Are There Any Books Written By Real Mafia Wives?

On the day I signed the divorce papers, I was ordered to leave with nothing. When I walked out of the Crane estate, I had twenty-six dollars in my wallet and nowhere safe to go. My phone was nearly dead when a message from an old classmate appeared on the screen, linking to a discreet placement notice. 【Seeking a live-in maternal figure for three children. Room, board, salary, and protection provided.】 I stopped at the word protection. A roof, a meal, and a place the Cranes could not reach me were already more than I had that night. The address led me to the iron gates of an old mansion on Chicago’s Gold Coast. Only after the butler opened the door did I learn who had placed the notice. Dante Bellandi. The Don of Chicago’s oldest Italian crime family. I had only wanted a place to stay. Somehow, I became the legal mother of the three Bellandi children and the contract wife of Dante Bellandi himself. Later, my ex-husband, Sebastian Crane, stood before me with the same careless arrogance and asked, “Do you realize you were wrong now?” Before I could answer, the triplets stepped in front of me. Little Livia clung to my leg, her eyes red. “My mom wasn’t wrong!” Her two brothers stood on either side of her, staring Sebastian down. Dante placed one hand at my waist, his voice calm enough to make the air turn cold. “Mr. Crane, my wife owes no explanation to a man who lost the right to speak to her.”

I found out I was pregnant at the same time as my mafia husband’s childhood sweetheart Rosa. To protect her baby from being aborted by her parents, my husband claimed her baby as his own. As for mine? He coxed me, saying he will claim only after her baby was born. I confronted him, demanding to know why he would do this to me. His response was cold and unwavering: “Claiming her baby as mine was the only way to protect them both. I won’t let anything happen to her or the child.” In that moment, as I looked at the man I had loved for ten years, I realized my love for him had died. Not long after, my family condemned me, calling me a slut for having a child without a father and pressured me into getting an abortion. Meanwhile, my husband was in another city, with his sweetheart, helping her through her pregnancy. By the time he returned, I was already gone.

Three days to Yvonne's birthday, she received unsettling news: her father had agreed to marry her to the most powerful Mafia leader in the Country. She has no choice in the matter, there was no escape. That was her new reality. But her new husband, Enzo Davide is angry, heartbroken and seems to hate her guts. The cold, elusive Mafia lord has never quite struck Yvonne as the kind of man she'd want to spend the rest of her life with. She was more content with her sweet, thoughtful boyfriend, Henry , but when circumstances force them together. Yvonne and Enzo's hearts get entangled in a way they never saw coming, but when a chance leads to a terrible mistake, Yvonne fears she will lose the love of her life.

I was going to tell my husband I was finally pregnant. Instead, I found police at my door, arresting me for his murder. Someone faked Chris's death and framed me with a man I've never met: Von Castellano, whose wife conveniently provided evidence against us both. The proof is flawless. The conspiracy is airtight. And I'm thrown into a men's prison where I lose everything, including my baby. But Chris isn't dead. He's alive, living in paradise with my high school rival and my company's fortune, after poisoning me for years to ensure I'd never have his child. Von isn't just any man. He's the secret son of a mafia king, and he's ready to reclaim the throne he abandoned. Now we're married. Not for love but for survival. For revenge. For power. They destroyed us once. Together, we'll become the nightmare they never saw coming. Because I don't forgive. And I never forget.

On the third anniversary of our engagement, my fiancé—Dominic Corleone, heir to one of the most powerful Mafia dynasties in New York—told me he was not ready to form a new family so that our wedding would have to postpone. I told myself to wait for some time, the bond between the Corleones and the Valentinos—our families’ sacred alliance—would hold us together. But what followed were his endless betrayals and tortures. I walked into a bridal boutique and saw him laughing with Liliane, the childhood friend who always lingered too close. I watched him destroy the wedding gown I had spent months designing—then crush my hand beneath his heel until it bled. And when I thought I had hit rock bottom, he proved I was wrong—by getting behind the wheel and running me down. He thought I’d beg and cling to him, terrified of losing the Corleone name and privilege that came with it. But instead, I made one phone call and insisted firmly on canceling the engagement. However, that call didn’t just end a marriage arrangement. It unearthed a secret that had been buried for over a decade…and turned a marriage born of duty into a story of dark devotion.

Shortly after we said "I do," the Family sent my husband, Dario, down to the Mexican border. He told me it was a meat grinder down there—cartel territory. where guys were zipped into body bags every day. He said he had to go—to expand the territory, for the glory of the Family. He claimed it was too dangerous and that his enemies would paint a target on my back, so he wouldn't take me with him. I believed him. I stayed behind in his old, rot-infested house in New Jersey, taking care of his bitter, spiteful parents. I spent my days and nights in the Family's moldy laundromat, washing bills stained with blood. He told me he sent every dime he made down there to the widow of a brother who took a bullet for him. He asked me to be understanding. I never complained. Day after day, I pressed expensive suits in that humid laundromat, waiting for him to come home. It wasn't until the eighth year that a mobster came back drunk. When I asked about Dario, he froze, then sneered at me through a haze of alcohol. "Dario? Are you kidding? He’s been a King in Manhattan for years. He’s the youngest Underboss of the Corleone family." I stood frozen, the iron in my hand burning a hole right through a shirt. "And he got married seven years ago. Biggest cathedral in New Jersey. Half the mob was there to toast the groom..." He pulled a crumpled photo from his leather jacket. Snuggled up against my husband was a woman in a high-end couture gown—the very same "poor, widowed sister-in-law" he had told me about. The next day, I contacted a fixer who specialized in fake IDs. On the application for a one-way ticket to Europe—a ticket to vanish off the face of the earth—I filled in the fake name I had prepared long ago. He trapped me for seven years with a sham marriage. From now on, I’d be done with this damn loyalty.