Racing My Heart to You

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.