Racing My Heart to You

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."