Plot Twists Mafia Short Stories & Bias Countdown Novels

Three days before my wedding to Don Marco, I scheduled a memory erasure procedure. "Ms. Leah, are you certain you want to erase the memories from this period of your life and forget the people you knew?" I ran my fingers over the wedding invitation Marco had carefully prepared and said softly, "Yes." Three years ago, on the night Marco and I got engaged, Violetta was involved in a car accident. When she woke up, she identified me as the person responsible. That was when I learned that even an innocent person could become the villain in everyone else's eyes. Marco, the man I loved most, believed her and sent me to prison for three years. "Leah, you nearly destroyed her life. You should be grateful that she's still willing to forgive you." "But I can't keep cleaning up your messes forever. You need to learn to face the consequences of your actions." That was Marco's final decision. The truth was, if he had been willing to investigate a little further, he would have discovered what really happened. During those three years, Marco never responded to my pleas or my cries for help. All he left me was a promise that he would marry me after I was released. An empty vow. But I no longer needed his belated tenderness. Marco, I choose to forget you.

At the Moretti family banquet, Don Cesare Moretti won a two-person package to a private island resort. The host asked with a teasing grin, "Don Moretti, who are you taking with you?" Every pair of eyes in the room turned to me. The crowd began chanting my name, their voices rising with gleeful anticipation. "Adriana! Adriana!" My heart hammered against my ribs. I smiled at Cesare, hope blooming warm in my chest. But Cesare didn't even glance my way. His gaze had drifted past me, settling on his secretary sitting near the front. His voice was casual, almost indulgent. "Give it to her. The girl's been working late lately. She deserves a break." His secretary's face went scarlet. Those soldiers paused for just a beat—then someone shouted, "The Don is so thoughtful," and the laughter swelled again, smoothing over the moment. My best friend Bianca leaned in, whispering through clenched teeth, "We planned to get married together on the island this year. How could he forget something like that?" I smiled and forced back the tears. Then I reached over and straightened her collar. "Don't worry. The plan stays. The wedding happens." Then I called my father and said yes to the family arrangement. I would marry the Don of the Romanov family—Cesare's biggest rival. If Cesare didn't want to marry me, that was fine. I'd just find myself another groom.

At my pre-wedding blowout, my sister Julia Gallo suddenly challenged my fiancé Lorenzo, heir to the next Don of the Bianchi family, to a "big bet." "Let me guess how many candies you've got in your hand." "Guess right, and whatever my forfeit is, you do it." "Guess wrong, and you're covering all the leftover booze." "I'm guessing... five." She said. Lorenzo opened his right hand. Three. Julia tipped her head back to down the rest of the wine. But then— "You win." Lorenzo pulled his left hand from his pocket. "There are two more. Right here." Julia smiled at him. But tears shimmered in her eyes. She unfolded the note she'd written in advance. "Then I'm sorry. I didn't think I'd actually guess it right off the top of my head." "Your wedding is postponed. Three years." The room went dead silent. Lorenzo just kept smiling. "We've been betting since the day we first touched family business. When have we ever backed out?" "A bet's a bet." This wasn't the first time Lorenzo used me as collateral. I looked up at the clock—past midnight. My phone buzzed. A message from a familiar number. "Happy birthday." "You're not married at twenty-seven, you marry me. Still on?" I replied: "A bet's a bet. Three days, and I'll honor our deal."

My ex, Luca Romano, had a rival family on his tail, so he begged me to hide him at my family's private estate for five days. For old times' sake, I agreed and gave him a temporary passcode that would work for five days. Five days later, I finished my work out of town and returned to the estate. When I entered the passcode, the door wouldn't open. Someone had changed it. I rang the doorbell. A woman I had never seen before came out wearing my nightgown. She yawned as if she owned the place. The moment she saw me, she looked at me with disgust. "So you're the ex-girlfriend who won't leave Luca alone? "You two already broke up, and now you're showing up at his place in the middle of the night? Don't you have any shame?"

My husband, Bastian Howard, had finally taken his seat as the Don. But the woman he married and brought into the Howard estate was my "sister"—the fake heiress, Moriah. As for me, the wife who actually signed the marriage pact with him? I was stashed away in a separate apartment. I went from the Don's wife to a dirty little secret. Worse, when Moriah framed me for poisoning her, Bastian snatched away my adoptive mother's heirloom without a second thought. When Moriah and I were both kidnapped, he chose her without hesitation, leaving me to die. Every single time, he'd tell me, "I'll make it up to you next time." But he didn't know—there wouldn't be a next time. Soon, I'd fake my own death, leave this hellhole, and find the man I truly love.

I loved Marco De Luca fiercely for three years. I didn't care that he had come to the Vittori family for my half sister Isabella. Nor did I care that he hid his identity as heir to a rival family and lied to me by posing as a bodyguard. That lasted until Christmas Eve. My whip brushed Isabella, a single frightened tear slipped down her cheek, and Marco had people take savage revenge on me, leaving ninety-nine lash marks across my back. That was when I finally gave up on him. I went to my father myself and said I would marry the comatose Castellano son in New York in Isabella's place. Two weeks later I cut every line of contact with Marco and flew to New York. But on my wedding day, Marco De Luca, now the Don, forced his way into the ceremony with ninety-nine lash wounds of his own, begging me in tears not to marry.

I was eight months pregnant when our armored car was ambushed outside the family’s docks. The blast tore open the door. Shrapnel ripped through my calf, and blood poured down my leg. My husband, Luca, was the Don of the Moretti crime family. He carried me into the family’s private hospital like a man possessed, demanding specialists and emergency surgery. Miraculously, our baby survived. But when I woke, both Luca and the baby were gone. I dragged myself out of bed and limped down the hall to find them. Outside the basement morgue, I heard Luca speaking to a doctor. “Don, that baby could still have been saved. Why did you stop treatment? He was your own son!” “Bianca gave me a son yesterday. I promised her our child would be the Moretti family’s only heir.” A pause. “As for Evelyn, I can give her anything she wants. Except a child.” I braced myself against the wall, my injured leg throbbing. The husband I thought loved me. The happy family I thought we had. None of it had ever been real. Then there was nothing left to stay for.

As the Principessa of the Falcone family, I craved danger and absolute freedom. But on my ninety-ninth attempt to escape my arranged marriage, Vito Moretti finally caught me. My dangerously handsome betrothed cornered me at an underground racetrack. "No one walks away from me, Liliana," he smirked from his modified Mustang. "You're the first." With my weakness for dangerous men, I made a life or death wager. "Beat me on the track, and I'll marry you. Lose, and you get out of my life." Our engines roared as we tore along the cliffside road, its curves dangerously free of guardrails. Nearing the finish line, I took a turn too fast and hurtled toward the edge. But just inches from victory, Vito jerked his wheel. He slammed his car into mine, knocking me to safety as his own plunged into the icy bay below. I scrambled down the cliff, terrified, and dragged his bleeding body from the water. "I lost," he gasped, life fading from his eyes. "You're free." My heart shattered into a million dazzling pieces as tears streamed down my face. Startled by my reaction, Vito swore softly. "Don't cry. I'll tell our fathers the broken engagement was my choice. No one will dare lay a finger on you." I sobbed and pressed my lips to his. "To hell with the bet, Vito Moretti. I'm marrying you!"

After three days of the silent treatment, my fiancé, Matteo Vitale, decided I had finally learned my place. I no longer asked where he was or called to make sure he was safe. He kissed my forehead, pleased. "Now you're finally acting like the future Donna of this family." Later, he boasted to his friends. "You can't let a woman get too clingy. Ignore her for a while, and she'll learn to be independent." I said nothing. I booked a flight to New York for three days later. A year earlier, his convoy had been ambushed. He disappeared for thirteen hours and came home bleeding. Afterward, he promised to call whenever he was safe. But in less than six months, he grew tired of the promise he had made himself. Then he started using that promise to train me—to stop being so "clingy." The last time I couldn't reach him, I called all night and caught the first flight home. I found him drinking champagne. His assistant, Nora, was bragging that she had received her call before eleven. "It was a bet," his friend laughed. "He told us to ignore you. Behave today, and he'll announce the wedding date." I hadn't argued. That was what he mistook for progress. When he saw my packed boxes, he assumed I was moving into his estate. "That's my good girl." I let him believe it. If he thought my love was a cage, I would set him free. This time, he would be the one waiting for a call that never came.

I was with Don Silas for seven years. From when he had nothing to when he ruled Chicago's entire underworld. To everyone else, I was just his dirty little secret. His men humiliated me in public. His Commission members spat insults at my face. The few friends who knew the truth couldn't stand it. They confronted him. "Are you really going to let Alessia be your shadow forever? You won't even give her a proper title?" Silas was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was like ice. "Carina's husband was my most loyal underboss. He took a bullet meant for me. The Outfit demands I honor his sacrifice. I have to pay it." "Alessia loves me. A title is just a title. She'll accept it." My friend felt a chill run down his spine. "But I heard your engagement party with Carina is next week. Alessia is pregnant with your heir. What if she finds out..." Silas's voice was sharp. Final. "Alessia will endure it. For me." I stood in front of my apartment's floor-to-ceiling windows, staring at a picture of the "Heart of Sicily" on my phone. I felt like a fool. The man who whispered in my ear, promising to place this ring—the symbol of the Family's true Donna—on my finger, was Silas. And the man now preparing to give it to another woman in front of all of Chicago was also Silas. The glittering diamond in the photo felt like it was laughing at me. I think Silas was wrong. I won't bet my life, or our child's future, on a man who always expects me to be the one to step aside.

I used to be the beloved little princess of the Colobo family. Then, on my eighteenth birthday, my father brought home Sophia. She was the daughter of the old friend who had once saved his life. Out of guilt, he gave her a place in our home. Then he gave her my place too. My brother began protecting her and hating me. My childhood friend, Luca Rizzo, fell for her and left me behind. Even my father said Sophia deserved the Colobo name more than I did, though I was his biological daughter. On the day I graduated from college, they broke their promise to me for the ninety-ninth time because of her. I finally lost control. “Am I not your own daughter?” My father pulled Sophia behind him as if I were the danger, then slapped me across the face. “You jealous little thing. I should have given everything to her instead.” My brother looked at me like I was something dirty. “You don’t deserve a place in the Colobo family. Get out.” So I left. They thought I was only throwing another tantrum. They took Sophia to Switzerland to see the snow-covered mountains, certain that silence would teach me to behave. They thought I would calm down, come home, and beg for my place again. But this time, I called the research institute in Australia whose offer I had once turned down for them. “I accept,” I said. By the time the Colobo family realized I was truly gone, my phone number no longer existed. And so did Isabella Colobo.

At our engagement party, the men of my Mafia fiancé, Daniel Rizzo, egged everyone into an old family game: Secret Truths. When it was Nikki's turn, his childhood sweetheart spoke in French. "The groom likes me far more than his dull, wooden bride-to-be." The whole room erupted in laughter. Glasses clinked all around us. Daniel rolled his wineglass between his fingers and replied with an amused smile, also in French. "Who doesn't enjoy a fresher, juicier peach?" The laughter nearly brought down the roof. Nikki swatted his arm flirtatiously. "You're awful. Aren't you afraid she'll find out?" Daniel turned to me and smiled. "She doesn't understand." Without missing a beat, he drew me against his broad chest. I let him hold me while something inside me turned to ice. What none of them knew was that I had been born in Paris. French was the first language I ever learned. I fought down the ache in my throat, kept a polite smile fixed on my face, and quietly slipped my engagement ring off my trembling finger. I'd made a bet with my family that Daniel would love me for who I was, without knowing my wealth or my family name. I'd lost. It was time to go home.

Ten years with Don Maximus. I went from the crazy girl who demanded his "undying loyalty" at gunpoint to Chicago's perfect Donna. When Maximus took the casino's hottest stripper to his private room, I didn't lose my mind. Instead, I tossed the woman the keys to a Manhattan penthouse. When Maximus's new flame threw a tantrum at a yacht party, I didn't bat an eye. Instead, after she slapped a waiter in a fit of pique, I made the police problem go away. When Maximus fought with one of his girls, I'd even send her a limited-edition Birkin to smooth things over. And today, Maximus is busy fucking his hot new toy in the study, while another pregnant mistress stands on the estate's rooftop, threatening to jump just to see him. And I'm still the one in my red-bottom heels, calmly going to clean up his mess. The mistress screamed, desperate. "I'm not having this baby! Get Maximus!" I took a sip of my wine, my voice bored. "He's busy today. You have the baby, and I'll make sure seven figures show up in your offshore account." My indifference set her off. She grabbed my wrist, her grip like iron. "You're pathetic, Angelina! There was a time he wouldn't even look at another woman because of you. He slaughtered an entire family for you. When you were shot, he knelt in the pouring rain outside a church, begging God to take his life for yours! But now? You can't even get into his bed. All you can do is stand here and play the gracious Donna!" Her nails left red marks on my skin, but the smile on my face didn't crack. Did she really think a little drama would change anything? I wasn't playing the gracious Donna. I was just done. And I was finally ready to let Maximus go.

Three years together. Lucian proposed seventy-seven times. Aurelia said no every single time. The entire family called her ungrateful. How dare she reject the Underboss? But Aurelia knew the truth. Lucian never wanted to marry her in the first place. The first three times, she said yes. She took the ring with tears in her eyes. Each time, his face turned to ice. "A proper woman doesn't give in so easily," he scoffed. She took the hint. She handed the ring back and said no. Only then did his warm smile return. Then came year three. Aurelia overheard that line between him and Bianca, her adopted sister—intimate, sick, and unmistakable. It hit her like a bullet. Lucian never loved her. Not for a single second. The Syndicate took them both from the same orphanage. Yet Bianca was their spoiled princess, and Aurelia was dirt under their boots. She thought Lucian was different. She thought he was her only way out. Reality slapped her across the face. One cry from Bianca, and Lucian dropped everything. It didn't matter where they were or what they were doing. He always ran to Bianca. He always left Aurelia behind in the cold. Fine. Aurelia pulled off the invisible chain around her finger. She was done playing his sick little game. She stepped away. She let them have each other.

At our seventh anniversary gala, my husband, Alexander Rossetti, had gifted me the city's one of a kind Rose Manor. I was kissing Alexander. That's when his Capo, Romeo, stepped up with his wine glass, lowering his voice in pure Sicilian dialect with a teasing grin: "Don, the Jasmine Manor for Elena's all settled, identical to the one you gave to Donna." Alexander let out a chuckle. He shot back in Sicilian, casual as ever: "What can I say? She begged me in bed, said she wanted the same thing as her sister. " He kissed my cheek as he spoke, gazing at me with all the warmth in the world, while telling his men: "Don't say her name. If my Donna finds out, we're all in deep shit." His men exchanged knowing smirks, raised their glasses to him, and swore up and down they'd keep their mouths shut. He kissed my cheek, and didn't notice my smile had frozen solid. Maybe Alexander was too smug. He forgot one thing. My grandmother came from one of the oldest families in Sicily. I understood every single word they said. Fireworks burst overhead. Alexander said: "I love you, Olivia. We'll be together forever." I hugged him back, but behind his back, I pulled out my phone, opened the weapons research invitation that Santoro Institute had sent me days ago, and hit "Accept." Three days from now, I would vanish from his world completely.

After the car lost control on the highway, the passengers around me were all panicking, calling their loved ones to say what they thought might be their final goodbyes. The airbags had gone off. Glass covered the seats. My hands were shaking as I pulled my burning-hot phone from my pocket. Only after a long while did I finally call Vito Moretti. When he rejected my call, I sent him a text instead. 【I probably won’t make it out of this one. Vito, what a shame that we won’t get to grow old together.】 As I stared at the chaos outside the car window, I was strangely calm. The driver managed to avert disaster, and after I escaped the accident unharmed, I saw that Vito had posted my text on his social media. A group of his Mafia brothers flooded the comments, calling me dramatic and accusing me of seeking attention. I calmly liked his post and uploaded one of my own. “After narrowly escaping death, maybe my luck is finally about to change.” His brothers immediately swarmed the comments under my post, mocking me one after another. “Oh, weren’t you almost dead? Looks like you’ve got quite the life in you.” “Serafina, did you know Vito was with Mia tonight and deliberately choose this moment to cause a scene? Who exactly are you trying to disgust?” “Why couldn’t you be the one having the anxiety attack?! A woman who stays by the Don’s side and still gets jealous of a young girl. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

The entire New York mafia world knows that Don Alessandro of the Rossi family takes a brutal punishment from the Council every year just to marry me. Because the Rossi family has a strict rule: all marriages must be approved by the Council. Yet, for three years in a row, Alessandro submitted our marriage application, and every time, it was rejected! The first year, he was locked in solitary confinement for three days and nights. The second year, his back was whipped raw. The third year, he even knelt in a torrential downpour to beg for their mercy. I always thought it was my fault, that I just wasn’t good enough to meet the Council's standards. It wasn't until the fourth year that I found out all those rejection letters from the Council were forged by Alessandro himself. And the reason was Mia—his secretary who had been secretly obsessed with him for years. "Mia has been by my side for eight years. She took a bullet for me. She held me and cried, saying the day I get married would be the darkest day of her life." "I love Jane, but I just can't bear to hurt Mia." "It just means marrying Jane a little later. She loves me so much, she won't mind." But he was wrong. Even though my heart was breaking, I didn't want this kind of love anymore. I called my father: "Dad, I'm ready to come back to Italy and marry the Don of the Caruso family."

Everyone knew Andre Marino as the Don who kept business separate from his personal life. I couldn't call him unless it was business. If someone wronged me, I couldn't ask him to step in. We'd been together for five years. He'd taken a bullet for me. When we were trapped with no way out, he'd given up his chance at rescue so I could get out. He'd done everything a man could do for someone he trusted with his life. But I couldn't walk in and out of his study as I pleased. Every time I needed him, I had to wait outside the door for a long time. Andre said the study was his private space, and he had to keep things above board. I had to wait at the door for a full hour so everyone could see he wasn't playing favorites. Only then could I knock and go in. Then one day, I came back from picking up a shipment and stood outside his study, waiting to report in. The wind had turned my nose bright red. His second-in-command, Nora Russo, walked straight in, wearing his trench coat. She glanced back at me and said casually, "Annie, don't blame the Don for not letting you come and go as you please. He's big on rules. Business is business. Personal matters stay out of it." "Then why can you come and go?" I demanded. Nora twisted her family signet ring on her ring finger, a knowing look in her eyes. "Our families go way back. We've always been allies, always fought side by side. He's even got my last name tattooed on his chest." One of the men behind me gave a fake cough. She scoffed. "What? Am I wrong? She has no say in the business, and on the personal side, she can't even get through his door. Other than taking care of Andre's needs in bed, what good is she?" The door opened. It was obvious Nora had made herself at home. Pink, the color he hated most, now covered every wall. I stood frozen for a long time. Then, slowly, I let the question drop. If he couldn't give me the love I wanted, I knew what to do. I'd go to the man who was willing to make an exception for me.

When the marriage contract was placed in front of me, I only took a moment to read the terms, but Lucien Moretti urged me three times to sign. He was in a hurry, after all. His precious savior, Isabella, was waiting for him to take her to her favorite opera. So I picked up the pen, but I did not sign my name. I copied Isabella’s handwriting and wrote hers instead. In my last life, I had signed that contract with a heart full of hope. I thought becoming Lucien’s wife meant I would finally stand beside him as the Donna of the Moretti family. Instead, he kept me hidden after the wedding. At every public event, Isabella was the woman on his arm. Every matter that should have required the Donna’s approval went through her first. I told myself I was not strong enough yet. I swallowed every insult and was forced to give up everything that should have been mine. Until the night gunmen broke into the Moretti estate, and Lucien chose her again. He carried Isabella out in his arms while I bled out behind him. Then I opened my eyes and found myself back before the wedding contract was sealed. This time, I gave Isabella the Donna’s necklace. I gave her the wedding dress. I even signed her name on the contract meant for me. I gave up my name, and I gave him up with it.

When Matteo Morandi divided up the territories, he let my cousin, Chloe Serra, choose first. As always. One was the deep-water port, a gold mine and our safest territory. The other was a stretch of abandoned, crumbling docks in the slums, where rival crews often traded gunfire. For the first time, I stepped forward before Chloe could choose. I pointed to the deep-water port on the map. "I want this one." Matteo rested a warm hand on my shoulder. His voice was gentle, but his words were cruel. "Chloe can't handle the slums. She needs to be in the safest place we've got. "Celia, the slums are more your speed." I was so angry I laughed out loud, but I didn't argue. Instead, my clenched fists slowly loosened. My uncle, Enzo Serra, liked to say Chloe was the Serra family's precious white dove, while I was the vicious dog born to fight in the mud. In his eyes, it was the perfect arrangement. The marriage alliance worked the same way. Matteo needed a respectable woman at his side to clean up his brutal reputation, so Chloe was the obvious choice. But Chloe cried and refused. She dreamed of an artist and a life in the sunshine. She would never marry a Sicilian butcher. So Uncle Enzo picked me. I'd taken a bullet for Matteo and known him for 12 years, yet I was still only ever his second choice. "Then give it all to Chloe. I'm done."