Seven Years, Four Lies

At a charity gala celebrating my return to Chicago, a sultry woman confronted me.

She publicly accused me of trying to seduce her man—the Falcone family's Don, Dante.

The surrounding guests, a mix of Chicago's elite and mafia bosses, leaned in, eager for the drama to unfold.

They were all waiting to see how the Don would handle me.

But I simply raised my hand, the one bearing the Falcone signet ring.

"I am Isabella Falcone," I announced. "Dante's wife."

The entire hall fell silent.

It was only then I learned that in the seven years I'd been away, my husband had become inseparable from this club singer.

The entire mafia had tacitly accepted her as the next Madre.

Afterward, Dante nonchalantly brushed it aside, demanding I put on a brave face for the sake of the family's image.

"She's not a threat to you. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?"

"That's enough, Isabella. Don't cause a scene."

I threw the dissolution papers at him. "Dante, do you really think you can keep your title as Don without me?"

————————

1

"Isabella, when I'm gone... you... you have to take care of yourself."

On her deathbed in Florence, my grandmother reached out a frail hand to cup my face.

I nodded, my throat tight as tears blurred my vision.

At eleven o'clock that night, my last living relative passed away.

I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my husband, Dante, an ocean away in Chicago.

【Nonna is gone.】

A short while later, he replied: 【My condolences. She's in a better place now.】

【Can you handle things in Florence by yourself? If you run into any trouble, contact Luca. He'll arrange everything.】

【I have important family business for the next two days, so I can't get away. I'm sorry, Isabella.】

The same polite platitudes, the same mechanical concern. Nothing had changed in seven years.

The only difference was that his texts grew shorter, and the phone calls had all but stopped.

We were in an arranged marriage for the benefit of our families, and had lived apart ever since the ceremony.

For the first three years of our marriage, Dante's nightly calls were a ritual he never missed—my lifeline through the lonely, difficult days of adjusting to a foreign country.

I had never doubted his faithfulness to our vows, assuming only that as the Don, he was overwhelmed with his duties.

After all, he alone commanded the vast Falcone empire; he couldn't be at my beck and call.

I turned off my phone and handled my grandmother's funeral arrangements alone.

Gazing at the brilliant Tuscan sun, the thought of going home became an urgent ache inside me.

Seven years.

From arriving in Florence alone for my studies to caring for my grandmother in her final days, Dante and I had been separated for seven years.

He would be thrilled to know I was coming back.

I opened my phone and stared at his gray falcon profile picture. After a long moment of hesitation, I closed the screen.

I wouldn't tell him yet. I would surprise him.

...

Two days later, I was back in Chicago.

As the car sped toward the family estate, I sent him a message.

【Where are you right now?】

Two hours later, the falcon icon vibrated: 【Handling something.】

A smile played on my lips: 【Then guess where I am right now?】

Dante: 【Don't tell me... Florence?】

【Wrong. I'm home! Get ready to welcome me!】

Just as I hit send, the car slowed to a stop.

A heavily guarded, magnificent estate rose before me.

This estate, the seat of the Falcone family, had witnessed the beginning of our marriage and all our brief, sweet memories.

I picked up my phone, expecting an ecstatic reply from Dante.

But after a few minutes, all he sent was a single period.

A moment later, my phone rang. "You're serious?" he asked, his voice sharp.

I hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Of course I'm serious. Aren't you surprised?"

I took a picture of the estate's iron gates and sent it to him.

His voice, a familiar baritone like a blade sheathed in velvet, still held its intoxicating power. But it was devoid of surprise, laced instead with a hint of displeasure. "Isabella, why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"I wanted to surprise you. It was a long flight, and I'm exhausted. Let's talk when I see you."

I hung up and strode toward the gates.

To my surprise, the guards were all unfamiliar faces.

The pristine estate was as luxurious as ever, but a strange, cloying scent lingered in the air.

I pushed open the main door and walked inside.

The wedding portrait of Dante and me that had hung in the foyer was gone.

Though the decor was exquisite, the air was cold and sterile, as if the lady of the house had been gone for years.

"Dante?"

I called out toward the second floor, but only silence answered.

The vast estate was deathly quiet.