Seven Years, Four Lies

Her words stunned me as the surrounding guests turned to stare.

Camera flashes flickered in the dim light, and those who had already noticed the confrontation began to whisper.

Their eyes were on me.

"Who is she? She has some nerve, making a scene at a Falcone event."

"She doesn't look like one of us. Probably just trying to get in."

"Selena is not someone you want to cross. This is going to be good."

...

The whispers swirled around me, and I stood frozen, a tremor running through me that I couldn't stop.

"Who are you?"

I was furious, and utterly confused.

The woman sneered, showing off the diamond necklace draped around her throat.

"I'm Selena Vance. Dante's woman."

"I've seen plenty of little bitches like you trying to get close to him."

"You dare try to seduce my man? Believe me, I can make you disappear from Chicago."

The camera shutters clicked furiously as the guests, having gathered in a tight circle, reveled in the drama.

"Isn't that the singer from Dante's club?"

"Who's the one she's talking to? God, she's more beautiful than any celebrity."

"I heard Selena call her a social climber. Wait, isn't Selena's boyfriend Dante?"

Countless people pulled out their phones to record, their murmurs branding me a shameless gold digger.

My senses slowly returned. I zeroed in on the necklace around her neck.

"What is your relationship with Dante?" I asked slowly.

Selena's red lips curved into a smug smile. "I'm his official girlfriend. The next Madre of the Falcone family. This necklace is a token of his love for me."

She tilted her chin, flashing the priceless diamond necklace. "What did he buy you?" she sneered.

A jolt went through me. I recognized that necklace.

It was an heirloom from my mother, one that was supposed to be locked in the safe at the estate.

I didn't rise to her bait. Instead, I opened my phone and pulled up a wedding photo of Dante and me from seven years ago.

"I am his legal wife."

The moment the photo appeared, the crowd froze.

The guests' faces were a mixture of shock and excitement as they frantically snapped pictures of my phone screen.

Wine glasses nearly slipped from slackened grips.

"Holy crap! Dante is married?!"

"Then what's the deal with him and Selena? Does that make her the other woman?"

"Talk about drama. Both of them calling the other one out."

On social media, the videos caused an immediate uproar.

#DonsSecretWife

#FalconeScandal

Selena's face turned ashen. "You're Isabella?" she blurted out in disbelief. "No, you're supposed to be in Italy…"

She cut herself off, realizing her slip, and tried to flee the scene in a panic.

But the guests, having caught the scent of blood in the water, weren't about to let her go.

The cameras that had been aimed at me now swiveled to Selena.

"Miss Vance, do you know this woman?"

"Regarding her claim to be the Don's wife, do you have a comment, Miss Vance?"

As Selena stood there, pale and cornered, she made a frantic call.

"Hello, Dante…"

A short while later, Falcone family bodyguards appeared and dispersed the guests.

Freed from the crowd, Selena was brought with me to a private study upstairs.

She let out a sigh of relief, her gaze, no longer panicked, sizing me up with undisguised jealousy.

"You must be Isabella. I've heard Dante mention you. We've been together for four years."

There was a hint of pride in her expression, not a shred of shame for being a homewrecker.

The knowledge that my husband had been betraying me for four years landed like a physical blow.

Four years.

Dante had been cheating on me for four long years.

Seeing my pained expression, Selena laughed. "I didn't realize it was you, Isabella. It was all a misunderstanding. You can forgive me, right?"

"In our world," I said, my voice dangerously low, "mistresses rarely meet a happy end."

I frowned in disgust, the air in my lungs feeling tight.

"Isabella!" Dante's voice boomed from the doorway.

Selena rushed to his side. "Dante!"

I turned to leave, but Dante pushed Selena aside and stormed after me, grabbing my wrist.

I ripped my arm from his grasp. "You've touched her," I spat. "Don't you dare touch me."