce followed slowly behind me. Isabella finally couldn't stand it anymore. She rolled down the passenger window, her voice full of grievance. "Vito, is Liliana refusing to get in the car because I'm in her seat?" "I should just move to the back. It's fine if I'm a little uncomfortable. I don't want her to be angry over something so small." Vito grabbed her hand as she reached for the seatbelt, stopping her with a pained expression. "Don't be ridiculous. If you get carsick, you sit up front. Stop torturing yourself." He was trapped between me, refusing to get in the car, and a carsick Isabella. For the first time, Vito was caught in a dilemma. Isabella suddenly covered her mouth and let out a dry heave. "Vito, I feel so sick... Maybe you should just get Liliana in the car. I can get out and walk..." "Really, I'd feel better walking than being in the car. I really can't take it anymore." His gaze fell on Isabella's paper-white face, his brow furrowed tightly. And outside the car, I was shivering from the cold wind. My face was as pale as a ghost's, as if I could collapse at any moment. Seeing his hesitation, Isabella made a show of unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car. She leaned weakly against the car door, her eyes red. "Vito, I'm out now. Go and coax Liliana." "I just got back and I've already made her unhappy. If I keep causing trouble between you two, maybe I shouldn't have come back at all..." Vito didn't hesitate. He got out of the car, lifting her back into the passenger seat. "Where else would you go? Disappear without a word like you did three years ago?" His attention was entirely on Isabella. He explained to me in a hurry, "Liliana, Isabella isn't feeling well. I can't let her indulge your whims while she's sick." "I've already called for a car to pick you up. I'm taking Isabella home first." The luxurious Rolls-Royce sped past me. But it stopped a short distance away. Isabella deliberately rolled down the window, giving me a clear view of the scene inside. She was huddled with her shoulders drawn in, seemingly complaining of the cold. Vito shrugged off his expensive cashmere coat. He took Isabella's hands in his and, in a gesture of effortless intimacy, lowered his head to breathe warm air onto them. Then, he tucked her hands deep into his coat pocket. They were as intimate as a pair of devoted lovers. It was a simple gesture to warm her hands, but the sight was a poisoned dagger to my heart. The pain was so intense I could barely breathe. I lowered my head, desperately trying to suppress my emotions. When I looked up again, all that was left was the acrid smell of exhaust. I walked for two hours through the dangerous borderlands where family territories overlapped before finally pulling out my phone to call a car. By the time my car arrived, the bodyguards Vito had promised were still nowhere in sight. It was clear. Between me and Isabella, he wouldn't choose me. But I no longer had the strength to care. I gave a bitter laugh and got into the car. As I dragged my frozen body through the heavy doors of the Moretti estate, I heard a low, gentle, coaxing voice from the side parlor's fireplace. The cold-blooded man, whose name struck fear into the entire New York underworld, was speaking with a patience I had never heard before. "Just one more sip. The doctor added a sedative, otherwise you'll have nightmares again as soon as you close your eyes tonight." "Be a good girl, Bella. I had the butler warm up your favorite Macallan." He was on one knee before the sofa, holding an expensive crystal glass, carefully bringing it to Isabella's lips. Isabella was still wearing his cashmere coat. She turned her head away weakly. "No, the whiskey is too strong. My throat hurts!" Hearing my footsteps, Vito looked up from his task. He glanced at my hair, tousled by the cold wind, and gestured casually toward the half-pot of red tea a servant had left on the bar. "Go pour yourself some tea to warm up. Don't catch a cold." With that, he looked away, lowering his head to gently wipe the moisture from the corner of Isabella's lips. Then he took a small sip from the glass himself before offering it to her again. "See? It's not harsh." I felt all the strength drain from my body, as if I didn't belong here. In this magnificent estate, there was simply no place for me. I turned without expression and started up the marble staircase. The sudden warmth of the room hit my frozen body. My throat tightened, and I let out a low, uncontrollable cough, my thin shoulders shuddering. Vito's brow furrowed. He put down the glass, about to scold me. I stopped, speaking first. "Vito, let's get a divorce." Chapter 3 Vito froze for a second, but before he could speak, Isabella, beside him, put on a great show of her shock. "Vito, this is all your fault! You left Liliana in a neighborhood where a gunfight could break out at any moment to bring me back first. She's angry with you." He fell silent, clearly agreeing with her. In his mind, there was no way I actually wanted a divorce. I was a madwoman who craved absolute freedom, who had run away from an arranged marriage ninety-nine times. But it was this same rebellious me who had fussed over our wedding, personally vetting every single flower for the bouquet. In front of the priest, I had eagerly let him place the heavy wedding ring, a symbol of family ties, on my finger. What, if not absolute love, could make a wild bird fly willingly into its cage? At the thought, the panic in his eyes faded, and his tense shoulders relaxed. "Stop throwing a tantrum. I'll have the butler run you a bath." I couldn't be bothered to argue. I knew exactly how clear my mind was. That night, I secretly contacted one of New York's top divorce lawyers. The next morning, I was awakened by a phone call. "Miss Falcone, we saw that your booking for the Monaco Formula 1 race on your birthday has been canceled. Was there a change of plans?" "Canceled? I absolutely did not cancel it. You must have made a mistake." I had been planning this Monaco racing extravaganza for a long time and had already told all my racing team friends. I had once sat straddling Vito's lap, arrogantly declaring that it would be my wildest birthday ever. At the time, he had tilted my chin up, his eyes filled with adoration. "Then may I have the honor of paying for it, my queen?" Staring at the cancellation email, my mind went blank with a roaring rage. All I wanted was to confront Vito. I reached the top of the stairs, only to find Isabella also sitting on the leather sofa in the grand hall. "The Monaco Formula 1 race looks so exciting. To be honest, I'd love to go too!" Vito tapped her on the head disapprovingly. "Absolutely not. Do you have any idea how chaotic an F1 race is?" "It's crowded and our enemies are everywhere. A stray bullet could end your life." Isabella pouted, complaining petulantly, "You're so controlling! Then why is Liliana allowed to go?!" As if a nerve had been struck, Vito didn't answer for a moment. He frowned deeply, silent for a long moment before saying in a hoarse voice, "She's... different from you." Different? A bitter smile touched my lips. Of course we were different. Vito didn't give a damn if I lived or died. He only cared about Isabella. If he cared so little about whether I lived or died, then why cancel my trip? Then I heard Isabella's sickly sweet, probing voice. "But Vito, if we turn Liliana's birthday party into a welcome-home banquet for me, will she agree?" "She will." His tone was arrogant, certain. Because I loved him so much, he was confident he could talk me into anything. Taking my birthday was nothing. He could probably drain me of my blood and I would let him. My foot froze mid-step. "Oh, why is Liliana just standing there on the stairs like that?" Vito turned at the sound of her voice. When his gaze fell on the dark circles under my eyes, his brow tightened. "Didn't sleep well? Did you stay up all night over something so trivial?" I didn't bother telling him that I hadn't slept because I was planning the next chapter of my life. I asked coldly, "Why did you cancel my Monaco trip?" Vito's eyes flickered for a second before he regained his composure. He stared at me and lied without batting an eye. "Monaco isn't safe. Let's have a family dinner in New York instead." "It's perfect timing with Isabella back. You'll need to invite the women from the five families to help her build her network." I had no intention of backing down. "When I was racing on cliffsides and diving into bays, you never called it dangerous. This is a professional F1 track." "Besides, I've already invited my team. If you're afraid to die, you can stay in New York." Isabella jumped in, playing the peacemaker. "Liliana, Vito is just trying to protect you. How can you be so ungrateful!" I watched her performance with cold appreciation. Those who benefit are always like this. They enjoy the fruits of others' sacrifices with a clear conscience, but the moment their benefits are threatened, they put on a righteous facade. To that, I just wanted to say: Not my problem. My mind was made up. I was going to Monaco, with or without his permission. There was no point in saying more. I turned to leave. "Liliana," Vito said casually from behind me. "Do you have to be this way?" I stood my ground. "Yes. And I already invited my friends. They're all looking forward to it. What will they think of me if I back out now?" At my core, I was still that rebellious, defiant Mafia Principessa. My circle was full of reckless, fearless people. To break my word to them was impossible. Vito's voice turned cold. "Don't make me remind you of this family's rules." "Liliana, what do you think would happen if every racetrack in the world suddenly closed its doors to you?" His eyes were cold and sharp, his tone threatening. It was as if someone had dumped a basin of liquid nitrogen over my head, my very organs freezing solid. This man had always been cold-blooded and ruthless. Now, he was using the same brutal tactics on me that he used to control the underworld. "Be a good girl. Listen to me." "I'm doing this for your own good." I suddenly burst out laughing, laughing so hard that tears streamed down my face. Finally. I had earned his "concern." Chapter 4 My birthday dinner was held in the gilded hall of the Moretti estate. Besides my own family members, Vito had also invited the core figures of New York's five major Mafia families. My friends, still in the dark, kept trying to console me. "It's okay, this banquet is just as good as being there. Your husband is just looking out for you." "Yeah, look at all the heavy hitters he invited for your birthday. Enough to make anyone jealous." I met my friends' envious gazes, a bitter taste in my mouth. They didn't know that my husband, who should have been at my side, was parading Isabella through the heart of the underworld, introducing her as if she were the guest of honor. It was time to cut the cake. A waiter pushed a massive, seven-tiered cake to the center of the hall. I saw right away that something was wrong. I had ordered a custom race car-shaped cake from a top pastry chef. It was supposed to have a fiery red body, silver wheels, and my favorite sports car elements on top. But the cake before me was a simple pink. I walked over quickly to inspect it. On top were the words "Welcome Home." My birthday cake had been swapped for one celebrating Isabella's return. "What's going on? This isn't the super cool race car cake you ordered, Lily. Did they make a mistake?" "Maybe it's the cake from the banquet next door? How could the staff screw up something as important as a birthday cake?" My friends were either indignant on my behalf or questioning the Moretti family's competence. Only I knew the truth. The waiter hadn't made a mistake. This was a carefully orchestrated move by Vito and Isabella. Vito walked over, pulling Isabella to stand between us. They stood so close they looked less like siblings and more like a perfectly matched pair. "The cake is right." "Today is both Liliana's birthday and the official welcome ceremony for Isabella, who has just returned to the family." Isabella stepped forward, becoming the undisputed star of the show. She smiled slightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you all!" Vito moved closer to me, tugging at my wrist, his tone coaxing. "Are you angry now?" "Don't worry, your race car cake is in my study. We'll cut it together after the party, just the two of us." It was the closest he ever came to pleading. In the past, whenever he did this, my anger would melt away, no matter how furious I was. But this time, I coldly pulled my hand away. Astonishment flashed in Vito's eyes. He opened his mouth to say something else, but I had already turned away, picking up a beautifully wrapped gift box. "Vito, I want to give you a gift." Seeing the exquisite gift box in my hand, he let out a breath of relief. That's right. I loved him that much. I even prepared a surprise for him on my own birthday. That vague, unsettling feeling in his gut was probably just him overthinking things. Just as Vito was about to take the gift box, Isabella's triumphant voice came from behind him. "Vito, shouldn't we move on to the next part?" Vito glanced at me, a flicker of conflict and hesitation in his eyes. But after touching the gift box, he pulled his hand back. "Open it when we get home." He pushed the gift box back into my hands and strode toward Isabella. I looked down at the box in my hands and felt a little regretful. Because Vito would have been very "happy" to see that gift. It would have been the perfect way to publicly announce his true relationship with Isabella. It was a divorce agreement. The only gift I was giving myself for my twenty-fifth birthday. Amid the cheers, Isabella moved to cut the cake. It was as if everyone had forgotten that I was the one whose birthday it was. No, Isabella hadn't forgotten. She walked up to me with two glasses of champagne, feigning intimacy as she went to hug me. "Liliana, happy birthday!" The moment she pressed against me, the heel of her stiletto came down hard on my unsuspecting foot. At the same time, the champagne in her hand "slipped," drenching the front of my gown. The sticky liquid ran down my skin and soaked into my dress, a complete and utter mess. "Oh, I am so sorry, Liliana, I lost my balance..." she gasped, covering her mouth in a pitiful act. I had always been one to return a favor. Even as I fought through the sharp pain in my foot, I raised my hand to slap her hard across the face. But a large hand caught my wrist in mid-air, the grip so tight I thought it would shatter the bone. Vito shielded Isabella, his eyes turning hard. "She didn't mean it. It was an accident." He lowered his voice, his dark eyes filled with a vicious warning, as if he would cripple my hand on the spot if I dared to let the slap fall. Isabella hid behind him, out of the guests' line of sight, and gave me a provocative and malicious smirk. I, a Falcone Principessa, had never endured such humiliation. The rage forced a crimson flush into my eyes. Vito saw the redness at the corners of my eyes. His jaw tightened, his hard features stiffening for a split second. He took out a handkerchief and carefully wiped my face. "Alright. It's your birthday. Be happy." I found him utterly hypocritical. I slapped his hand away without expression and quietly waited for the final event of the evening. "And now, I would like to announce the new director of the Moretti family's E-Customs bespoke tuning studio." This was the part I had been most looking forward to, because this studio was my creation, my passion project. At first, Vito had just let me play with it to keep me happy. He never expected me to achieve top-tier results in the industry. "Let's welcome Miss Isabella Moretti!" The champagne flute in my hand shattered. Chapter 5 Isabella's "masterpieces" scrolled across the giant screen. From the initial aerodynamic sketches and aggressive body kit designs to the engine's peak performance data on underground tracks. But all of that was my work! It was the first time in my life I had reined in my wild nature. I stopped getting drunk in nightclubs and locked myself in a stuffy garage, working through the night. For a whole month, I ran on four hours of sleep a night to produce those one-of-a-kind blueprints. And now, on every blueprint and data report I had personally drafted, my signature rose emblem had been erased from the bottom right corner, brazenly replaced with Isabella's forgery. Isabella stood on stage in her haute couture gown, shamelessly soaking in all the applause. She even smugly announced that for the future of the studio, she would be disbanding the current core team of technicians for a complete overhaul. My crew, the men who had been through hell and back with me and were waiting to be introduced tonight, stared at me in disbelief. I was shaking with rage, my face a deathly pale mask. I pushed roughly through the crowd, ready to storm the stage. "No! Those aren't her designs—" Before I could finish, a large, leather-gloved hand clamped down hard over my mouth and nose from behind. A suffocating pressure clamped down on me. Vito's unique scent of cigar smoke filled my nostrils. "It's just a damn garage, Liliana. Is it worth making such an ugly scene over?" Vito? Why? I wanted to ask more. A sharp sting pierced my neck. A cold sedative was ruthlessly injected into the vein in my neck. Before I lost consciousness, all I heard was his cold command. "Take my wife back to the estate." When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on the leather bed in the master bedroom. Vito sat on the edge of the bed, still in his suit, surrounded by gift boxes from Cartier and Hermès. I didn't say a word. Without even bothering to change out of the silk nightgown I was wearing, I stumbled out of the room. I would not let my life's work fall into the hands of that venomous snake. I would not let my team be left homeless on the streets. My fingers had just closed around the cold brass doorknob when a powerful grip seized my waist. I was yanked back with brutal force into a hard chest. "Where are you going?" The side effects of the sedative made me dizzy. I fought against the nausea roiling in my stomach and struggled desperately in his arms. "Let me go! Isabella stole my studio, and now she wants to fire my team! I have to find her. I have to get back what's mine!" "It's no use." Vito's deep, flat voice sounded from above me. "The Moretti family leadership has already unanimously approved her appointment." I gripped his designer shirt tightly, begging, "Can't you vouch for me? You know those blueprints are—" My voice died in my throat. As our eyes met, a horrifying realization struck me like lightning. All of my core data was locked on my private computer in the studio's safe. In all of New York, only Vito had ever seen them! How stupid I had been. As if I were showing off a prize, I had told him the computer password was the anniversary of the day we met on the track. And now, the work I had cherished like a treasure had become a stepping stone for Isabella's rise! No one but Vito could have stolen those files so silently. I froze completely. I stared at the husband before me in disbelief. Despair, devastation, absurdity—all my emotions were reflected in his eyes. The sight of me in this state made something in his chest clench. His throat tightened, and he raised a large hand to cover my eyes. He couldn't bear to look at me right now. "Liliana..." My heart was in agony. I pressed a hand to my chest, barely able to breathe. All that was left were large tears streaming down my face. I heard my own voice, trembling uncontrollably. "Why?" Vito gently wiped away my tears, a flicker of pain in his eyes that he himself didn't notice. "Be good," he murmured. "I'll compensate you for it, double." "Bella needs this spotlight. She needs this career more than you do." "You're the Principessa of the Falcone family, you've had everything you ever wanted since you were a child. And now you're the lady of the Moretti estate. But Bella? Her father took a bullet for mine. She has nothing." "This is a blood debt my family owes her." Vito would never be on my side again. The moment I accepted this fact, my heart felt like it had been run over by a heavy truck, leaving nothing but wreckage. But even so, I swallowed my pride and begged him. "Then please, just don't fire my crew. They're talented guys from the streets. They trusted me with their lives. Please, just give them a chance..." Most of those technicians were marginalized people from the streets. I was the one who pulled them out of the muck of gang wars. Without this job, they'd be eaten alive by the streets of New York! Vito brushed my tear-soaked hair away from my face, a hint of helplessness in his expression. "It's Isabella's studio now." "I can't interfere with her decisions." Chapter 6 My hand, clutching his sleeve, fell away. My throat was raw, as if it had been scraped with a razor, and I could taste blood. He ignored my pain and my pleas, treating my life's work like trash to be tossed aside. Yet he protected Isabella to the extreme, unwilling to let her suffer even the slightest grievance. Suddenly, the tears stopped. I remembered a line I once read: tears only work on people who love you. I forced myself to calm down, wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand, and began to mentally map out the Falcone family's underground network of garages, trying to find a way out for my crew. Vito sat on the edge of the bed, expecting me to throw a fit like I always did, to try and force him to take back his decision. After all, the word "compromise" had never been in Liliana Falcone's dictionary. Anything I wanted, I either took by force or destroyed so no one else could have it. But I said nothing. I just threw back the covers, walked to the sofa farthest from him, and unlocked my phone. My unnatural silence brought a flicker of annoyance to his eyes. He suppressed the inexplicable panic rising in his chest and tried to compensate me. "Stop being angry." "That pigeon's blood ruby you glanced at during the Sotheby's auction last month? I bought it for you." "It's the only one in the world, and it's all in your name." That necklace was worth enough to buy ten E-Customs studios with change to spare. In Vito's mind, he had shown more than enough sincerity in placating me this time. But I didn't even look up, seemingly uninterested, my focus solely on my phone. Vito pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice low. "That's enough. Come here and sign the asset transfer documents." Hearing the word "sign," I finally looked up, my voice perfectly calm. "Alright." "Let me see the documents." Vito didn't realize that in the instant I agreed, the corner of his mouth had tilted up slightly. With my back to him, I pretended to flip through the complicated jewelry transfer agreement. Just then, Vito's phone rang. He answered without hesitation, his voice soft and low. After hanging up, he grabbed his jacket and started to leave. I quickly pulled a single document from the middle of the stack and put my hand on his arm. "What's the hurry? Sign this before you go." He fought back his impatience, took the pen, and quickly signed his name where required. "You go to sleep. I might not be back tonight." Watching his retreating back, I lowered my eyes to the now valid divorce agreement and found it almost laughable. Our marriage hadn't even lasted a full year. I could barely remember what it felt like to be that Liliana on the cliffside, the one who would have given her life for him. In the middle of the night, I lay in bed, wide awake. Suddenly, with a loud "bang," the bedroom door was violently kicked open. My neck exploded in pain, and a scream tore from my throat. "Ah—" A bright light blinded me, reflecting the tears of pain streaming down my face. Vito's hand flinched slightly, as if burned by my tears. But he only froze for a second before his rage returned. "Liliana, you've gone too far this time!" I didn't even have to ask. I knew that murderous look was all for Isabella. For Isabella, he kicked down my door in the middle of the night. For Isabella, he took away my team. For Isabella, he ignored my pain and threw me to the floor like an enemy... I didn't even have the energy to struggle. I casually pulled together the torn collar of my nightgown and let out a mocking laugh. "What is it now, my boss? What's wrong with your precious sister?" My indifferent attitude completely ignited the fury he had been suppressing. "You dare ask?" he snarled, looming over me, his eyes filled with a deadly disappointment. "Isabella takes over your pathetic little garage, and you send her a bloody razor blade and death threats?!" "Have you forgotten her father died taking a bullet for mine? You've scared her into a nervous breakdown. She's hiding in a closet, trembling. Are you satisfied now?" I took a deep breath, defiantly meeting his furious gaze. "I didn't do it. If I wanted her dead, I would have put a bullet in her head myself, not stooped to these cheap tricks." "You still dare to deny it?" Vito snarled, throwing several enlarged photos in my face. The photos showed a blood-stained card with twisted writing on it: "Thief," "Usurper," "You will die in a car." I kept telling myself that Vito would always side with Isabella, but seeing the crudely forged evidence, I couldn't help but bite back. "That's not even my handwriting!" "If you didn't do it, one of your lowlife friends did. Now Isabella is terrified to even get in a car. She's having nightmares." "Congratulations, Liliana. You got what you wanted!" Chapter 7 I found his accusation absurd. "She shamelessly stole our garage, and now she's framing me and slinging mud?" "Vito Moretti, don't push me." It took me only a second to completely rule out the possibility that my crew was involved. They might have grown up on the streets, but they lived by the underworld's code. They would never do something as low as sending a woman razor blades. When Vito heard me insult Isabella, the violence in his eyes flared, and a vein throbbed at his temple. He clenched his fists, reminding himself that Liliana was his wife, an untamable wild rose. As heir to the family, it was his duty to teach her to submit. "I'm not going to argue with you about this." "Apologize to Bella. Now. You will kneel before her and beg for her forgiveness. You will beg her not to leave. You will make her feel safe enough to take over that damn garage." My pupils dilated. My breath seemed to stop, my chest forgetting to rise and fall. Me, apologize to Isabella? Beg her to take my life's work? A thick, metallic taste rose in my throat. I clenched my jaw, forcing the words through my teeth. "In. Your. Fucking. Dreams." He grabbed my shoulders, his grip so tight I thought he would crush my shoulder blades. "You're going." "Liliana, Bella's father gave his life for mine. That makes him your benefactor. Drop the spoiled Principessa act. We do not repay kindness with betrayal." I stared at his cold face, my voice as still as a stagnant pool. "Vito, we're divorced." "Whatever you want to do to repay your debt, if you want to give your life for her, that's your business. Just stop disgusting me." "Still talking back?" Vito sneered, looking at me as if I were a misbehaving pet. "You were willing to bet your life for me. You love me that much. You couldn't possibly bear to divorce me." I struggled, trying to reach for the divorce agreement on the cabinet, but he thought I was trying to escape. He gripped me tighter, his tone laced with threat. "Aren't you using your family's connections to find a way out for those useless friends of yours? Let me tell you, if you don't go, I'll make sure they're blacklisted from every garage in North America." Thinking of the brothers who had been through hell and back with me, I admit, I wavered. "I said," I hissed, "I'm not going." Vito laughed, a sound of pure fury that didn't reach his eyes. "Fine. I look forward to seeing if you're still this stubborn in three days." "Take my wife to the cellar," he said, his voice void of all emotion. "Lock her in. Let her cool off." I was seized by two guards, my arms twisted behind my back, and dragged without any chance of resistance to the bone-chilling cellar deep within the estate. The heavy iron door slammed shut. In the pitch-black silence, I finally broke down and cried. I feared nothing in this world except the dark. My claustrophobia was so severe I couldn't sleep without a night light. When we first got married, Vito discovered this fatal weakness of mine. I thought a man like him, forged in blood and chaos, would mock my weakness. But he had held me tight, kissing my hair and swearing, "As long as you're here, I'll come home every night." "With me here, you have nothing to fear." And now, he was the one who had personally pushed me into this endless abyss of darkness. Three days later, the iron door of the cellar groaned open. I was hauled out like a rag doll and thrown at Isabella's feet. Standing beside Isabella, Vito took in my wretched state. His brow furrowed, his heart clenching as if squeezed by an invisible hand. "I only sent you down there to reflect for three days. How did you end up like this?" Isabella guiltily averted her gaze, then clung to Vito's arm and whined, "Liliana is just putting on an act to avoid apologizing. She's really selling it, isn't she?" The flicker of pity in Vito's eyes vanished, replaced by a cold resolve. "Liliana. Apologize." I lay on the cold marble floor, a dry, rasping sound in my throat. I dug my fingers into the cracks between the tiles, holding on with my last ounce of strength, refusing to bow my head. "Vito, why don't you wait outside? She might be too embarrassed to admit she's wrong in front of you." Vito was silent for a moment, then nodded. Before leaving, he shot me a complicated look and closed the heavy oak door. The moment we were alone, the innocent mask on Isabella's face fell away, revealing her true, ugly self. She pulled a lighter from her purse and lit a thin cigar. She walked over to me, grabbed my chin with the hand holding the cigar, and sneered viciously. "You bitch. A low-class wild child like you really thinks you can compete with me for Vito?" "What's so great about you, anyway? Last night he was calling your name in his sleep... I'll make sure he loses all feeling for you, once and for all." She brought the glowing tip of her cigar close to my cheek. Her other hand slid across my face, her voice low but sending shivers down my spine. "Tell me," she whispered, her voice a venomous caress, "if I were to brand you right here, do you think Vito would feel even more pity for you?" The moment she finished speaking, she hit send on her phone. A few seconds later, the door was kicked open, and a group of menacing thugs stormed in. Chapter 8 When I regained consciousness, I found myself and Isabella bound with our hands behind our backs, suspended by iron chains at opposite ends of an abandoned warehouse. The ringleader toyed with a remote, grinning savagely at Vito. "Heir to the Moretti family," he sneered. "Two women. You only get to save one." Vito snorted, ignoring his question. As the don of New York's underworld, he never walked into a fight unprepared. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, there's a bomb in the center of the room," the kidnapper added with a laugh, waiting for the show to begin. Vito's movements faltered for a split second, but he remained calm. He trusted his men implicitly. Baptized in blood and fire, there was nothing they couldn't handle. Sure enough, the men Vito brought with him quickly subdued the kidnappers. He looked up at the two of us, suspended in mid-air, and thought for a moment. Then he nodded, almost imperceptibly, and his men moved to release Isabella's chains first. Just then, the ringleader, pinned to the ground, began to "confess" in a trembling voice. "Mercy, Don Moretti! It was Miss Falcone who paid us. She said she wanted to create a diversion and blow up Miss Isabella..." Hearing the clumsy accusation, I found it utterly absurd. I had just been let out of the cellar. I barely had the strength to speak, let alone the time and energy to arrange all this. But Vito believed it. He held the terrified Isabella tightly in his arms and strode toward the exit. As he passed me, he threw four cold words over his shoulder. "You. Never. Learn." He didn't see the look Isabella gave the kidnappers. Once Vito's convoy had disappeared into the night, the thugs calmly deactivated the countdown timer. In reality, if Vito had just looked a little closer, he would have seen how obviously fake the bomb was. But his eyes were only for Isabella. He never even glanced at the bomb. I was thrown onto the concrete floor, followed by a rain of relentless fists. My throat was too raw to scream. With nowhere to run, I could only curl up and protect my head as hatred grew inside me like a vine, feeding on mangled flesh and fresh blood. It hurt. God, it hurt. Why did I ever run away from my wedding to race that day? Why did I ever think the way he cornered me was charming? Why, oh why, did I ever fall in love with him? I regretted it. God, how I regretted it. I couldn't make a sound. I thought I would die in this brutal assault. I don't know how many blows I took, or how long it lasted. A sliver of gray light filtered in through the broken window on the warehouse roof. The dawn fell on my face. That faint warmth was a cruel reminder that I was still breathing. Buzz— A vibration came from my coat pocket. It was a text from the lawyer I had hired. The divorce was final. It was also the day of my flight out of New York. Covered in injuries and running on fumes, I finally reached the boarding gate when Vito's call came through. "What are you doing now?" "Isabella has already forgiven you. Why aren't you at her studio's opening ceremony?" It was strange. I had accepted the fact that he didn't love me a thousand times over, but hearing his entitled accusation still made me tremble with anger. "I'm afraid if I show up, I won't be able to stop myself from driving my Mustang straight through her stolen sign. Do you want to risk that?" He had the audacity to expect me to drag my bruised body to applaud the thief who stole my life's work? It was the most absurd joke in the world. Vito was silent on the other end for a few long seconds. Then he sighed. "Then rest at home." ["Will passengers for flight... please proceed to the gate for boarding."] "Where are you?" Even over the roar of the crowd at Isabella's opening, he caught the cold, robotic announcement. "Just getting some air." A sudden, inexplicable panic shot through Vito, the feeling that something was slipping completely out of his control. He had a sudden, urgent need to see me. He irritably beckoned a subordinate. "Find out where my wife is. Now." His order was cut off by a chorus of angry shouts. "Thief!" "Liar!" "E-Customs belongs to Liliana Falcone!" On the live broadcast, a large group of men in black mechanic's coveralls stormed Isabella's lavish ribbon-cutting ceremony.