Racing My Heart to You

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."