Plot Twists Mafia Short Stories & Bias Countdown Novels

Every Christmas Eve in Port Saint Giovanni, the Camerlano family hosts the Claiming Rite at Saint Giovanni Manor. Twelve girls stand in a line. Whoever receives the white-gold signet pin becomes the heir’s publicly acknowledged bride candidate. I am Grace Sorrento, the bastard daughter of the Sorrento family. If I do not receive that signet tonight, by sunrise I will be put on a plane to Chicago and married off to a Rizzo, a man rumored to have killed two former fiancées. Adrian Camerlano, the boy I grew up with, swore to me in blood three days ago that the signet would be mine. But when the moment came, his hand turned. With a smile, he pinned it on Lucia, the orphan his family had sponsored. Then he leaned close to my ear. "Let Lucia have her moment. No one has ever really looked at her before. Don’t worry. This is my estate. No one will dare arrange your marriage without my say." I grabbed his sleeve, but he removed my fingers one by one. "Lucia has no roots and no last name. Tonight is all she has. But you are a Sorrento. Even without the signet, no one will touch you." That phrase, no last name, drew every gaze in the ballroom toward me, full of pity and quiet mockery. The next morning, I boarded a flight to Chicago. When Adrian heard, he made one call to Port Saint Giovanni Air Control. "Ground every plane. Nothing leaves today!"

On the first day of our honeymoon, Dante Moretti, the Mafia Don I had just married, and his childhood sweetheart left me at a gas station. They had driven for twenty minutes before realizing I wasn’t in the car. When he called, panic filled his voice. “Ariana, why didn’t you get back in? I thought you were in the back seat.” Bianca’s voice came clearly through the phone. “She isn’t a child, Dante. You don’t have to turn around for her.” I laughed bitterly. I had lost count of how many times he had left me behind for his childhood sweetheart. When I remained silent, irritation crept into his voice. “Don’t start, Ariana. I’ve sent one of the guards to pick you up. Just wait for the guard.” In the past, I would have forgiven him and waited. But this time, I didn’t want to. I canceled the rest of our honeymoon and removed the wedding ring I had worn for less than three days. Then I called my father for the first time in five years. “Father, I want to come home.” His voice trembled. “Ariana, the Bellini family has been waiting for you.”

After my fiancé ran away with my sister, I became the biggest scandal in New York. Then Roman Vescari—the feared Don of the Vescari crime family—confessed that he had loved me for years. I married him. For five years, Roman treated me like the center of his world. Everyone believed I was the cherished wife of New York's most powerful mafia don. Then I overheard him speaking to his consigliere. "Celeste is Adrian's wife now. Are you really going to spend the rest of your life pretending to love Evelyn?" Roman fell silent. "I married Evelyn. I'll love her and give her everything a Vescari wife deserves. Celeste is in the past." But when Celeste and I fell into a freezing lake, Roman swam past me to save her, leaving me to sink only yards away. That was when I finally understood. He could protect me for the rest of his life, but his first instinct would never be to choose me. After I was rescued, I arranged my death at sea and ended our five-year marriage. When Roman learned of my "death," the ruthless mafia don shoved Celeste away, coughed up blood, and seemed to age ten years overnight.

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."

Five years ago, on our third anniversary, I rejected Matteo's proposal in front of the entire syndicate. I pointed at my stomach. I sneered at the man who used to worship the ground I walked on: "Don't be naive, Matteo. You're just a stray dog from the gutter. I'm carrying the rival boss's heir." It poured that night. He was shattered. He walked away from everything. Five years later, he climbed over a mountain of bodies. He ruled North America as the new Don. He returned to New York and bought out every single debt my family owed. Then, he brought his pregnant fiancée along and kicked down the rusted door to my run-down apartment. He looked down at me with cold eyes. "What's wrong, Princess? Hiding out in a dump like this now?" He had no idea. My body was already in the final stages of transplant rejection. Every single day I stayed alive was just to see his face one last time before I died.

In the Valenti Family, you're born with a chip. It's fused into the bio-watch on your wrist, its digital face counting down every second you have left to live. Everyone could see the numbers ticking down on my twin sister's watch. And on mine. They all knew she would die on our 18th birthday. So Vivian became the untouchable princess of our brutal world. Every diamond-stitched gown was hers. The rarest jewels were hers. Even our father's last shred of humanity was hers. That single sliver of warmth he showed only after his gun was holstered. I used to pity her. Her time was running out. But God, I envied her. She had everything I never did: our parents' love. Then, the night of her 18th birthday party. My parents worried I'd make a scene. That I'd piss off the Don of an allied Family. So they locked me in the cellar. Damp. Cold. While a deadly fever burned through me. I pounded on the heavy oak door, my voice cracking. "Mamma, please! Let me out! I'm burning up. My head is splitting open…" Outside, my mother's voice was a steel trap. "Enough, Sienna! Today is your sister’s 18th birthday. Her last day alive! Stop the theatrics! Can't you suffer in silence for the Family's honor?" "But I'm really sick..." Her footsteps clicked away, fading into nothing. Then the darkness swallowed me whole. And on my wrist, the bio-watch was flashing a critical alert. CRITICAL ALERT: Vital signs mismatch. Paired chip data incompatible. Please verify user.

After I came of age, I entered the Gallo family's trial period. Only those who passed the family's trials within five years would earn the right to wear the family crest. Anyone who failed would be sent to the shooting range as a live target. This year's trial was to seize a weapons shipment at the port. I was the first to locate the weapons cache, but when Vera blundered into the ambush, I had to stay behind and clean up the mess to save her. After the fierce gunfight, my team's casualties ended up exactly one more than Vera's. At the crest ceremony, my mother Carmela once again pinned the family crest to Vera Gallo's chest, smiling with satisfaction. "Vera brought back the weapons with the fewest casualties. She passes the trial again this year, without question. "Not that the crest needs to be awarded twice, but Elsa, you really aren't as capable as Vera. Better luck next time." Better luck next time. I'd been hearing those exact words for four years straight. Ever since Vera was brought back four years ago, I, the adopted orphan, had become the most unwelcome person in the house. Because she claimed everything I had should have been hers. The moment she heard that Carmela had treated me well, she'd spiral into hysterics and threaten to kill herself. From then on, I waited four years and never once received the crest from Carmela's hands. This time, I was done waiting. I was going home. My real home.

Two days before our wedding, my fiancé called it off for his childhood sweetheart, postponing everything by ten days. He sighed, "Daisy told me that day happens to be her birthday party. It's her first birthday since she lost her husband, so I can't miss it, or she'd be devastated. Elena, we're going to get married. What difference does a week earlier or later make?" This was the third time he had canceled our wedding for Daisy. The first time, Daisy claimed she was suffering from severe depression, and he dropped everything to rush to her side. He stayed with her for a whole week. The second time, Daisy said she wanted to see the northern lights. He was terrified she might travel alone in that fragile state, so he went with her. They were gone for ten days. And now this was the third. But unlike all the other times, I didn't argue with him. I didn't raise my voice or throw a single accusatory word his way. He thought I was a helpless orphan who'd never leave him. He had no idea that I was the princess of Rossi family, a powerful mafia family. To hide my identity and marry a man outside our world, I had made a three‑month wager with my father—a gamble that I could build a normal life and marry on my own terms. But I had lost. My fiancé still thought this was just another postponement. He didn't know that there would be no next time.

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."

On our third wedding anniversary, Lorenzo Falcone came back from Sicily with a chest of jewels. Without thinking, he slid the chest toward my sister Vella and told her to pick first. I stared, eyes wide, and the disappointment slipped out before I could stop it: "Lorenzo. It's our anniversary. Don't I get to choose first?" He faltered for just a second. Then he said: "Lily, as a Donna, you should know how to be gracious. You can't always act like a little girl." I'd heard that for over twenty years. Since I was a child, the eldest daughter of the family, I'd long learned to step aside. Give up the horse I loved. Give up my grandfather's keepsake. Give up the chance to study abroad. Give up the voice that should've been mine. My father told me to be sensible. My mother told me to protect my little sister. When I met Lorenzo, I really thought—foolishly—that I was done giving things up. He'd pull me behind him when the gunshots rang out. He'd hold my hand when the nightmares jolted me awake. He'd say it in front of everyone, so sure of himself: "Lily is my only choice." But I was wrong. Not long after we got married, Vella moved in with us. She said she couldn't bear to be apart from me. Lorenzo promised he would treat her like his own flesh and blood, give her a little extra care. But somewhere along the way, extra attention turned into her first—without him even noticing. After she'd made her picks, she handed me the leftover brooch. Old. Tarnished. "This one suits you, sis." I looked at her. Forced a bitter smile. "Take it all. I don't want any of it." Quietly, I slipped my wedding ring off my finger and tucked it into my bag. Three days from now, I'll place it beside the divorce papers on his pillow. And then I'll walk away. From him. From this city that was never mine to begin with.

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.

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.

At my engagement party to Matthew, the Don of the Gambino family, he said he had business to handle. Two hours later, he still wasn't back. I went to look for him. Around the corner of the hallway, his men were whispering in Sicilian dialect. "Poor thing. The future Donna has no idea Don's been screwing Ruth." "The Don's out of his mind. Can't even keep it together on his engagement night." Ruth Martin. His childhood friend. His business partner. I stood there, frozen. Then I walked back to the ballroom. A while later, Matthew pushed through the door. One button missing from his shirt. Sweat on his forehead. Someone clapped his shoulder, asked in Sicilian. "Ha! So? How was it with Ruth? Fucking intense, right? You're a madman." Matthew laughed and answered. "Of course. Couldn't get enough." What Matthew didn't know—I used to be Sicilian. I understood every word. What he also didn't know—I was about to tell him I was carrying his child. I took a sip of my juice. Didn't call him out. Instead, I pulled out my phone and opened the confirmation from the lab in Paris. Hit Confirm. Seven days from now, I'd be on a flight to Paris. Gone from his world for good.

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.

To marry Lorenzo Vincenzo, I gave up my photography career. A dream I had held for ten years. But on our fourth anniversary, I asked my sister Greer to draft the divorce papers. She kept asking, over and over. "Why would you leave Lorenzo? He's the top surgeon at St. Vincent's. Rich, gorgeous. Half the city is dying for a shot at him." I swallowed the bitterness clawing up my throat. "Because of a gift." Greer followed my gaze to the music box on the table. The card was in Elara's handwriting. Lorenzo's junior from med school. [Thank you for flying out to do my aunt's surgery, senior. I know it was a long trip. You worked so hard. The little dancers on this music box remind me of us at graduation prom. Hope you like it, Lorenzo.] That day, my father was in a car accident. I rushed him to St. Vincent's. Only Lorenzo could do the surgery. I searched every floor of that hospital, every corridor. Nowhere. I told myself he must be on a business trip. But no. He had left his post for Elara. The same man who once swore he would never abandon the OR for personal matters. Finally, my father died on the table. Greer pulled me into her arms. "The Vincenzo family owns this city. Their reach is everywhere. Where could you possibly go that he would not find you?" I glanced at the flight confirmation on my phone. "Three days. I am flying to Paris, to a photography studio there. And I will make sure he never, ever finds me."

The Moretti family had one unwritten rule. To officially take the reigning Donna’s place, the Don’s new lover had to command her three times publicly—and be obeyed without question. The day Raffaele Moretti brought Gianna into the council chamber, she gave me her first order. “Take off your wedding ring and put it on my finger.” The entire family waited for me to lose my mind. After all, I had fought at Raffaele’s side through eight years of bloodshed and helped the family’s bastard son become its Don. Everyone was certain I would never bow to Gianna. But without a word, I slipped off the ring and slid it onto her finger as every capo watched. Raffaele leaned back in his chair at the head of the table, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Sofia, you’ve finally learned to obey. It’s good to see you understand your place.” I lowered my gaze and said nothing. What Raffaele didn’t know was that my memories had returned a month ago. I was the long-lost sole heir to the De Luca family, the most powerful of Sicily’s Five Families. In three days, my family was coming to take me home.

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.

The day I married Santino Connor, he went from the infamous heir of a mafia fortune to a broke nobody. When he handed me a plastic ring in a shabby basement and asked if I would start from scratch with him, I looked at the man I had loved since I was a girl and nodded without a second thought. "Santino, as long as it was with you, I would do anything." For him, I worked more than ten hours a day until my stomach bled from the stress. Our son, from the moment he could walk, trailed me from one odd job to the next. I thought my love could eventually build us a life in the sun. Until, at a lavish banquet where I was serving the elite, he showered me with cash from his seat at the head of the table. "What's that thing crawling on the floor? It's blocking my view!" "Take the money and get out of my sight!" When I saw the woman by his side, her face an eerie copy of my own, I finally understood. To him, this was just a game, and I was the only one playing for keeps. If he was going to go to such lengths to deceive me, then it was time for his game to end. What he didn't know was that one month later, he would be tearing the world apart to find me.

For three years running, Matteo always had a reason to push the engagement date back, all because he was certain I could never want anyone but him. The first year, his parents refused to let him marry a poor girl like me, and the engagement was shelved. The second year, he lost the engagement rings I had made myself. No rings, no ceremony. The third year, he "forgot" to tell his parents the date and only told them at the last minute. There was too little time, they could not get there, and the engagement was shelved again. This year, though, none of those earlier "accidents" happened. There was only one exception. On the day of our engagement, the gown my mother had sewn for me stitch by stitch before she died somehow ended up on my stepsister, Capucine. She let her cat climb up the skirt and bite and claw at it until the lace was full of holes. Matteo did not scold her. He soothed her in a gentle voice instead. "It's fine. If it's ruined we'll just have another one made. It's an old dress, it's not like it's anything special." He ignored my red, swollen eyes. "The gown is gone now, so it looks like the engagement will have to wait until next year." I let out a cold laugh and stepped forward to strip the gown off Capucine. "Three times is enough. There won't be an engagement next year either." What he did not know was that before she died, my mother told me a secret she had kept for twenty years. I was never some poor girl. I was the only daughter of a Sicilian mafia family. My real father had found out where I had ended up, and he was already on his way to bring me home himself. Since this engagement was not going to happen, I had decided to go home with him.

I can see a number above everyone's head. It represents how many times we'll still get to meet. When I was ten, my grandmother's number had only one left. She braided my hair one last time, and that night she slipped away in her sleep. By the time I graduated college, my mentor's number read two. After our second meeting, he moved his whole family overseas and never came back. At twenty-five, I married Cardo Falcone, the Don of the Falcone family. Seven years married, and he came home on time every single day. Every dollar he earned went into our joint account. No matter how busy he was abroad, he'd video-call me before bed. And the most important thing: from the very first day I met Cardo, the number above his head wasn't a few hundred or a few thousand. It was "∞," one that would never run out. I thought that meant we were destined to spend the rest of our lives together. Then Cardo started visiting Camilla, the family's advisor, more and more often. When I pressed him about it, he paused for exactly one second, then bent down and kissed my forehead. "After Marco passed, it's been hard on Camilla, raising Ellie all alone. I have to step in for the family." Marco was Cardo's most trusted man. Three months ago, he died protecting Cardo. Cardo swore he'd protect Camilla and Ellie, because Marco died for him. That was the day I watched the "∞" above his head turn into a real, finite number. I told myself a person's life is limited, so of course the "∞" would change. But during those busy days, the number above his head kept dropping, falling faster with every trip he made to her. On the eve of our seventh anniversary, the night I meant to surprise Cardo with the news that I was pregnant, he wasn't there either, because of Camilla. In that moment, I understood. Numbers never lie. Cardo and I had no future left in this life. I hid the pregnancy test report. On the day I made up my mind, the number above Cardo's head turned into a bright red three.