Cerita Pendek & Novel Awakening Mafia

When my parents divorced, their lawyers drafted a custody agreement. My sister and I would live with separate parents, then switch homes at the start of every school year. The handoff happened every August at La Serata, the Moretti family's restaurant. Every year, my parents fought over who got more time with Sofia. "Come to St. Barts with me for Thanksgiving," Mom coaxed. Dad's face hardened. "Sofia is with me this year. She spends the holidays with me." Mom pulled up her calendar. "You dumped her on me for nineteen extra days last year. I get those days back. Every single one." "Two of those days were school overnights. They don't count." Sofia rested her chin on one hand and gave them the helpless smile of a princess burdened by too much devotion. "If only there were two of me." Half an hour later, my parents compromised by booking the trip together. Only then did Sofia glance my way. "What about Emilia?" Dad picked up his water and looked past me. "She's not my responsibility this year." Mom finally met my eyes. "The hotel group closes an acquisition next month. I don't have time for this. St. Gabriel still has rooms in the senior dorm. You'll board there." They had just counted every hour Sofia had spent away from them. When it came to me, they could hand off an entire year without blinking. Under the table, I smoothed the napkin I had crushed in my fist. My phone lit up. [Ms. Harper: Your record puts several top East Coast schools within reach. Westbridge Institute's research scholarship would also be a great fit. Which one is your first choice?] I looked at California on the other side of the map and typed my answer. [Westbridge.] Three thousand miles ought to be far enough to leave my family for good.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. You just walked out of Boston City Hall looking absolutely radiant. Any special occasion to celebrate?" "I'm getting divorced." "I'm sorry to hear that. Would you mind telling me what happened?" "He's been bedding his late right-hand man's sister. In my art studio, on my yacht, across my private study desk, and even on the grand piano in our living room. He thought I didn't know." "I can't imagine how much this hurts. I'm so sorry for what you're going through. Where are you heading now?" "The hospital. Prenatal checkup." ... The interview went viral within hours for her calm, unflinching recounting of the betrayal and the shocking contrast between her glamorous mafia wife identity and her devastating situation. It didn't take long for netizens to dig out my identity, and the entire world now knows the woman in that video is me. Elena, Donna of the Moretti family. Three years ago, Vincenzo Moretti, the undisputed Don who ruled Boston's underworld with an iron fist, threw me a wedding that made headlines across the nation. Back then, everyone envied me, calling me the luckiest woman alive. But now? That interview had been online for nearly two days, and Vincenzo was still lost in his little love nest. By the time Vincenzo finally bothered to watch the video his men had forwarded to him, I was already in New Zealand. The whole world knew I was leaving Vincenzo Moretti. He was the last person on earth to find out.

I'm getting married. But Ryder, my boyfriend of seven years, has no idea. He recently hired a new assistant, Blair, and has been swamped ever since. The two of them are the toast of the high-society circuit, a perfect power couple frequently seen at galas and parties together. To celebrate a major project Blair landed, Ryder booked an entire restaurant for a celebratory dinner. During the dinner, Blair intentionally swapped my lemonade for a strong cocktail. Unaware, I took a large sip. Ryder just watched, smiling playfully as he asked, “How is it, baby? How does it taste?” He forgot. He forgot that I have a deadly alcohol allergy. My throat swelled shut faster than I could have imagined. As I collapsed, the only sounds were my own gasps for air and a porcelain plate shattering on the floor. That night, I lay in the family's private medical wing. When I opened my eyes, the oxygen mask was still pressed to my face. I nodded at my mother. The arranged marriage. I agreed to it.

I'd been spoiled and willful since I was a little girl. Whatever I wanted, I always got. When I was 17, I fell for a blue diamond at an auction. My father had the entire auction house shut down so I could take my time choosing. When I was 22, I fell for Marco Ferrante, the son nobody in the Ferrante family cared about. My father used every resource he had to secure Marco's place as heir to the Ferrante family. As agreed, Marco married me. But in two years of marriage, he never once touched me. Because there was always another woman in his heart. Three years earlier, she'd fallen seriously ill and gone abroad. She returned three years later, on the night of our wedding anniversary. I'd spent a month preparing my gown for our anniversary. I put it on, stepped in front of him, and spoke softly for the first time. "Could you please not go to her tonight?" He pried my fingers loose one by one. There was no warmth in his eyes. "Because of you, I made the wrong choice back then and lost her. "Now she's back. Are you still going to stand in my way?" To him, I was never his wife. Just a mistake he'd made to survive. I watched him walk away and suddenly laughed. "Fine. If our marriage is a mistake, then I'll end it myself."

"Give me a baby, sweetheart." My husband, Don Nico, whispered, kissing me as he drove deep inside, making us come together. I rested in his arms, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs. He was crazy for me. A month later, on our anniversary, I gave him his wish. A positive pregnancy test. I drove to his private casino, ready to give him the surprise of his life. But I stopped outside the VIP room. The door was cracked open. I heard him bragging to his men. "The wedding's in a week. Scarlett still has no idea she's been sleeping with both of us." He gestured to the man beside him. A mirror image. His twin brother, Marco. "Last time, she was all over him, begging him for a baby." A low rumble of laughter went through the room. My blood ran cold. Someone piped up, nervous. "But Boss, what if she finds out?" Nico just scoffed. The sound was pure ice, pure control. "What's she gonna do? She has nothing without me. I gave all her best work to Bianca. She's the art world's new star. Scarlett's career is dead. I killed it. Her only choice is to be a good little Donna and beg for my scraps." That casual cruelty… it shattered my heart. He destroyed me for another woman. Played me for a fool. Any love I had for him died in that instant. I pulled out my phone. I found the message I'd been ignoring. The curator offer from that top European foundation. I typed my reply: "Yes." He thought I was his to break? He was wrong. In seven days, I would be gone. Vanished from his world for good.

What's the first thing you'd do if you were reborn? Me? I'd start by divorcing my husband, Finn Gallagher. Yeah, Finn Gallagher, the same man who runs half the underworld from behind closed doors. The Don. The richest man alive. The man women dream about; his face plastered on magazines, named "Sexiest Man Alive" five years in a row. In my last life, I tried everything to make him look at me like I mattered. I married him. I gave birth to his son. I swallowed every ounce of pride, trying to be the perfect wife. However, it didn't work. To him, I was no different than a waitress he might casually tip—forgettable, replaceable, invisible. So this time, I'm not begging. I'm not pretending. I'm handing Madeline Brooks the key to my place in his life, and walking away. She's Finn's first love, and also the shadow that haunted every day of my last life. Now Madeline was sitting opposite to me, blinked at me like she didn't hear me right. "You tried so hard to push me out," she said slowly, eyes narrowed. "Now you want me to be with Finn?" "Yes. That's all I'm asking. Just talk to Finn. Tell him to sign the divorce papers." I looked at her confused face and kept going. "Everyone knows I'm the last person who'd ever let Finn go. So if I say I want a divorce, he won't believe me for a second. But you? You're the one who can make that happen... aren't you?" She laughed, because she was finally getting her chance. I laughed too, because I was finally free.

I tried to die a hundred times to make him notice me. For two years, I was Shawn Scott’s wife in name only—an unwanted bride bound by a scandal, left to live in the shadow of another woman. My parents only saw my faults. My husband only saw my mistakes. As for me? I saw no way out. Every time I tried to end it, I’d wake up again, bruised and humiliated. I was greeted not with concern, but accusations such as "Why are you so selfish, Zoe Jennings?" or "Why can’t you be more like your sister Yvonne?" It wasn’t until my hundredth suicide attempt that I finally understood: I was the only one fighting for a love that never existed. So, I stopped. I walked away. I disappeared. I gave them what they wanted—my absence. However, when I left, the man who never looked at me twice started chasing the ghost of the woman he thought he knew. By the time he realized what he truly lost, I was already learning how to live again.

On the day I'm supposed to try on my wedding dress, Don Aldo Vitale gets the time wrong again. By the time he finally gets to the bridal boutique, I have already chosen my dress. Just like always, Aldo apologizes without thinking. "I've been really busy lately. I hope you understand." But over the past few years, Aldo's taken his childhood sweetheart and assistant, Isabella Berardi, to more than 100 cities for business. He's never forgotten a single flight, meeting, or business dinner. In contrast, Aldo's always forgetting things when it comes to me. I calmly hand the wedding dress back to the sales associate. "It's fine. My friend already helped me pick out a dress. No point in coming here for nothing." Aldo lets out a sigh of relief, but he still looks a little uneasy. After all, everyone knows me as his clingy girlfriend who can't live without him. In the past, I would have been clinging to him, sobbing and throwing a fit out of jealousy. Aldo holds me in his arms. "Babe, you're really starting to act like the perfect wife. I heard from the butler that you went on a trip. Where did you go?" "I went to Sirdon." I calmly pull away from him. "I went there while you were on the flight to Dubmont." Aldo freezes. One of the things Aldo promises is to take me to the City of Light when he first tells me he loves me. He's always saying he'll take me there when he gets the chance. Three years go by. Then four. Even after getting engaged, he keeps putting it off, always using work as an excuse. Then, Aldo takes Isabella to a new city for another business trip. I've been with Aldo for five years. I suddenly grow tired of waiting for him. If he can't keep the promises he's made to me, I'll fulfill them myself.

My 30th birthday. My childhood friend, Jax, told me to meet him at Chicago City Hall. “Wear the custom wedding dress. Bring your ID.” He promised me a surprise I’d never forget. But when I got there, he just casually lifted his cigar to his rich friends. “See? She actually wore the wedding dress. Pay up. The limited-edition Aston Martin is mine.” Then, he turned to me. “Clara. It was a joke. You didn’t take it seriously, did you?” I said nothing. He was so sure of himself. No matter what he did, I was his little shadow. The girl who couldn't live without him. I’d always come crawling back, crying, begging him to marry me. His face, the one I used to love, twisted into a sneer. “If you’re that desperate to get married, go grab some homeless guy off the street. See if anyone wants you. Don’t worry. I’ll party a few more years. Then maybe I’ll be generous and keep the fiancée spot open for you.” The crowd of men and women behind him erupted in laughter. They laughed at me. The parasite Jax couldn't shake. The idiot waiting for him to throw me a bone. But when I walked out on the arm of my new husband—a literal Mafia Don—and flashed a very real marriage certificate, Jax’s face went dead white.

I loved Dante Moretti for seven years. At eighteen, one night at a family gala changed everything. Soon after, I became his fiancee, and not long after that, he was sent to run the Chicago branch for four years. I gave birth alone, raised our son alone, and waited for him in the house that was supposed to be ours. What came back to New York was not a family. He brought Claire and her son with him, and before long, that boy was sitting in Dante's car, taking my son's place in the training program, and showing up in every space that should have belonged to family. Then, on my son's birthday, I saw a video from Chicago. Someone asked, "Dante, when did you feel most at home?" He lifted his glass and said, "One winter night during a blackout. Claire was in the kitchen by candlelight, and Leo grabbed my sleeve and asked me not to leave." I didn't cry. I ended the engagement, erased my son and myself from every Moretti family record, and left New York without looking back.

My world fell apart over an encrypted link from the dark web. My husband, Don Marcello, was there on our marriage bed, pounding into another woman. All the top bosses in North America were watching. He held her in his arms, laughing about me. His fragile, naive little trophy wife who could never leave him. Even the live chat was a stream of insults. Calling me the useless wife who couldn't even get her husband into bed. But the worst part? The way he acted when I found out. He grabbed my chin. Told me the whole disgusting betrayal was just "an act to keep our allies happy." He even let his mistress brag about it to every socialite in the city. My humiliation became their afternoon entertainment. And me—the good wife who washed the blood from his shirts, the woman he decided was too weak to survive without him—I had to smile at family dinners. He didn't know. When he crushed my loyalty like trash under his heel, I had already started making my move. He thought this was his game to win. His hostile takeover. But when the hammer clicks back, Marcello will understand. His "sweet little wife who only knows how to paint" is the one holding the blade to the entire North American underworld.

We have a family group chat meant for the core members only. It's named "the Coppola family". The ones in the group are my father, my mother, my oldest brother, Fabio Coppola; my second brother, Luca Coppola, and my little sister, Francesca Coppola. Oh, that's not all. Fabio's bloodhound, Fido; Luca's ragdoll, Neve; and Francesca's fancy rat, Pico, are members of the group chat too. I'm the only one who's not included in that group. There's once when I ask Francesca, "Can you add me into the group?" She's in the middle of feeding Pico at that time. Without bothering to glance at me, she replies, "That group is meant for insiders only. Wouldn't you feel awkward if you were to join the group, Valentina?" I just look at Pico, who keeps screeching in Francesca's arms. It has a special nickname and the right to speak up in the family group. To think that I, the Coppolas' biological daughter, am nothing compared to a fancy rat.

Dominic De Luca always called me by his ex-girlfriend's name. When he cooked, he would call out from the kitchen without thinking: "Bianca, come set the table." The birthday gifts he gave me came with cards that read: "Happy Birthday to my love, Bianca." At first, I used to get angry. I would hold his face, make him look me in the eye, and correct him over and over: "My name is Clara, not Bianca." Every time, he would apologize, and every time, I would forgive him. I left Boston to be with him. I gave up a promotion and moved to New York to start over, because Dominic said he could not handle a long-distance relationship. I thought that meant he had finally chosen me. Until the night he got down on one knee to propose. He looked up at me and said: "Bianca, will you marry me?" That was the moment I stopped wanting to correct him. I just took out my phone and replied to an email I had ignored for an entire month. I accepted the position in London. Dominic did not know yet. The moment he put my engagement ring on Bianca's finger, I had already decided to resign and leave New York. This time, I would not wait for him to explain. By the time he finally learned to say my name correctly, I would no longer love him.

Whenever they played Truth or Dare, my boyfriend's childhood sweetheart, Clara would deliberately dare him to pull the same prank on me, and Ronan would always willingly play along: he would pretend to propose to me. The last time, I fell for it. I joyfully held out my hand, but a mechanism inside the ring snapped shut, and I cried out in pain. Ronan and Clara doubled over with laughter, ignoring my finger, which had been pinched purple. Afterward, Ronan pinned me against the wall and swore that this year, he would give me a real proposal. So when his bodyguards brought me to the private club where we first met, I changed into an expensive white silk gown, styled my hair, and applied my most exquisite makeup. I even played the touching scene out in my head, imagining myself nodding and saying yes. But as I pushed open the door to the VIP room, my heart pounding, someone threw a full glass of deep red wine in my face. It streamed down my chin and onto my gown. A woman's laughter erupted from the crowd. "I told you Aurora would show up, didn't I? Ronan, you lose!" Ronan walked over, looking resigned. He gently dabbed at my face with a napkin, his tone as soft as ever. "Dressed up just for me? A shame to ruin a good dress." "Clara dared me to bet on whether you would have the guts to come to our turf tonight. I bet that you would. The wager was this: if you didn't, I'd propose tomorrow. If you came, we'd have to wait another year." "Sorry, baby. Since you showed up, I guess we can't get married this year." The wine trickled down my collarbone, cold and sticky. I shivered. Suddenly, the whole thing felt utterly pointless. Our anniversary meant nothing compared to one of their pranks. Just like me. I could never win against Clara, his childhood sweetheart. I unclasped the simple silver bracelet, the one I'd worn for six years, from my wrist. "This is over. We're breaking up."

On the day of our graduation trip, my boyfriend Roman, a mafia heir, and his childhood friend Clara left me stranded on the side of a deserted highway. Their off-road vehicle had been driving for over half an hour before they even noticed the back seat was empty. When Roman called, there was no panic in his voice, only a hint of irritation. "Blair, why didn't you get back in the car?" "Stop messing around. We're rushing to the canyon to catch the sunset. We don't have time to go back and get you." "Figure out a way to hitch a ride here yourself." Through the receiver, Clara's amused voice came through loud and clear. "She's not a three-year-old girl. She can't expect you to wait on her hand and foot." In the past, I would have assumed it was my fault, apologizing to him with teary eyes. Then I would have tried everything in the blowing sand, even running, just to catch up with his car. But this time, looking up at the blinding sun in the desert, I suddenly didn't want to chase after him anymore. I took out my phone and canceled all the luxury suite reservations along the canyon route. I bought a bus ticket to a small coastal town. It was the place they said was totally boring. The coastline stretched on forever, and the world was wide open. I was no longer following anyone.

When mafia heir Alaric Gallo had nothing but a dying legacy and a target on his back, I became his wife. I gave him everything. My fortune. My loyalty. I destroyed myself trying to have his baby. Even when I couldn't, he swore a blood oath in my ear. He would love me until death. So when he begged me to sign a "fake divorce" to hide from our enemies, I believed him. Without a second thought. Until I came home early one day. I found another woman in our bed... wearing the silk robe Alaric bought for me. And Alaric was inside her, mocking me. "Alessia, that sweet, stupid, infertile girl. She believes anything I say. She already signed the papers. In a few days, I'll marry you." The sickest part? The woman moaning under him wasn't just a stripper from his club. She was the mother of his secret son. Overnight, my perfect marriage became a joke. The laughingstock of the Chicago underworld. Alaric thought I was weak. A pushover. He thought I'd take his pathetic hush money, cry in a corner, and disappear from his world. He was wrong. Because I'm not just Alessia Ricci. I am Alessia Rinaldi. The hidden heir to Chicago's most powerful syndicate. Alaric wanted a fake divorce. Now, he's going to lose everything. For real.