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.

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."

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."