My Rival Bragged About Her Don Husband, But He Was My Secret Husband

Dylan caught the direction of Selena's gaze and elbowed Sara.

"Whose car is that?"

Sara squinted. A black matte-finish sedan sat in the shade.

Casey went over, peered at the hood ornament, and made a dismissive sound. "What off-brand piece of junk is this? Pulling up to Selena's wedding in that?"

Annie laughed. "The paint's so faded — did someone pick it up secondhand?"

That was my father's Lancia Thema, his signature car. It looked its age, but the armor underneath was the latest and the best. It was what the Costanzo name meant: strength that didn't need to announce itself. Any mafia member would take one look at that car and think twice about who was sitting inside.

Selena stared at it a long time.

Then she pushed through the people in front of her and walked toward me on her heels.

She stopped directly in front of me, raised her hand, and slapped me across the face.

The sound cut through the room.

My head jerked to one side and my cheek burned. Has this woman lost her mind?

She went to swing again. My expression went cold and I caught her wrist without much effort.

"Selena, what are you doing?"

I applied pressure. No mercy.

"You—!" The sound she forced out was strangled. She yanked her arm back with everything she had.

"That car belongs to Julian! I've been in it! What the hell are you to him?"

She spun around, grabbed her clutch from a bridesmaid, pulled out her phone, swiped a few times, and shoved it in everyone's faces.

"I knew he had a mistress on the side! And it's you! You had the nerve to drive this car here and rub it in my face!"

The photo showed her leaning against Julian's shoulder in the back seat of that same car. Another had her posing at the hood.

Same plates, same car. Julian had borrowed it a few times and said he was running an errand, needed the security.

Right. He'd wanted to show off in front of his woman. Too bad Selena had no idea what she was looking at.

Casey was first to shriek: "Oh my God, Ava, have you no shame?"

Sara looked me over like I was something dirty. "No wonder she's never posted photos all these years and never comes to reunions. She was hiding something."

Selena pressed her lips together, chin lifted slightly, eyes going red.

Dylan made a show of pulling out his phone and pointing it at me. "I'm posting this everywhere. Let everyone see exactly what kind of trash you are."

I took a slow breath. "That car—"

Before I could finish, someone pushed through from the back of the crowd, unassuming and out of place. He walked straight to the car, looked at the emblem, then knocked once on the window. His expression subtly shifted.

"This car — I don't think it belongs to the Moretti family."

So someone did recognize it.

Sara looked at him sideways. "Who are you?"

Selena's expression turned sharp.

"He's my uncle from out of town. Doesn't know much."

She shot him a look.

"Even if it's not a Moretti family car, can't Julian own his own car? Don't make things up."

She turned her glare back to me.

"Or are you taking her side?"

The man's voice got urgent. "No — this car is—"

He stopped himself.

His eyes shot to me, wide and suddenly sweating, and the conviction drained right out of his voice.

"I — I must have been wrong."

He'd recognized the car. But I hadn't spoken, so he didn't dare say the rest.

Mr. Gray cleared his throat at Selena's shoulder.

"Ava, I've taught all kinds of students. But you genuinely disappoint me."

"I'll be calling the principal to have your photo taken down from the alumni wall."

"I'm not anyone's mistress."

I knew how weak that sounded, but I couldn't expose the marriage, not here, not before I'd cleared the board.

"Then explain to everyone how you're driving another man's car."

"That's what a side piece does — lies without even blinking."

Selena's eyes were hard. "You're not walking out of here until you explain yourself."

The crowd picked it up immediately. "That's right — she doesn't get to just leave."

She stood there in her white dress, playing the wronged saint. And somehow she'd managed to make me, the actual wife, look like the villain.