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!"

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.