Cerita Pendek & Novel Mafia

The news that Angelo Rizzo was becoming the new Don of Brucklin District had spread throughout the entire family. Everyone knew except me, Lila Bennett, his fiancee. He had always thought I was childish, like an irritating tail he couldn't shake off, sticking to him wherever he went. "I've only managed to bag Brucklin District all thanks to Cyrus." The study door was ajar as the scent of cigar smoke drifted out along with his voice. "Lila? Why bring her up? She's annoying. Like a piece of gum stuck to your hair." I crouched on the hallway carpet, lost in thought. Before, it was always Angelo leaving first and me realizing it too late. This time, I wanted to surprise him by going to Brucklin ahead of him. When he saw me there first, he'd realize that I was smart. But the next day, at the bus station, when the driver asked where I was going, I mixed Brucklin and Mannattan up. The driver grew impatient. Afraid he'd call me an idiot like Angelo would, I hurriedly shove the money at him. "To Mannattan! I'm going to Mannattan District!"

I had just gotten back from the hospital when Mom pulled me into the walk-in closet and held a pale pink couture gown against me. "Try it on. It's from the designer's new collection. We have a major event this weekend, and as the Wellman heiress, you need to look your best." Heat crept into my cheeks. The pregnancy test results were still tucked inside my bag. How could Mom already know? I smiled and nodded. "But Mom, wouldn't white be better?" I ducked my head, a shy smile playing on my lips. The news of my pregnancy was right on the tip of my tongue. "White does look prettier. Soren has such good taste, picking that white wedding gown for Daisy. You're the maid of honor, so pale pink is perfect." The smile froze on my face. Just then, Daisy called up from the living room. "Vivian, are you home? I brought my fiancé!" I picked up my phone and stared at the good-morning message Soren had sent me yesterday. "My dearest Vivian, you are the only bride I will ever have." I turned around and saw Soren and Daisy standing in my doorway, wrapped in each other's arms. Tears spilled down my cheeks. Soren, you lied to me.

I shared a joint covenant account with Antonio De Luca. We had agreed that we would get married once the account reached ten million euros. When it reached 9.99 million euros, I scheduled a wedding rehearsal at the church. But it wasn’t until dusk that Antonio finally sent me a message: “The new adviser was ambushed and lost too much blood. The surgery requires absolute security. I have to stay with her.” At that very moment, fifty thousand euros were withdrawn from the covenant account. I scrolled back through the transaction history. Before that, there had been opera tickets, custom leather goods, and a bracelet—the same one I had seen the new adviser wearing on her wrist—all paid for in smaller installments. I clenched the pregnancy test report in my pocket and suddenly let out a bitter laugh. Since he had been secretly favoring someone else, there was no need for him to know about the child growing inside me.

My husband is the Don of the entire New York East Coast Mafia. For ten years, I dimmed my own light to be his perfect silent partner, the dutiful wife who gave him the perfect heir. I thought we were the lovers who wou ld die for each other. Then came a mere associat. My husband and son had formed an alliance with the woman who seem want to take my place. But they just said, "Elena, you have the crown and the kingdom. She has nothing but us. Be generous." So, to make her smile, my husband trampled on my dignity again and again. To please her, my son affectionately calls her "Mom." In their eyes, I was the iron wall, the woman who would swallow any insult for the sake of the family honor. Until the fire. My husband locked me inside the burning room, to let me "reflect" on my jealousy. He didn't know that the fire didn't kill me. But it burned away the last ash of my love for him.

At my engagement party, my fiance, Lorenzo Thorne, the Don, publicly took the hand of Layla Cline, the daughter of the woman who had once saved his life, and led her into the opening dance that symbolized their engagement. He declared publicly, "Layla, you are the only woman who matters tonight!" The engagement party I had looked forward to for years had been handed to someone else, right before my eyes. Just like before. At my birthday party, he had snatched the dress I'd spent weeks preparing and handed it to Layla, who hadn't brought one. "You already have me. Let Layla have the dress." I'd given up the passenger seat. I'd given up our anniversaries. Finally, I decided to give this man to her for good. I turned away and dialed the number I knew by heart. "Hi, Dad. I lost. I'll accept the arranged marriage."

In the Cesare family, every bride's wedding gown had to be handmade by an elder. Tradition held that the more elaborate the gown, the happier the marriage would be. My twin sister and I were getting married on the same day. At the fitting, Cersei's gown was breathtaking. Tens of thousands of crystals and diamonds covered its sweeping train. Mom had spent more than six months weaving the delicate lace for her veil by hand. "Cersei, my darling, you look so beautiful!" Mom gazed at her, her eyes filling with tears. "When you walk down the aisle to Antonio in that gown, every guest will be speechless!" Then I looked at mine. The seams were sloppy, the fabric was wrinkled, and there was not a single decoration on it. Worse, it had been stitched together from scraps left over from Cersei's gown. "Mom, Dad, is this my wedding gown?" Dad immediately shot me an annoyed look. "Is there a problem? Your sister is marrying the son of the Di Lauro family's capo. If her gown isn't lavish enough, both families will be humiliated! That bookish nobody you're marrying is just some low-level lackey who opens car doors for his boss. When we met him, he even tried to make himself sound impressive by claiming he owned a startup!" Mom made no effort to hide her contempt. "If you wore anything fancier to marry a man like that, his family would think you were showing off." Cersei quickly chimed in with a smug smile. "Exactly, Lilith. Mom and Dad are only looking out for you. Don't be ungrateful!" "Bookish nobody?" I almost laughed. Raphael was the Don's chosen successor. He simply kept a low profile and never flaunted his position. To outsiders, he described himself only as a businessman. So where had this nonsense about him being some employee who opened car doors come from? "Sorry, Lilith. I happened to see Raphael opening a car door for someone, so I told Mom and Dad what I saw. You don't mind, do you?" Cersei sounded apologetic, but the mockery in her eyes said otherwise. I shook my head

Everyone in Chicago said the same thing: Leonardo Rizzo, the cold, ruthless Don of the Rizzo family, had vanished. It had started a month earlier, when Esme Vale, the most famous fortune teller in the city, told us our marriage was like the moon. "When your marriage shines brightest, a stranger will enter your lives, and it will go dark for good, like the moon swallowed by an eclipse." After that, Leonardo stopped directing the family's gang wars. He stopped going down to the docks to oversee the shipments. He never left the house anymore. He never left my side. He cooked every one of my meals himself and picked out everything I wore. His fear of losing me had become an obsession. All that nervous energy made me laugh. "Leonardo, look at you. Who could possibly come between us?" But Leonardo looked down and pulled me into his arms. "Julia, forgive me for being paranoid. I went back to see that fortune teller. "She drew a card that meant rebirth. She said that if I ever betrayed you, you'd cut all ties, take a new name, and disappear. "And then I'd never find you again..." He looked so lost that, for a second, I didn't know what to think. But it passed. I laughed and put my arms around him, and after that I made a point of clinging to him even harder than he clung to me. Not long after, I got pregnant. When the pregnancy test results came back, Leonardo swept me up and spun me around and around, overjoyed. I thought we could finally put that terrible prophecy behind us. Until the next day, when I nearly lost the baby and was rushed to the ICU.

Everyone in Sicily knew my fiancé, Silas Lazzari, had one rule. Every night at ten, he turned off his personal phone and refused to take calls from anyone. Even when we were crazy about each other, he'd hang up the moment the clock struck ten. Last Christmas Eve, the rival Greco family ambushed me. I was shot in the stomach and couldn't stop bleeding. I called him again and again. When I finally got through, his voice was sharp with irritation. "Sophia, can you respect my rule for once? Don't let it happen again. I'm hanging up." Thank God the ambulance arrived in time. I barely survived, and I was left with a long scar down my arm. When I came home the next day, he frowned and complained that my late-night call had almost disrupted his sleep schedule. He never even noticed my bandaged arm hanging at my side. Today, the Greco family got hold of data leaked from the phone of Silas's adopted sister, Lina Conti. Silas put me in charge of containing the breach. My assistant emailed me all the stolen data. I opened it and found a log of every call between Silas and Lina, including when and where they called and what they discussed. Last Christmas Eve, after Silas hung up while I begged him for help, he stayed on the phone with Lina until one in the morning. Throughout our eight years together, he'd talked to Lina every night until well past midnight. Numb, I read all 99 pages of call logs. Then I pulled up our marriage license application and hit Cancel.

At eighteen, I defied my family and turned my back on an arranged marriage. I used every connection and every resource I had to install Corleone as a Mafia don. For the next ten years, I became his irreplaceable Donna. Through every vicious power struggle, we were the only people either of us could trust. I was certain there would never be betrayal between us. Until I went to the airport to pick up my stepsister, Bianca Rinaldi, who had just returned from abroad. After years apart, the moment she stepped out of the terminal, she threw herself straight into Corleone's arms. Watching them catch up like old friends, seeing that rare tenderness in Corleone's eyes, my heart sank. But when I confronted him, Corleone remained composed. "I've been working closely with overseas underground operations lately. Bianca spent years abroad and serves as the intermediary for this partnership. Our relationship is strictly business." That night, Corleone got a phone call and left me in the middle of the night, my clothes still disheveled. He didn't come home until morning. The next morning, I saw Bianca's latest social media post. Ten years, and you're still the one who drops everything and comes running the moment I call. In the photo, the hand clasping hers wore Corleone's signet ring. I pulled the divorce papers from the drawer, untouched for ten years. I slowly signed my full name on the dotted line: Donatella Valenti. Then I took out my phone and dialed the last number in my contacts. "Father, you win. I'll marry Alessandro Moretti."

Adrian Moretti’s adopted sister—She knew perfectly well that I suffered from severe asthma and could not be exposed to smoke or strong scents. Yet during the yacht reception, she deliberately dragged me onto the open deck, where cigars burned nonstop and the wind howled. Within seconds, my chest tightened. When I reached for my inhaler, my blood ran cold. It was empty. I collapsed against the railing, gasping violently, my lungs burning as if they were collapsing in on themselves. She crouched beside me and smiled. “You’re always so dramatic. It’s just a little smoke. You don’t need to act like you’re dying,” she said softly. “You’re too weak. You need to build some tolerance.” I looked toward Adrian, my vision already blurring. “Adrian,” I choked. “Give me my inhaler. If I don’t use it right now, I’m going to suffocate.” He frowned slightly. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” he said coldly. “I’ve never heard of anyone dying from a bit of smoke. She’s right—you’re always seeking attention. We finally gathered tonight, and you’re ruining it.” My heart dropped. I fumbled for my phone and called my mother. “Mom,” I sobbed, barely able to breathe. “I’m being bullied… and I can’t breathe.” My voice shook violently.

I married Don Matteo in secret. Every time he fucked his childhood sweetheart, he promised me a real wedding，in front of the Five Families. For five years, Matteo promised me ninety-nine times. And ninety-nine times, he left me at the altar. The first time, Cecilia’s prize-winning show cat died. To comfort her, he postponed the wedding for three months. I stood at the altar alone, eyes red, trying to calm down the family elders. The second time, Cecilia threw a tantrum at a casino and shattered a hundred-million-dollar antique vase. He diverted the private jet meant for their wedding and rushed through the night to clean up her mess. And every time, right before our wedding, his childhood sweetheart would have some kind of emergency. I cried. I screamed. I even held a gun to his head. But Matteo would just pin me against the wall and shut me up with a cold, hard kiss. “She’s just a fuck. You are Mrs. Falcone. Have some goddamn class.” After the ninety-ninth time, I was finally done. I slid the papers across the table. The ink was still wet, the Falcone family seal stamped at the bottom. “Our marriage, our alliance—it’s over.”

In all of New York, I was the only wife of a Don to get stood up at my own wedding fifty-two times. The first time, the ceremonial gunfire at our wedding triggered a panic attack in Lorenzo's widowed sister-in-law, Sera, reminding her of the day her husband died. Lorenzo made me change out of my wedding dress and stay with her at the old house for three days until she recovered. The second time, our wedding motorcade had barely left the estate when Sera called Lorenzo for help, claiming that members of a rival family had surrounded her. Lorenzo turned the entire convoy around and carried her into the hospital himself. After that, his brother's widow had a new crisis before every single wedding. And every time, Lorenzo would pull me into his arms and explain in a low voice, "Matteo took a bullet for me. I promised him I would take care of her." "Erin, you are the woman I love. She is only my responsibility. Don't make a big deal out of a grieving widow." After the fifty-second time, I finally understood. There was no future in waiting for a man like him. I was going to give him up. In seven days, I would leave for Sicily.

“I’m your guardian, Viola. We can never be together.” For six years, Nicholas Valenti had used those words to turn me down. So when he announced that he was going to marry my sister, I asked him only one question. “Didn’t you watch her grow up, too?” He didn’t answer. A week earlier, he had held me beside my father’s body and promised to take care of me, no matter what happened. A week later, he chose my sister—and with her, my father’s signet ring and the position of Don. I didn’t attend the wedding. My flight to Paris was still on the runway when his messages flooded my phone. “Viola, you can be angry with me. Yell at me, curse me. Just don’t shut me out!” “Answer the phone. Let me hear your voice.” “I always thought that as long as I knew you were doing well, it wouldn’t matter whether I saw you.” “But now that you’re really gone, I don’t even know how I’m going to get through tonight.” “Viola, please.” I wiped my tears off the screen. But how was I supposed to keep loving him while watching him become my sister’s husband? I snapped my SIM card in half. Three years later, I returned to Italy for my father’s reburial. Nicholas was waiting at the airport. He said my name the way he used to. I glanced at his wedding band and walked past him.

Damian began to notice that I had stopped telling him everything. When I bought new jewelries, I no longer asked for his opinion. When the Blackwood family's annual gala came around, I attended alone. When I needed surgery at the Blackwood family's private hospital, I arranged everything myself. No phone call. No message. Not even a note for him. When Damian eventually found out, he frowned. "Why didn't you tell me? Give me your file. I'll have someone make the arrangements." The answer came before I even had to think. "No. I've got it. I don't want to trouble you. Thank you." The words hung between us. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Because only two weeks earlier, I couldn't even choose which necklace to wear to a Family event without asking Damian. I'd text him over lunch. I'd call him just to ask when he'd be home. Every tiny decision in my life had revolved around Damian Blackwood. But now, I wouldn't tell him about my feelings when he was too busy listening to Clara, completely ignoring the fact that I was sick and needed him by my side. I wouldn't tell him I was pregnant. And soon, I wouldn't tell him I was leaving, either.

I saved Marco Vitale from a trap. The night that followed made me the woman he hated most. After the doctor confirmed the drugs had worn off, I stayed with him. We slept together. His marriage to my cousin Bianca was supposed to secure our families’ port alliance. When word got out about us, my father proposed that I take her place. Marco agreed in front of the senior men from both families. Behind closed doors, he made his feelings clear. “Drug me, then get your father to force a wedding. Well played, Elena.” I’d loved him for ten years. I actually believed that, once we were married, I could make him see the truth. I hadn’t drugged him or arranged that fire. I’d just been the idiot who couldn’t bear to leave him there. On our wedding night, he left the vows we’d signed behind and went straight to my cousin. Three years later, Bianca returned from Palermo with a little boy who had Marco’s gray eyes. He picked up the child in front of me and promised to make her the real Mrs. Vitale. I handed him my ultrasound. He turned it facedown without looking. “Bianca and her son are moving in. I want you out by tomorrow.” The next morning, I fell on the stairs while his men were clearing out my things. I began to bleed. They took me to the family clinic, but Marco stayed with Bianca. When the doctor called, he said not to interrupt them again. A hospital transfer came too late. Neither my baby nor I left that clinic alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the guest suite at that engagement party, three years earlier. Marco’s hot hand was on my waist, pulling me toward him. Last time, I’d stayed after the doctor left and spent the night. This time, I got him somewhere safe and called my cousin. “Your fiancé needs a doctor. Come get him, sweetheart. He’s all yours.”

The man I loved when he had nothing called me a gold digger after I helped him become a billionaire. All because, on the night Julian Mercer proposed, I gave him my father’s only condition: place fifty million dollars in a marital fidelity trust. The principal would remain his unless he betrayed our marriage. I had planned to tell him I was the Castellano Family’s mafia princess the moment he agreed. Instead, his childhood friend claimed I had refused equity when Mercer Holdings was founded because I planned to gain even more through marriage. Julian believed her. He revoked my access at work, handed the port project I had spent months building to her, and stood by while everyone called me a gold digger who had dated her way to the top. When one of our business partners humiliated me in public, Julian stepped in to defend me—only to turn around and say, “Do you see now? Without my protection, you’re nothing.” Even when Lorenzo Castellano, heir to the Castellano Family, arrived, Julian was still mocking me for ending our relationship over fifty million dollars. I walked up to Lorenzo. “Brother, I’m not marrying him.” That was the moment Julian realized he had destroyed the only woman who had loved him before the power, the prestige, and the empire. By then, regret was all he had left. Because this time, I wasn’t coming back.

Everyone knows that the mafia Don's only son, Antonio Gatti, gets to choose a completely new mistress of his own once every three months. Women who are in dire need of money and have no other option left in life will flock to Antonio's wife, Martina Russo, to apply for the position. If they get to spend a night with Antonio, they'll receive a million dollars. Those who are capable of giving birth to his heir will receive half of his family fortune. There are so many women who want to latch onto Antonio as their ticket to wealth. As for me, Martina, I become the hottest piece of gossip in the entire mafia underworld. "Just what sort of lethal leverage does the Gatti family have over Martina to the point that she can tolerate her husband's whims to this degree?" Everyone is very sure that I will submit to the Gatti family's influence and live a humiliating life for as long as I draw breath. That is, until Antonio brings a young woman named Camilla Ferrara home one day. Camilla is an ordinary woman, and yet she's capable of transforming Antonio, a cold-blooded and violent man, into a completely different person. He gets rid of all his other mistresses for her sake. He cleanses every inch of himself three whole times because she claims that he's filthy. Antonio has become obsessed with Camilla. He tells me, "Camilla is a pure and innocent angel; unlike you, whose hands are completely stained with filthy blood. Your heart is as dirty as the rest of you." He seems to have forgotten that I've done those filthy things just so I can get rid of all the obstacles in his way in order to protect the Gatti family's legacy. On the day Mamma passed away from her illness, Antonio prepared a huge fireworks show that's capable of lighting up the entire sky above New Wis City just to celebrate Camilla's birthday. After that, I find out that Antonio has the gall to dump my mamma's ashes into the fireworks assembly on Camilla's birthday. They end up combusting alongside the rest of the fireworks that night. I toss the divorce agreement in his face with all my might. At the same time, I unlatch the safety on the pistol that's hidden in my sleeve before pointing it at him and Camilla. "I'm giving you two choices right now. Option one—sign the divorce agreement and file for a divorce with me, which entitles me to half of the Gatti family's fortune. Option two—die together with your beloved mistress so that you can go to hell and apologize to Mamma there."

On the night before our engagement party, my fiancé's childhood sweetheart sped through the venue grounds in a luxury car while heartbroken, hit an elderly man, and fled the scene. Ethan immediately postponed the party and took the panicked Mia overseas to help her relax. Before leaving, he transferred five hundred thousand dollars to me. "Five hundred thousand should be enough to buy your father's life. As long as you don't cause trouble for Mia, we'll continue with the celebration after I return." Confused, I looked at my father beside me. The renowned don of the McKenna family was sitting there perfectly unharmed, frowning in dissatisfaction over Ethan's decision to cancel the party without permission. Just then, I received a message from Mia with a video attached. [Ethan found out the person I hit was your father and still chose to protect me and pay for your father's life.] [A nouveau riche's daughter thinks she can marry into the Alvarez family? Take a good look at your father's condition. This is what happens when people like you dare to dream.] I opened the video and widened my eyes in shock. With a malicious smile, Mia slammed on the accelerator, drove over the old man's legs, and sped away. The poor elderly man lying in a pool of blood and groaning in pain was Ethan's father.

Leonardo's adoptive sister pulled off a new trick, and this time, it was threatening to slit her wrists. So, like second nature, he handed me the divorce papers. I didn't even read it and let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Leonardo, this is the eighth time. In the entire history of Siciliana, no mafia Don has ever abandoned his partner as frequently as you." He yanked at his tie in frustration, a pleading look surfacing in his eyes. "Bianca, I have to do this. You know Gia's mental state. I can't just leave her to fend for herself, can I? "Move out for a few days first. Don't worry. Once I calm her down, I promise we'll get remarried right away!" I signed in silence. He had already repeated those exact words to me eight times. We finalized the paperwork in family lawyer's office. Pushing up his glasses, the family lawyer, Luca, teased lightly, "When are you guys coming back to sign the ninth marriage contract?" I put away the divorce papers stamped with the Corleone family wax seal and shook my head. "There won't be a next time."

"Tap more ash into his cup. He needs to understand this isn't the place for an idiot like him." I went to the break room at lunch to fill my water bottle. The second I walked in, I saw Santo and his crew gathered around my mug, ruining it. Ash coated the rim, and cigarette butts floated in the coffee. The sight turned my stomach. My folder lay on the floor with a few black boot prints across it. Santo raised an eyebrow when he saw me. "Good. You saw it. We don't feed idiots here. Go back where you came from. "You've got one week to leave on your own. After that, I have plenty of ways to make you disappear." I said coldly, "You don't call the shots at these docks." Tony, Santo's right-hand man, laughed, pulled out a gun, and tapped it against my temple once, then again. "You'll find out soon enough whether my word means anything. "You crossed Santo, and you still think you can stay? Dream on!" The others sneered, and every one of them slammed a shoulder into mine on the way out. I watched them go and smiled a little. They have no idea who I really am. And they certainly don't know that one word from me is all it would take to make Santo disappear from this world.