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Seven Years, Four Lies Novel Cover

Seven Years, Four Lies

Upon returning to Chicago, Isabella Falcone is publicly humiliated at a gala when a club singer accuses her of pursuing Dante, the city's ruthless Don. Isabella silences the crowd by flashing her Falcone signet ring—proving she is his actual wife. When her husband dismisses the betrayal and demands she play along for the family's image, Isabella refuses. Handing him divorce papers, she challenges whether he can even maintain his criminal empire without her by his side.
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Chapter 2

After checking our bedroom, I was certain of it: Dante didn't live here anymore.

If that was the case, why had he tried to stop me from coming back?

I called him again. He answered in that same calm, measured tone. "It's for your own safety, Isabella," he said, his tone placating. "Things with the family have been unstable lately. The estate is too big a target."

"You just stay put. I'll be there to pick you up right away."

His explanation temporarily eased my anxiety.

While I waited, I sent a message to my cousin, Marco, telling him I was back.

A moment later, an encrypted message flashed on the screen.

Marco, clearly shocked, asked when I'd arrived in Chicago.

【This afternoon.】

After a short pause, Marco replied:

【At the charity gala tonight, take a good look at the people around Dante.】

My heart tightened.

I knew Dante was hosting a charity gala, but what was so special about it?

Before I could dwell on it, a black Rolls-Royce appeared, and a tall, formidable figure stepped out.

The last time I saw Dante was six months ago, when he flew to Italy to spend New Year's with me.

I moved to link my arm with his. "Have you missed me, Dante?"

Dante's stern features softened, but he sidestepped my affectionate gesture. "I have."

As Dante pulled away from the curb, the sleek, luxurious car turned heads.

I heard people nearby whispering:

"God, who is that guy? He's... intense."

"And the woman with him? She's gorgeous, so elegant..."

A sweet warmth spread through my chest, and I couldn't help but smile.

We weren't just boyfriend and girlfriend—we'd been married for seven years.

Our wedding had simply been a private affair, with only core members of our two families in attendance.

He had waited for me for so many years. I couldn't let him down.

Part of the reason I’d rushed back was to finally start our lives together, for real.

When we arrived at the hotel, just as I thought Dante would take me home, he arranged a presidential suite for me instead.

"Isabella, your return caught me off guard. My new place… it's a mess. It's not ready for you. Would you mind a hotel for just one night?"

Dante's tone was sincere, yet it held an undercurrent of command that left no room for argument.

I was confused. "You don't need to set anything up. We can just share a room, can't we?"

Dante frowned, taking my hand. "But my place is a complete mess. As soon as the housekeeper has it ready, I'll come and get you."

"All right."

It was already late, close to eight in the evening, and a wave of exhaustion hit me.

I had just returned; I didn't want to start a fight.

...

The next day, Dante sent someone to deliver my gown for the gala.

A stunning floor-length gown, exquisite jewelry—it was all breathtakingly luxurious.

We appeared at the gala together.

To make up for my wait, he was especially attentive, showering me with affection in front of everyone, letting us relive the sweetness of our past.

We sat at the head table, and he introduced me to the heads of various families.

It was like we were that same loving couple from seven years ago.

Towards the end of the evening, he accompanied me to the terrace for some fresh air.

Our fingers were intertwined as we leaned against the railing. That's when I noticed it. The Florentine lily I'd designed for the tattoo on his arm—the one he got for me—was gone, covered by a garish, thorny rose.

I asked about it casually. Dante explained it was to cover an old scar.

I didn't doubt him. I glanced down at my vibrating phone. A confirmation message from Italy: the book restoration I had commissioned was complete.

It was the gift I had prepared for him to celebrate our reunion: a first-edition of Machiavelli's The Prince, his favorite book.

If all went well, it would be mailed over tomorrow.

...

I received the book the next day. My plan was to give it to him after the gala, a symbol of our new beginning.

However, just as I was about to approach him, a strange woman blocked my way.

She wore a fiery red dress, and her glare was venomous.

"Miss, Dante doesn't have time for social climbers like you tonight."

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