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