The Iris Lie

The next morning, I sat in the study and pulled up the mansion's security feed.

Three months of footage.

I needed to see it all.

The days flew by on the screen.

The first month, the second... and then I saw it.

July 15th, 2:00 AM.

Julian, sneaking in the back door with Bianca.

They went straight upstairs. Into my art studio.

My studio. My sanctuary.

I fast-forwarded, my heart pounding.

I watched them fuck on the floor of my studio, right in front of my most prized painting, Venus Reborn.

The one that took me a year to complete.

They'd tossed it aside, using the canvas as a goddamn drop cloth.

"You son of a bitch," I seethed.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number.

"Seraphina." The voice was low and gravelly.

I knew it instantly.

Dante. Julian's uncle.

The real brains of the Moretti family.

"Dante."

"Julian's alive," he said, straight to the point. "I assume you already know."

"I do."

"Good. In an hour, Marco is bringing you something. You'll need it."

"Why are you helping me?"

A long pause. "Because this Family was built on loyalty. Julian has forgotten that."

An hour later, Dante's top enforcer, Marco, was at my door. He handed me a black, encrypted hard drive.

"The Old Man said you'd find a use for these."

I plugged it in.

High-resolution photos filled the screen.

The Caribbean.

A luxury yacht.

Julian and Bianca kissing on the deck, the blue sea sparkling behind them.

The time stamp was from the second week after he "disappeared."

Then came the bank records.

Massive transfers from a secret Moretti account to an offshore company in the Cayman Islands.

"Perfect," I whispered.

At 3:00 PM, my phone rang again.

"Call off the mass," Bianca hissed. "Call it off now, or Julian will make you regret it when he gets back."

"Oh? Is he coming back?" I asked, my tone light, like we were discussing the weather. "That's great. I've been dying to see my husband."

"Stop playing dumb, Seraphina! You know he—"

I hung up on her.

The next evening, I dressed in a black Chanel suit and a string of pearls. Elegant. Composed. A true Moretti wife.

"Rosso's Place" in Little Italy was buzzing with noise.

This was Bianca's family turf.

I pushed open the heavy glass doors.

The chatter died instantly.

Every eye in the place was on me, sharp and wary.

"I'm here to see Bianca," I told the mountain of a man guarding the door.

"You got an appointment?" he grunted, looking me up and down.

I pulled a gold-embossed card from my clutch. "Tell her Mrs. Moretti is here."

Five minutes later, I was led to a private room in the back.

Bianca sat at a round table, her blonde hair in an elegant twist, her lips blood-red.

Next to her was a man in his fifties with a bulldog face.

Her father, I presumed.

"Seraphina," Bianca sneered. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Just delivering something," I said, sinking into the chair across from her. I pulled the invitation from my clutch—sealed with the Moretti family's mourning crest—and slid it across the table. "I came to invite you to my husband's memorial mass."

The color drained from Bianca's face.

"After all," I continued, my voice sweet as poison, "you were Julian's most loyal… partner, weren't you?"

"Watch your mouth," Bianca's father, Antonio, snarled, shooting to his feet. "You're in my house."

"Oh, I know exactly where I am," I said, rising gracefully. "I'm here to mourn a traitor. Tomorrow, three o'clock. Holy Name Cathedral. I trust you'll both be there."

Antonio's face went purple.

He grabbed Bianca's arm, his voice a low growl. "We're leaving."

I smiled sweetly. "Why the rush? Dead men don't bite."

Her father shot me a look that could kill before slamming the door behind them.

That night, I left the city condo Julian and I had shared and moved back to the main family estate on Lake Michigan.

It sat on fifty acres of private land, surrounded by high walls, with armed guards patrolling the perimeter.

This was safe.

"Smart move." Dante was waiting for me in the estate's marble foyer.

He wore a black suit, and his presence was so powerful it was almost suffocating. "You'll need the protection for the next few days."

"Julian knows?"

"He's lost his mind." A cold smile touched Dante's lips. "He called Tony seventeen times last night, threatening to kill everyone."

"Including me?"

"Especially you."

I nodded. I expected as much.

For the next two days, I focused on planning the "funeral."

Black wreaths, memorial cards bearing the Moretti crest, even a custom guest book.

Every detail was perfect, as if Julian were truly gone.

The evening before the mass, Marco came with an update.

"Boss, Bianca's been making noise at the private card rooms, telling anyone who'll listen that Julian might still be breathing."

"And the reaction?"

"Everyone's waiting. Watching. No one's seen a body, after all."

I smiled. "Good. Tomorrow, they'll see a living one."

On the day of the mass, I wore a black dress, custom-made in Milan.

Silk, fitted at the waist, paired with the black pearl necklace my grandmother left me.

A black lace veil covered my face, making me look like a traditional Sicilian widow.

"Ready?" Dante asked, his voice a low rumble.

He stood straight in a black Armani suit, a Moretti crest pinned to his lapel.

"Ready." I handed the encrypted drive to Marco. "The projector is set up. If Julian shows his face, you know what to do."

Holy Name Cathedral was solemn, light filtering through the stained-glass windows, painting the air with holy colors.

Dante arrived first. He walked straight to the front pew and stood beside me.

A silent, unshakeable pillar.

His presence alone sent a clear message to everyone: he was with me.

The key members of the family began to arrive.

The capos, the old guard, the heads of every district.

Their faces were a mix of confusion and caution.

"Seraphina, is this really necessary?" Salvatore, one of Julian's closest men, tried to reason with me. "If Julian really is alive..."

"Then why isn't he here to tell me himself, Salvatore?" My voice, muffled by the veil, was thick with a grief that was all too real. "It's been three months. Three months."

Salvatore opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Dante shot him a cold look, and he immediately backed down.

At 3:00 PM sharp, the memorial mass began.

Father Gabriel walked to the pulpit and started to pray for Julian's "soul."

The cathedral was silent, save for the priest's solemn voice echoing off the stone walls.

Then it was my turn to speak. I slowly rose to my feet, about to walk to the front.

"STOP!"

The shriek ripped through the sacred silence of the church.

Bianca stumbled in, her blonde hair a mess, her eyes wild with anger and fear.

"What are you doing?" she shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at Julian's photo on the altar. "He's not dead! Julian's not dead!"

"Miss Rosso, please be quiet," Father Gabriel said with a frown.

"Quiet?" Bianca lunged at me and ripped the veil from my face. "You bitch! You evil bitch! You knew he was alive, and you're cursing him to hell!"

Gasps filled the cathedral.

I looked at her twisted face and said calmly, "I am simply praying for my husband. If he's truly alive, why isn't he here to stop this himself?"

"Because he—" Bianca stopped, realizing she was about to say too much.

Just then, the heavy oak doors of the cathedral were thrown open.

A figure stumbled forward, silhouetted against the light.

Julian.

But not the man who'd left.

His suit was rumpled, his face bruised, jaw dark with stubble.

Julian Moretti stood in the doorway, his voice cracking as he screamed, "Seraphina! Stop this! I'm not dead! I'm back!"