Short Mafia Stories & Novels

Three days before my wedding with Luca D'Angelo, I accidentally stumble upon him having an affair with my best friend, Delila Rusconi. Delila can be seen sitting on Luca's lap in his office. She caresses his chin in a seductive manner. "Delila, I told you before that Katerina must never find out about our affair!" Luca pinches Delila's fingers together, his voice carrying a strong hint of warning. Delila just giggles before kissing his hand. She replies flippantly, "I know, I know. You have no choice but to marry her in order to gain control over the coastal port trades. I completely understand." I inhale sharply before fleeing the scene in panic. Tears brim in my eyes instantly. I can't believe that Luca, the man who's loved and doted on me for three whole years, has chosen to marry me solely just to make more profits despite the fact that we only get to know each other because of a marriage alliance. The future plans I have in store for us, as well as my rose-tinted fantasies about romance, are completely shattered because of the scene I've just witnessed. Tears continue to stream down my cheeks as I call my dad on the phone. "Papa, I'll heed your order and give up on the marriage alliance with the D'Angelos. I'll return to Chitchily in three days and carry out my responsibilities as a family member."

Colter Giordano, my fiancé of six years, heir to the Giordano family, took a bullet for a dancer named Mia. He didn't take one for me. A bullet tore through my shoulder. Blood bloomed across my dress, hot and sticky. But my heart hurt worse. He asked if I was okay. Just once. Then he rushed Mia to the hospital, leaving me bleeding on the floor. The next day, Mia's picture popped up on my Instagram feed. There she was, in a luxury hospital suite. Colter was fussing over a scratch on her arm that was barely there. The caption was just two words: "My Hero." I liked the post. Then I made an encrypted call. "The Falcone family's offer," I said. "I'm taking it. Get me on a plane to Sicily. Three days."

I was his one weakness. Don Alex, the king of New York. And I was his queen. But days before our child was due, I was thrown into the Dockside Deathmatch—a cruel game broadcast for the underground world’s entertainment. The bullets flew, hidden traps lay in wait, and my every terrified, pathetic attempt to survive was broadcast live on giant screens. Then, I heard his second-in-command on the loudspeaker. "Boss, your wife's about to pop. You sure you wanna be here?" I froze. Alex was here? A moment later, a woman’s sugary voice dripped through the speakers. "Forget that bitch. Alex told me the only thing that mattered today was being here with me. Right, honey?" It was Scarlett. The Chicago Outfit's princess. Alex's childhood sweetheart from Chicago, a woman he had always pampered and shown a distinct bias towards. He had turned down her advances for years, but he never refused her whims. Today, she was in a bad mood and insisted on watching the deathmatch, so he was here to keep her company. I screamed for Alex, begged him for help, but he was convinced I was an assassin in disguise. Because Scarlett laughed and said the game needed to be more exciting. So he pressed the button. Vicious patrol dogs hunted me. My water broke, mixing with blood on the ground. I was in agony. The game hit its climax as more dogs and gunmen closed in from all sides. Everyone was betting on who would be the next to die. Alex smiled, his voice a low, careless drawl, "I’ll bet on that filthy pregnant woman to die." He didn't know the truth until I bled out on an operating table, our child dead with me. They say the ruthless Godfather shattered. Broke completely.

From my earliest memories, my entire family is cold and distant toward me. When my parents look at my younger sister, Claire Lloyd, their eyes fill with warmth and joy. Yet, when they turn to me, only disgust remains. Claire's life is filled with applause and excessive love, while mine is filled with disdain and suffering. When the explosion erupts at the street corner, I save the stranger beside me. Later, I learn he is Byron Whitmore, a mafia family's Don. He begins pursuing me after I rescue him. Later, I quit my job and move to a new place, but he finds me and proposes in 100 different ways. "Why me?" I ask countless times. "Because it's you," he always answers. The wedding causes a sensation throughout the city. I truly seem to have transformed from an ugly duckling into a swan. That is, until I'm five months pregnant, when Claire needs a transfusion of rare Rh-negative blood after a car accident. The blood bank has a shortage. Because of that, my parents knock me unconscious and send me to the hospital. In my daze, the blood extraction machine hums continuously. As two thousand milliliters of blood leave my body, I see Byron. Tears well up in my eyes. I begin thinking he's here to save me. Instead, I hear him say, "We can't take any more. Sharon and the baby will die." "But Claire has lost too much blood. She'll die, too..." My mother pleads. "No one wants Claire safe more than I do." Byron's voice is thick with pain. "She's my first love. I've never forgotten her. I only married Sharon because her face looks so much like Claire's. "But I can't trade her life for Claire's. Trust me—I'll find another way." So, that's his reason for marrying me. The blood extraction machine continues running, but my heart has already stopped beating. The affection I see in his eyes has never been for me. He's always looking through me at someone else. Everyone in the world loves Claire, and Byron is not the exception that I foolishly believe him to be. That grand wedding is nothing but an ugly duckling's self-deceiving fantasy.

My brother wants to become the godson of a Mafia don. As his sister, I was picking out his burial plot. In my last life, I overheard the truth that the selection wasn’t an honor but a suicide mission—used once, then erased. I did everything I could to stop him, but he cursed me for blocking his path to power. With no other choice, I secretly called the police. So, my brother was arrested; his dream shattered. Instead, someone else took his place, and during a bloody shootout, that man proved himself. He became the don’s sole successor. Our family lost its home, paying the price for offending the Mafia. My parents and my brother went insane. Convinced everything was my fault, the three of them worked together and buried me alive in the hills behind town. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my brother excitedly announced he was going to take part in the selection. Looking at his stupid, clueless face, I smiled. This time, I’ll watch with my own eyes as he becomes nothing more than a replaceable lapdog.

When I was 18 years old, Luigi Conti, the craziest heir of the Conti family, pulled out a gun at an auction and executed the Don of the Serra family. That man happened to be my foster father, also the one who had me auctioned away as though I were a slave. When he was being dragged toward the armored car by the military police, he kept laughing like mad despite having blood streaking down his face. "Why must I atone for my sins? Since God refuses to save you, let me be your savior! From now on, no one in Sandalay has the guts to clip your wings anymore, my darling Isabella!" Seven years later, Luigi gets released from prison. He looks at me as I wash dishes for a living in the slums before snuffing out the cigar trapped between his fingers. That night, Luigi returns to his family and steals the position of the Don. After we get married, I'm the only person who has the highest access over the vaults under the Conti family. Luigi even forcibly expands the ring that signifies ultimate authority—which has been passed down from generation to generation for a century—and slides it onto my ring finger. He buys half of Sandalay's estates just so he can fill the vineyards with the white grapes I've mentioned in passing. He tells me that his turf is called Isabella. But everything changes when I discover a photo album stashed in a hidden compartment in Luigi's study. All 2,000 photos feature a young woman in a white dress who is reading in the library. That is the female assassin he's planning on training. The woman looks very pure and innocent. She's most suited to conquer certain bigwigs' hearts. But now, it seems that Luigi's the one being conquered by her. When Luigi finds out about my discovery, he throws the photo album into the fireplace and watches it burn in the fire with a stony expression. "I'm just repackaging her so that she can aid me in money laundering. Just pretend you never saw the photo album." I push the signed divorce agreement over to Luigi. "I said, sign the agreement." Frustrated, Luigi pins the divorce agreement on the table with a knife, his expression insanely dark. "Isabella Serra, have you forgotten about the Conti family's rules? There's no such thing as divorce. We can only be widowed."

To protect my boyfriend, Nico, the illegitimate son of our allies, the Moretti family, from their internal power struggles, I agreed to leave New York with him. But on the eve of my adoptive father, the Don of the Falcone family, signing our transfer orders, he backed out. Through the hidden door of the cigar lounge, I heard his right-hand man tease him: "So you really kept up that act for three months just to get rid of the princess?" "But she's your childhood sweetheart. You really have the heart to some miserable fishing village in the Baltics all by herself?" Nico's voice was nonchalant. "It's just an outpost across the pond. How far can it be?" "Scarlett is too controlling. If I don't get her out of the picture, how am I supposed to get any breathing room? Besides, I need to put Chloe at ease." I stood behind that hidden door for a long time that night, my grip on the doorknob tightening until my knuckles were white, before I finally let go. I turned and walked away, pulling out my tablet to change my flight plan. I changed the destination from the official plan of that desolate Baltic outpost to a seat at the High Table in Sicily, which is the absolute center of old-world Mafia power. Everyone seemed to have forgotten. I am the princess of the Falcone family. And he is nothing but filth from the gutter. We were never a match.

My sister, Bella, had a baby in a back-alley shithole. Then she disappeared. A midwife tracked me down using an address Bella left behind. She shoved the newborn at me like a sack of garbage. My parents fell to their knees. Crying. Begging me to take her bastard. Just like that, my future as a promising artist was gone. The neighbors, the priest, my landlord… they all called me a whore. A sinner who had disgraced God. They ran me out of the neighborhood . My life was over. Eighteen years later, Bella waltzed back into my life. A cheap thug with a fake Rolex dangled from her arm. She held my son, crocodile tears streaming down her face. She called me jealous. Accused me of stealing her flesh and blood. Of keeping a mother from her child. And my son? The one I bled myself dry for? The son I poured every last cent into, turning him into a brilliant painter? The son I starved for, so much that I ended up in a hospital bed? The moment he saw his "real" mother, he cast me aside without a second thought. "You pathetic, broke bitch!" he spat. "You stole everything from us! All the happiness that was supposed to be ours!" My parents threw me out like a dog. Bella's thug husband had his men corner me in the red-light district. They pinned me against a wall, their threats vile and clear: Never come back. I had no way out. I threw myself off the Brooklyn Bridge. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. Eighteen years in the past. Then came the knock. Hell had found my door. I wasn’t going to be the fool who gave everything and got nothing. This time, I took control.

Everyone knows that Tania Giordano is the principessa of the Giordano family, whom they mustn't piss off at all costs. Ever since she lost her mother at the tender age of six, she has grown into an independent, radiant, and bold woman on her own abroad. She initially thought that she wouldn't rely on anyone else anymore. But when she was 20 years old, a certain man rescued her from the pistol aimed at her by her father's enemy. Since then, Simone Lanzi has stayed by her side and protects her at all times. That's how Tania finds herself falling for him. But one night, she witnesses him panting slightly while staring at a photo featuring Noemi Giordano, her half-sister…

At the underground black market auction in New York, Lorenzo Moretti won a rare red diamond with a bid so high it made jaws drop. The entire Commission was waiting for the other shoe to drop—waiting to see me become a joke. Because in the Moretti family, every time Lorenzo gives away a diamond, it represents another one of his betrayals. White diamonds are hush money to cover up tabloid scandals. Blue diamonds mean he had a "slip-up" at some wild party. Pink diamonds mean I caught him in his private apartment, rolling in the sheets with another woman with my own eyes. But this time was different. It was a rare red diamond. Everyone guessed the Don was preparing to divorce me. Instead, Lorenzo publicly declared his love. He said this red diamond represented a "Blood Oath"—a symbol of his true heart and loyalty to me. He said that from now on, he would return to the family and pledge his allegiance only to me. Everyone congratulated me on finally taming the Sicilian Wolf. I, however, left the signed divorce papers in the safe, and all alone, I left him forever.

When I bring up divorce in front of my husband, Vito Corti, he happens to be toying with a lace thigh strap that's gifted to him by a rising adult film star. Vito, the head of the Corti family as well as the youngest Don in Emaly, orders his Soldato to pick up his new lover tonight. Then, he shoots a languid glance at the divorce agreement on the table. "How big of a tantrum are you throwing this time, my dear Donna?" I reply calmly, "I didn't touch the bank card tied to the private account. I also don't want the estate in Emaly as well as the bulletproof convoy. I have already entrusted the asset management authority to your Consigliere." Vito is stunned for a moment, but he still thinks I'm still throwing a tantrum. "You don't want those assets? Then what do you want? My devotion? Gia, I already told you in the past that you're the woman with the highest position in the family. But it's too boring for a Don to own just one woman." He tries to reach out to feel my cheek, thinking that I'll act the same way as before; that I'll forgive him in a roundabout way after lashing out at him. But I just avoid his hand. I no longer want Vito's devotion to me. Now, I just want to leave him.

I thought I was the Conti family's "legitimate wife." Until the day I saw it with my own eyes, my husband, Christian, resting his hand on my stepsister Emma's bump belly, gentle like he was cradling the future. Everyone told me to be "big-heated": when the baby was born, they'd put it under my name, make him call me Mom, because the family needed an "heir." Even the private doctor they hired announced it in front of everyone—steady heartbeat, and from the ultrasound, it looked like a boy. I didn't cry and didn't make a scene. I just picked up the phone and told my lawyer to initiate the divestment. Twenty-four hours later, Christian's cards were frozen, his projects got their loans yanked, and assets started getting seized— That's when he finally understood: he hadn't betrayed a wife. He'd betrayed the lifeline of the entire family. But what I really wanted to know was— When he dropped to his knees and begged me to come back, would I tell him— I had already picked out his grave?

The day I died, the baby in my womb was only five months old. In that final phone call, my father, John Harlow, the godfather of the Harlow family, spoke with a voice as icy as a loaded gun. "A married woman belongs to her husband's family, even in death." When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I had been placed under house arrest. He was circling my college application with a red pen. "Girls who study art are easier to marry off." In front of him, I tore the family's marriage alliance files into pieces. "I'm going to Camford University. I'm studying Computer Science." He sprang to his feet so suddenly that his finger nearly jabbed my face, his sleeve cuff revealing the family crest tattoo. "If you dare defy me, don't ever regard me as godfather." I smiled. "Exactly what I want." Meeting his stunned gaze, I spoke each word deliberately. "The name Harlow. I have long stopped wanting it."

For five years, I was married to the heir of the Romano family, Italy's biggest crime family. Every night, he'd hold me and whisper, "Just give me an heir, and I'll give him the entire Romano empire." But I never got pregnant, and the Don's disappointment in me grew with every passing month. Until I found out my husband had been secretly swapping my folic acid for birth control pills. I was still reeling from the fury when I saw a post from his ex-girlfriend: an ultrasound photo. Her caption was sweet and smug: “Ten weeks along. Vincent said he can’t wait to meet the baby.” Seeing the flood of congratulations, my mind was made up. I found the contact info for my ex-boyfriend—the one who’d spent the last five years trying to get me back. I sent him a single text. 【Give me one month. Then I’m coming with you.】

I lifted my head from Rhys's arms, his strong chest rising and falling against my cheek. Silk sheets tangled around our naked bodies, the air thick with the scent of our passion. After a passionate night with my childhood friend, the Mafia heir, I was jolted awake at three in the morning by the shrill ring of a phone. It was the Don, ordering me to bring Rhys back to the estate for an arranged marriage. I figured it was just another heiress trying to claw her way into the Griffin family, so I kissed his forehead, pressing myself against him and whispering with a low laugh. "Rhys, what's your plan for this boring princess?" He arched an eyebrow, wrapping a lazy arm around my waist. "Baby, make sure you pick out a good tie for me. I need to make a good impression on my future father-in-law." Seeing me freeze, Rhys sat up and shot me a casual glance, his voice laced with indifference. "Maeve, what's with that reaction? We're just having fun." "You didn't actually think you were going to be the next Donna of the Griffin family, did you?"

Rocco Falcone, who is the Falcone family's Don and my so-called husband, hangs up on me for what feels like the 99th time. Having been diagnosed with leukemia, I haul my ravaged body into the family lawyer's office. "I'm here to file for a divorce," I said. … When Rocco hears about it, he barges in with my family ten minutes later. The moment he enters, he slaps me. "Did you use the emergency line just to ruin Sofia's big night? Are you out of your mind?" Lily Marone, my mom, snatches the diagnosis right out of my hand and skims through it. She chuckles dismissively. "Did you fake being sick just to get attention? How many lies have you told since you were a kid, Claire?" Sofia Moretti holds Rocco's arm with tears in her eyes. "Forgive me, Claire. I shouldn't have taken the position. Please stop hurting yourself and Rocco." I wipe the blood from my mouth and turn back to the lawyer. "I have no family left. Please hurry with the divorce paperwork. I need it settled before my cremation in three days."

I woke up in the past, on the eve of being traded by my family to that controlling mafia Don. Last life, his suffocating “love” and rigid rules strangled me to death. This time, watching my father’s eager face, I just smiled. “The engagement? Give it to your precious illegitimate daughter.” I walked away. Using the skills he forced me to learn, I secured my escape. On the day of his wedding to my replacement, I boarded a plane far from this gilded hell. Just before leaving, I pressed a button. The family mansion—the symbol of my old prison—erupted into a fireball behind me. Now, I’m thriving under the Mediterranean sun, free and wild. The once-untouchable Don is scouring the globe for me, unraveling. He found me at an airport, fell to his knees, his eyes desperate, begging me to come back. I lowered my sunglasses and looked at this stranger, my ex-fiancé, my voice utterly calm. “Do I know you?”

I was with Don Massimo for five years. The whole time, he never hid his favorite: Cara. His driver’s daughter. The man who took a bullet for him. He called it paying a debt. Like a fool, I bought it. He gave her jewels. Fast cars. He even bought her an island. Three days before the wedding, I found out he'd moved the venue. Not to my family's estate in Sicily. But to the island. Her island. His excuse? Cara was claustrophobic. Couldn't handle a big indoor wedding. I was done. Three days later, the wedding happened on that island. But the bride was a no-show. Massimo was publicly humiliated. He tore the city apart looking for me. That’s when he found out. He thought he was marrying me. Instead, I married his greatest enemy. Nikolai Volkov. The Godfather of the Russian Bratva. He ditched Cara. He ran to my family's estate and waited. Seven days and nights. With flowers, a ring, and a whole lot of begging.

My name is Elvira Rossi, daughter of Don Rossi, head of the Itavelle mafia family. Three months ago, my father was killed. Our operations were stripped bare, nothing left. The accounts were draining fast, and the family still had mouths to feed. Then a DNA report surfaced out of nowhere. According to it, I was the LaRosa family's long‑lost true heiress, missing for eighteen years. Money, at last, had found its way to me. For the sake of my people, I was willing to set aside my pride and play the part of a sheltered heiress. The car sent to escort me back to the estate broke down halfway up the mountain? I steadied it with one hand and carried it the rest of the way to the hilltop manor. The fake heiress dissolved into tears, accusing me of pushing her? I answered by striking the century-old tree in the courtyard, splitting it clean through. She went silent immediately. My fiancé sent bodyguards to "teach me self‑defense"? My two friends politely introduced them to the concept of being permanently embedded in a wall. As my so‑called "family" shook in fear, my knuckles cracked softly. After all, before inheriting the mafia, I inherited my father's favorite rule: "If violence can solve it, don't waste words."

When I finally lay my eyes on two marriage certificates, I finally realize that the certificate I share with my husband, Vittore Ferri, is the fake one. As for the other certificate, it's real. The other certificate shows Vittore and Chiara Romano, the daughter of the Ferri family's former Consigliere. So, it turns out that the husband, whom I've just married, has already married another woman a month ago.