Cerita Pendek Familial Bond Mafia & Novel Bias Face Slapping

By the fifth year of my marriage to James Hill, he began pretending to be his late twin brother, the late Don of the family. With that, he took over all of a Don’s duties and the role of my sister-in-law, Hilary’s husband. Every time after he slept with her, he would cut his arm open, kneel before me, and beg for forgiveness. “Pia, you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. Once Hilary gives birth to the heir and secures her position, I’ll fake my death and come back for you.” He told me his twin brother had died saving him, so he had to fulfill his brother’s last wish. During the year he pretended to be his brother, James slept with Hilary ninety-nine times. After a full year, Hilary finally gave birth to the family’s heir. I truly believed James would fake his death as promised, then take our son and me away from this bloody life. However, I saw him with Hilary in his arms, teasing the tiny baby she carried. “Hilary, I’ll stay with you and our child until he’s ready to take over as the next Don.” Silently, I wiped my tears and went back to my room to pack my suitcase. My son saw me crying and ran into my arms, gently wiping away my tears with his little hands. “Ma, Aunt Hilary already had her baby. Why isn’t Papa coming home yet?” I placed my clothes into the suitcase as I told him softly, “Because he doesn’t want us anymore. But don’t be sad, sweetheart. I will build us a home.” If James wanted to raise an heir, then I would return to North Atlantis’s most powerful mafia family, take my rightful place as my father’s heir, and become the Godmother of the Mafia.

Ever since she was two, Elara Vane became her twin sister's personal blood bank after the girl was diagnosed with a rare genetic defect. Doctors predicted her sister wouldn't live past eighteen, so her parents and brother doted on her, putting her first in everything. They even blamed Elara, accusing her of "stealing" her sister's nutrients in the womb, claiming it made her sickly. In her past life, no one in the family loved her. Only her fiancé, Dante, truly stayed by her side. But Elara never expected Dante's love had its own agenda. Until her sister accidentally fell off a cliff and needed a full blood transfusion. Dante signed the consent form without hesitation, sending her to the operating table to be the donor. As her blood drained and her consciousness faded, Elara swore that in another life, she would never be her sister's blood bag again! The next time she opened her eyes, she was back to the day after her engagement to Dante...

The day I inherited Grandpa's "Peacemaker," I received a call from myself, ten years in the future. "Sienna, don't give that gun to Lorenzo." I obeyed without question. That night, forced to use his faulty Glock, Lorenzo was beaten into a vegetative state during a duel. Guilt nearly broke me, but my parents nursed me back to health. Or so I thought. "You idiot," my future self sneered. "It was a lie to get you on the operating table. They want your heart for your brother!" Finding a transplant agreement in my father's study, I publicly severed ties with the Morettis. Only later, after Lorenzo died from rejection, did I learn they just needed my rare blood, not my heart. I wanted to return and atone, but the phone rang again. "Your parents will kill you for honor. Don't go back." I waited. But instead of assassins, news arrived: the Morettis had been slaughtered by rivals. I bolted for home, only to be mowed down by a black sedan. As I died, I couldn't understand why my future self had orchestrated my end. Then I opened my eyes. I was back at the ceremony.

I've always been frail by nature. Taking two consecutive steps can make me gasp for air. If I cough, there's a chance there's blood accompanying it. When I'm seven years old, a homeless man in Bronzeton tries to snatch a half-eaten piece of bread from me. I lie on the ground as I convulse like a dying fish with foam gathering at my mouth. My eyes have rolled to the back of my head as well, as though my seizure is acting up. Thinking that I've gotten infected with some sort of disease, the homeless man is so frightened that he flees from Novarra overnight. When I'm ten years old, a delinquent tries to demand protection money from me. I react by spitting dark blood at his face. The poor guy screams at the top of his lungs as he runs down the street, only to get mistaken as a murderer by a police officer who happens to pass by the area. Since then, everyone avoids me like plague on the street. They aren't scared of me—they are terrified that they might get into trouble because of me. No one knows who my parents are. I've grown up in a rundown motel, and my adoptive mother is a stripper who used to be famous. Whenever she gets drunk, she often tells me, "Your father is a mafia Don." I've always thought that she's just running her mouth purely out of drunkenness. That is, until a black limo stops in front of me on the year I turn 18 years old. Three men clad in black suits get out of the limo. The leader sinks down on one knee right in front of me, his voice quivering as he speaks. "We finally found you, Ms. Salvatore. Your father is Vittorio Salvatore, the Don of one of the biggest mafia families in Novarra." At first, I think this is just a scamming scheme. That is, until I'm taken to the estate located on Lacreth Isle that's six acres wide and sports iron gates with the Salvatore insignia carved into them. On my first day home, the fake heiress, Serena Salvatore, purposefully releases the fearsome family dog in the estate just to intimidate me. That dog keeps barking at me, frightening me to the point that I spit out blood on the spot before collapsing to the ground. My mother, Rosalina Vitelli, almost loses her mind over my collapse. But my older brother, Marco Salvatore, shouts at me angrily instead. "Why are you playing dead? You made Serena cry because of your antics!" His voice is so loud that I feel as though my eardrums are going to burst anytime soon. Even my heart feels as though an invisible hand is gripping it tightly. My eyes roll to the back of my head instantly as my body crashes on the spot. Mamma flies into a rampage and almost beats Marco to death for scaring me. Having witnessed everything, Serena kicks up a fuss by attempting to commit suicide at the estate's clock tower just so she can apologize to me. In order to prove his love to Serena, my fiance, Luca Moretti, drags me forcibly to the top of the clock tower so that Serena can do whatever she wants to me. The thing is, the winds are strong on the top of the clock tower. That's when I accidentally slip and topple over the railing. My parents, who are looking everywhere for me, happen to be around the clock tower when I crash onto the spot near them. This time, my bruised and broken body is completely drenched in blood. Shell-shocked, they remain rooted to the spot as they stare at me in bewilderment. Then, they let out blood-curdling screams.

After the engagement dinner, my grandmother was hauled down to the family's dungeons. The order was given by Serena, who handled the finances for my husband-to-be, Vincent, the heir to the Moretti family. Vincent himself led her down, refusing to hear a word of explanation. "The late Don's wife's diamond cross is missing. Your grandmother was the only guest not part of the family. If she didn't take it, who did?" Serena stood at the top of the stairs, her arrogant gaze sweeping over my face. It was laughable. Based on nothing but Serena's word, they could lock an old woman away. "She stays down there for every day the cross is missing. But that's one thing, our wedding is another. We're still on for next month." I glanced down at the diamond ring on my finger, engraved with the family crest. Exhaustion washed over me. This whole marriage felt meaningless.

Six years ago, my sister and I fell for the same man, Edmund. But he only had eyes for Rosalie, the sweet, innocent type. With them, I was always the third wheel. They got married, of course. And on their wedding day, I overheard my parents whispering. "The company's strapped for cash," my father said. "What if we marry Corinne off to our business partner? That'd solve our problem..." This "partner" was over fifty and twice divorced. So I ran. I fled to Sicily with the only five thousand dollars to my name. I ran on pure bitterness. In four years, I brought dozens of small-time Sicilian crews to heel and forged my own family: Vexille. In another two, I came back to New York and quietly became the most powerful woman in the North American underworld. By then, Edmund's power was crumbling, hit hard by a rival family. That's when my mother called, her voice full of that same old entitlement. "Your brother-in-law's in some trouble. Figure out a way to help him." Then a text from my sister, Rosalie, dripping with contempt: "Sister, I remember you have a little casino in Sicily, right? So you must know something about that Vexille family." "Edmund needs their help. See what you can dig up." They still don't know. I'm the Don of the Vexille family. I glanced at the schedule my advisor had prepared. Tomorrow, 9:00 AM. A sit-down with some minor family looking for a handout. The name on the file: Edmund.

I had always known my family hated me. Or maybe more accurately—they hated me for taking their real daughter’s place for so long. When they finally found Lily, their real daughter and sister, Matteo, the brother I grew up with, told me to disappear. Father, Don Kane, never looked at me twice again, no matter how hard I tried. Mother treated me like I was invisible. But they never let me leave. They made me stay and suffer. One day, Lily did something horrible, and they threw all the blame onto me. I was locked away in an asylum. When I was finally released two years later, the Kane came looking for me again, smiling as they called me their real daughter after all. A little too late for that, don’t they think?

"Vera, you are accused of conspiring with the Petrov Group to assassinate the family's future Donna, Sylvia. This tribunal is now in session." In the center of the tribunal, a syringe filled with a dark green liquid glinted under the lights. My former fiancé, Rocco, the new Don of the Corleone family, sat on the dais, disgust plain on his face. "Confess. Let everyone see the monster you are behind that mask." Sylvia leaned against his chest, a faint smile on her lips. She thought I would finally break, my reputation in ruins. Shackled to the accused's chair, a smile of faint relief touched my lips. "Rocco, are you sure you want to do this?" "Use that needle, and there's no going back."

The annual Vittorio family gala was in full swing when my brother, Don Marco Vittorio, decided to host a card game. The stakes were simple: the winner could make one demand of him. Everyone knew I had been brought back to the Vittorio estate three years ago but still hadn't been formally acknowledged as family. They stepped aside, murmuring that this was Marco's way of giving me a chance—a test I might finally pass. Only Gianna, the family's adopted princess, made sure I had none. She counted off her boasts on her fingers. "Marco gives me a black card with a fifty-thousand-euro monthly limit." "He bid on a lighthouse in the Bay of Naples for me." "I give the family toast at New Year's Mass." "My name is on the trust." Four statements. I had one card left. She smiled and delivered the killing blow: "This whole game? Marco threw it just to cheer me up." My heart sank. I looked at my brother. He smiled indulgently—that same smile he'd worn for three years, always taking her side, always asking me to wait. I folded. I laid down my last card. And suddenly, I didn't want to go home that badly anymore. I didn't need the Vittorio name. I was done.

I was the daughter of a mafia Don. The day I met Ethan, he fell for me at first sight. When I found a receipt from a luxury boutique in his pocket, he said, "It's a gift for another capo's wife. These things have to be done right." I believed him. The second time, I found an earring in his car that wasn't mine. His friend told me it belonged to his girlfriend and that I shouldn't read too much into it. Then came a third time, and a fourth. Every time I found something, someone had an explanation ready. By the tenth time, I pulled a box of condoms from under the bed and waved it at him. "Whose are these? We've never used this brand." Ethan paused halfway through knotting his tie. With a weary sigh, he made a call. "Miller, did you take a box of condoms the last time you stayed over?" On the other end, my brother answered right away. "Yeah, I was wondering where those went. Sorry about that. Is my sister suspicious of you again?" Then my sister-in-law, who was also my best friend, started lecturing me. "Michelle, trust is the foundation of any relationship. You can't keep doubting Ethan." "If you can't manage that, then don't get married. Don't take Ethan's love for granted." After the call ended, Ethan spread his hands. "Michelle, are we done here? This is the tenth time. Like your sister-in-law said, if you can't trust me, then don't—" I nodded. "Exactly. Let's not get married." Ethan never could have guessed that the condoms weren't anyone else's. I had bought them myself and planted them there on purpose. That single box of condoms exposed the ugly truth behind our so-called love.

When the Russo family—the most notorious mafia empire in America—brought me, their long-lost true blood, back to the estate, I set three rules: One: Don't compare me to Chloe, the perfect adopted daughter. Two: Don't give her my things as charity, and don't dump her hand-me-downs on me. Three: Stay out of my private life. The man she was supposed to marry is hers. Our father—the Don—agreed. Chloe and I barely kept a fake peace. But when the marriage alliance came up, the rules went out the window. Her fiancé Marcello chose me—a street-wild girl covered in motor oil. My father was furious. My mother, bitter. My oldest brother, the Underboss, looked at me with pure disgust. Chloe was convinced I seduced her fiancé in bed. But God as my witness, I never touched him. I stormed into his private cigar club, demanding he clear things up. Marcello blew out a puff of smoke and sneered. "The Vitiello family's marriage pact was always with the true Russo blood. We have no intention of taking a fake." As he said it, his sharp dark eyes slid toward a trembling Chloe. A cruel, almost sick thrill flashed in them. It took me a long time to get it. He had too much wildness in his bones to marry a smiling puppet. And I—a foul-mouthed, reckless street girl—became his perfect pawn to rebel against his entire family. I was forced to become Marcello's wife. Three years later, he got bored. He threw a divorce agreement in my face. Filled with my unbearable "sins": "Too stubborn. Zero feminine, in bed or out." "Always showing your face at that biker shop. A disgrace. Unfit for the title of Donna." I stared at him. I remembered why he dumped Chloe—he hated her submissive elegance. Now, what he hated most was that I wasn't submissive, and I wasn't elegant. I flicked the ash from my cigarette and said, dead calm: "Fine. I'll sign."

After I gave myself the last dose of painkiller, I stood outside the hotel all afternoon in the vintage couture gown Lucian had chosen for me himself. The black Bentley motorcade that was supposed to come for the bride never arrived. What I heard instead was the chatter of people passing by. "Did you hear? The youngest Don in New York is getting married. He and the bride have been together ten years." That stopped me, because Lucian and I had only been together seven. "They say he bought a blue diamond, the only one of its kind in the world, just to set it in her ring. He's proposing at the church today." The moment I pushed open the church doors, Lucian looked straight at me. "Cassie, I knew you'd come. Ten years ago you lost Elena, the true blood of this Family, and left her to be ground down at the bottom of the world. You had the safety and glory of the Family name while she endured ten years of hell. I let you believe in that engagement for exactly this day. I want you to feel what it's like to be thrown away by everyone." Three people I knew better than anyone sat in the front pew. Marcus spoke first. "You took the life that was supposed to be Elena's. She's back, so it goes back to her. You owe her that." My heart felt like a cold gun barrel was pressed against it. I couldn't get air. Nobody knew that a month ago I had been diagnosed with end-stage neurological failure, and that I had one day left. For my last hours all I had wanted was to hold the hand of the man I loved, with my family around me. I walked out of the church calmly and dropped the keepsake he had given me into a trash can. But now I'd changed my mind. I wasn't going to spend my last day intruding on any of them.

On the day my fiancé, Raphael Moretti, and I were supposed to get our marriage license at city hall, I dressed with care. But by noon, he still hadn't shown up. Aurelia De Luca video-called me. "Sofia, where are you? Raphael's been waiting for you all day." Panic hit me. "Weren't we signing in Palermo?" Aurelia frowned. "It's Taormina, Sofia. Everyone's been waiting for a long time." I drove straight to Taormina. When I arrived, no one was there. When the video connected, Aurelia was crouched on the ground, laughing hard. "Sofia, don't tell me you actually went. We're already on Lipari. Raphael's setting up the wedding venue to surprise you." I left my car at the port and took a boat to Lipari. The water was rough. I threw up the whole way, and my makeup ran down my face. But when I arrived, no one answered my calls. I waited alone outside city hall until it closed, not knowing what else to do. Aurelia suddenly appeared behind me in a straw hat and smacked me hard on the back. "You really chased us all the way here? The underboss and Raphael only came to keep me company on vacation." I spun around with a yelp. My heel caught on the step, and I fell. Raphael stood there holding Aurelia's shopping bags and purse. "Didn't we agree to get our marriage license after the trip? You couldn't wait? You had to chase us all the way here?" My uncle, Vincenzo Ferraro, saw my pale face and frowned. "Lia is the cheerful one. You've been timid since you were a child. How are you ever going to take over the family?" Seeing Aurelia's smug smile, I didn't even feel like confronting her anymore. I wasn't angry. I wasn't sad. I just wanted to escape a home that had never felt like mine. I only had to stay away from the people and places that made me miserable. For good.

In the underworld, power is paid for in blood and betrayal. And I was born to rule. I survived the back alleys of the Bronx. Then I was adopted by two different mafia families. The first family's fake daughter cried. She wanted my territory. I smiled. I crushed her. I took every illegal casino and smuggling route in Brooklyn. The second family's fake heir slit his wrists for pity. I yawned. I took his black Amex. And the keys to the armory. I won. Clean. Both times. I sent those two idiots to the most dangerous prison on the East Coast. At twenty, a bloody DNA report showed up. Turns out, I'm the long-lost daughter of the Callahans. The biggest Irish mob in Boston. My first day at the Callahan estate, the adopted daughter in her innocent white dress knelt at my feet. She clutched her chest, trembling. "Sister, my heart is weak. I won't live long. All these years, I've been using the family's best black market medical resources. They even spent a fortune from the off-the-books accounts to find me a new heart." "I feel so guilty. If you think I stole your place, I can just die right now." My biological mother, Eleanor, screamed. She threw herself over the girl, holding her tight. Shaking and sobbing. My biological brother, Victor, slammed his gun on the table. He pointed it at me. "She has a serious heart condition. It's your first day and you're already trying to kill her?" Even my fiancé—some political match arranged by the old-timers—laughed coldly. "She sheds one tear, and the arms deal between our families is off. For good." I didn't flinch. I walked over, slowly. Knelt down. My fingertips wiped away her fake tears. I scanned her heaving chest. Then I leaned in close to her ear. My voice was a low, mocking whisper. "Don't be scared, sweetie. I'd never kick you out." "After all—" "I’ve seen a lot of fake sisters. Your acting is the absolute worst. You won’t last a week."

My twin sister and I were supposed to celebrate our succession on the same night. Beth Moretti would inherit the family's weapons business in Naples. Her portrait towered over the banquet hall on a massive screen as the elders gathered around her, showering her with praise. Our parents, Vincent Moretti and Elena Moretti, couldn't have looked prouder. "Beth has always been exceptional. She was at the top of her class, won countless awards, and was already managing the family stables at eighteen." I stood alone in the corner, completely ignored. By the time anyone remembered me, the gala was almost over. One of the elders happened to spot me. "What about Monica? What will she be taking over?" My parents froze. For a moment, neither of them had an answer. Beth gave a small laugh. "Nothing important, I think?" Everyone laughed with her. I kept quiet. I had apparently been put in charge of the family armory, though no one had even bothered to tell me themselves. My father finally looked my way. "At least she stays out of trouble. That's good enough." Of course I stayed out of trouble. They had sent me to boarding school when I was four and left me to grow up on my own. I learned early how to take care of myself because no one else would. During school breaks, my parents would take Beth on vacation while I stayed behind. To them, I had always been the daughter they could forget. So yes, I was easy. I had learned a long time ago not to expect anything from them. After the gala, I went looking for my family. They were nowhere to be found. Then I learned they had already gone home with Beth. I took a deep breath, pulled up the Turner family's invitation from two months ago, and typed, "I accept." Then I booked the earliest flight out. This family had forgotten me for years. Now they could forget me for good.

Ten years ago, I died in a shootout. My men recovered my body. I left behind only one daughter. My husband, Colton Rinaldi, found our daughter selling cigars at the docks. Under the blazing sun, she was drenched in sweat. The wooden crates had rubbed her shoulders raw and bloody. Colton's face fell. He pulled her aside. Then he demanded, beside himself with rage, "Why are you doing hard labor here? Where is your mother? How could she dump you in a place like this? "She's so damn selfish!" Mia Rinaldi had never seen him before. She stared at him, bewildered. "Who are you? Do you want a cigar? They're cheap." Colton lifted the crate off her shoulders. The veins on the backs of his hands bulged. "Even if she's angry with me, she has no right to torment you like this. Come with me. As far as you're concerned, you don't have a mother anymore." With that, he grabbed her hand and tried to lead her away. Panicked, Mia bit his arm and glared up at him. "Don't talk about my mom like that! Who are you? Get away from me! "Let go of me!" Blood streamed down Colton's arm. Colton went livid. "What has Monica Bellini been teaching you? She's angry with me, so she taught you to be this rude? "I'm your father!" My spirit hovered beside Mia. I tried to wipe away her frightened tears. My hand passed straight through her. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. How could Colton not know? I wasn't sulking. I was dead.

The Cecil family has a century-old rule: on the day a daughter marries, her father gives her a list. It lists the names of twelve bodyguards her father has trained for her since she was a child. They will serve the bride for life as her last line of defense in her husband's household. My twin sister Valentina and I married on the same day. At the ceremony, she held the contract, which was covered in red handprints. Our father patted her shoulder. "I chose every one of them for you. If anyone mistreats my darling girl, these men will make them pay." Our mother beamed. "Valentina will always be the treasure of our family." All I received was a single flimsy, worthless sheet of paper. It didn't even bear a seal. "Father, where is my list?" His gaze darted away for a moment. Then he looked back at me, his expression brazen and self-righteous. "Your sister is marrying Don Moretti's oldest son. The Moretti family is one of Sicily's most powerful Mafia families. Of course she needs more men. "I added your twelve men to her list. She needs twenty-four guards to make sure no one looks down on the Cecil family." Our mother backed him up. "The outsider you're marrying can't even fire a gun. Why would you need bodyguards? Stop thinking only of yourself." I looked at the worthless sheet of paper and smiled bitterly. In their eyes, I was nothing more than a disposable pawn.

On my wedding day, my twin sister refused to take off my dress. "The groom's car is almost here, Isabella. Give it back." But my father was already smoothing her skirt. "Let her have it. You're twins—no one can tell you apart." My mother pinned her veil and tossed me the bridesmaid dress. "It's just a ceremony, Camilla. You're still the one getting married." Just like always. Whatever Isabella wanted, I wasn't allowed to fight for. The last chicken wing. The only scholarship. Now my own wedding dress. I reached for my phone to call Luca. Isabella snatched it from my hand. "Let's play a game. We swap places—no one tells. I want you to see, with your own eyes, who Luca really loves." I almost said no. Then I saw it. A bump in the lace, right over the heart. I pulled back the silk and read a word stitched in pale gold thread. Tesoro. The name he whispered to her a hundred times. The name he had never once said to me. My wedding dress had never been meant for me. So I unclasped the diamond necklace he gave me and set it down. "Then she can have the audience too." I slipped into the burgundy bridesmaid dress and watched my sister walk down the aisle wearing my name and my life. Then Luca pressed a key into my palm and whispered, "Come to the penthouse tonight, Tesoro." He had no idea he was confessing to the wrong sister.

On my tenth birthday, my parents, the Don of the Falcone family and his wife, were murdered in a targeted hit. Because they took a sudden detour to pick up my custom birthday gift, they drove right into a rival syndicate's fatal ambush. My brother, Vincenzo, blamed my childish demands for their deaths. When Vincenzo took over as the new Don, his first act was to banish me to a remote convent to do hard labor. For eight whole years, he never visited me once. When I died on the operating table in the family hospital, he was standing guard right next door. He was watching his adopted sister, Lucia, get a heart transplant. He had saved her from a street shootout years ago. Just before I lost consciousness, I heard him comforting Lucia through the wall. He told her not to be afraid and promised to save her. The last words he ever said to me were, "Are you faking a cough or fainting this time? Do not bother me unless you are actually dead!" Twenty-four hours later, a nurse finally found my body lying in a pool of blood. No one ever came to claim me. What my brother didn't know was that my heart would keep beating inside Lucia's chest forever.

My sister came back after being kidnapped. She had no memory of what had happened. She saw the photos on my wall and became convinced that my boyfriend, Don Colton Turner, was hers. She hid under our bed. When Colton and I started getting intimate, she crawled out and accused us of cheating on her. She pulled out a grenade and screamed, "You've betrayed me! Neither of you is walking out of here!" Just as she was about to pull the pin, my mother lunged at her, grabbed the grenade, and threw it out the window. But Beth wasn't done. She pressed a gun to her temple and threatened to kill herself. In her mind, she was Colton's Donna, while I was his secret lover. My mother rushed forward to grab the gun just as Beth pulled the trigger. My mother died on the spot. After that, Beth tried to kill herself almost every day. Colton eventually packed his bags and said wearily, "We should have slept in separate rooms. If we had, your mother would still be here. I'll take her to the house outside the city for now. Once she's stable, I'll move back. That way, she can't hurt you again." I simply nodded. Part of me was even grateful that Colton had thought everything through so carefully. Then one day, I went to a private hospital for a prenatal checkup. As I walked out with the report in my hand, I froze. My supposedly dead mother was standing there, gently stroking Beth's hair. "A healthy baby. When it's born, it'll look just like Colton." Colton laughed. "Better if it looks like Beth." My mother nodded, satisfied. "At least all that acting wasn't for nothing. Once the baby is here, I can stop worrying." The blood drained from my face as my heart pounded against my ribs. So it had all been a lie. After they left, I forced myself to calm down, walked back into the hospital, and scheduled an abortion.