Bias Mafia 단편 소설 & Female Growth 소설

After my husband, Don of the Rizzo family, died in a shootout, I took over the family and wiped out the one that killed him. To groom my daughter into the next heir, I handpicked four adopted sons to protect her. Ten years. I poured everything into them—my name, my money, my time. And every last one of them turned out exceptional and self-reliant. Over the years, with them at her side, my daughter moved forward steadily. Until the month before my daughter was about to take over my position, I got a desperate call from her. "Mom, help me... someone's got me trapped in the banquet hall. They're trying to rip my clothes off..." By the time I got there, my daughter was curled up in a corner, half her gown torn apart. And the four adopted sons I'd raised with my own hands? Standing outside the door with some girl, watching the show. All of this—because my daughter had gotten into an argument with her. When they saw me, there wasn't a shred of guilt on their faces. Just impatience. The eldest stepped in front of the girl. "Mom, she's the one who mouthed off first and pissed Isabella off. Since she never learned to respect people, I figured I'd teach her some manners for you." The third one's eyes flickered with disrespect. "Handling our little sister—that's not something you need to worry about." One look at their smug faces and I was done. Clearly, they'd forgotten who the real head of this family is.

During a game of truth or dare on our family camping trip, my sister Clara chose a dare without hesitation. Our parents immediately praised her for being brave. "Clara's never been afraid of anything, not since she was little. She's our pride and joy." She drew a card, read what was written on it, then looked straight at me with a faint smirk. "The dare says Emma has to call her fiancé right now, break off their engagement, and tell him to date me instead." The campfire crackled. My grip tightened around my phone. Liam Sterling was the man I'd loved for years. But my mother, Helen, walked over and patted me impatiently on the back. "It's just a game. Why are you getting so worked up? Go on, call him. Don't make everyone think you're a sore loser." My father, Richard, cut in coldly. "Can't you be a little more generous? Liam isn't your property. Clara just wants a chance to get to know him. What's wrong with playing along?" Clara pushed the phone toward me, smiling innocently. "Emma, are you scared of a little game?" I said nothing. My eyes dropped to the new message on my screen. "My yacht's waiting for you at the dock." It was from Liam. I was done playing this game. And this time, I wasn't handing over what was mine.

Five years ago, at a family council meeting, the old Don forced his son Victor Caceres and me to marry under a blood pact to stop the riots in the streets. As we exchanged rings, Victor spoke softly enough that only I could hear. "I can't defy my father's orders. But since I'm marrying you, I'll give you all the protection a Donna deserves, as long as you don't cross any lines." Over the next five years, he'd shielded me with his body during an air raid by a rival family and taken a knife meant for me in a gang fight. I'd been naive enough to believe that even a blood-soaked contract marriage could turn into something real. Then the old Don died unexpectedly, and Victor took control of New York's entire underworld. That night, Victor brought his first love, Selena Morelli, back to the estate from a safe house. He handed me an agreement to end our marriage pact. "Carl Lombardi has worked for me for ten years. He runs a clean operation, controls a wealthy territory, and has no children out of wedlock." I stared at the terms written on the parchment. After a long moment, I forced a smile. "If you need to make room for your true love, I'll leave. But why do you get to decide the rest of my life like you’re dividing up the spoils?" Victor frowned, his voice hard and final. "I've already settled the terms with the Lombardi family. They're more than happy to welcome you. "You wouldn't last long on your own without me. If you marry Carl and a gang war breaks out, I'll have every right to step in and save your life." So as power changed hands in the underworld, I was just a loose end to be tied up. Without a second's hesitation, I cut my fingertip, pressed my bloody print onto the agreement, and picked up the crest.

My father died saving Conrad Nelson, the Don of the Nelson family. Conrad took me in to repay that debt and raised me alongside the three most promising boys in the family. From then on, I was the family's little princess. Those three boys would give me anything I asked for. I loved afternoon tea at the Ritz, so they chartered a private flight just to take me there. To make me smile, they spent three million dollars on a fireworks show. They swore they would protect me with their lives, and I trusted them with everything I had. I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with one of them. Then, during a gang war, they saved Serena Blake, a street flower seller caught in the crossfire. She barely had to do anything. Every day, she brought them a bouquet and a few soft, caring words. Two weeks later, Eli Warren scolded me for the first time. He called me spoiled because I'd thrown out the flowers Serena sent. The other two immediately defended me. "Violet's allergic to pollen! How can you hold that against her?" Eli was Conrad's most trusted advisor, the one who always thought everything through. It was the first time he'd ever taken a side against me. The next day, I walked in on Serena dressing Tristan Cole's wounds. Tristan ran security for the family. He was usually cold and ruthless, but now that hard edge was gone. He sat there and let Serena tend to him. In tears, I went to Christian Hayes, the family heir. He held me tight. "Violet, I'll always be here for you." But on my 18th birthday, Christian got a text from Serena. She said someone was harassing her. He left me without a second thought and ran off to save her. That was the last straw. I went and knocked on the door of Conrad's study. "Don, I'm ready to marry the man in Italy."

At sixteen, I found Owen Hughes in the slums. He was covered in blood—but he stepped in front of me anyway. I thought he was a gift from fate. So I begged my father to keep him close. He became my bodyguard. My classmate. My husband. Ten years later, I learned the truth: it was all a trap. He was undercover. His mission—to take down my father, the mafia don. I walked away. Swore I'd never see him again. Six years passed. Then we met again. His eyes were wet. "Aubrey... is there still a chance for us?"

Dante Rinaldi, the Don, had one unbreakable rule. After midnight, no one was allowed near the estate's West Wing. Not even me. Not even on our wedding night, right after we signed our marriage contract. The moment the clock struck midnight, he'd draw his gun and coldly order his guards to keep me out. Once, while overseeing an arms shipment at the port on his behalf, I discovered the Russians had set a trap. Desperate, I activated my emergency beacon. His voice came back over the radio, flat and mocking. "If you can't even survive a firefight, you have no business being my Donna. I'm hanging up." I barely made it back to the safe house through a hail of bullets. He never asked if I was okay. Instead, he punished me for losing the shipment. Then, today, I hacked into the West Wing's top-secret surveillance system. I watched every midnight recording from the West Wing, three full years of them. The footage was silent, but there he was—the ruthless Don, spending hours patiently comforting a frightened woman. The woman with access to that wing was his private doctor, Elena Costa, the widow of his late older brother, Matteo Rinaldi. She was the one he truly wanted to protect. To keep her safe, he'd made me, his wife on paper, a target for every enemy he had. My shoulders sagged, and exhaustion washed over me. I sat there until my legs went numb. Then, without a word, I turned off the footage and filed the papers to end our contract. The light in that safe house had never burned for me. And I was done being his decoy.

At the family dinner, Ruby took a drag of Nico Rinaldi's cigar. Right in front of everyone. She’s his "personal secretary." A former stripper. She shoved it back into his mouth, leaving her red lipstick smeared all over the tip. I, Don Nico Rinaldi's fiancée, watched him take a drag without a second thought. Back at the estate that night, I called off the wedding. He ripped off his tie. He was annoyed. "Because I smoked the cigar she handed me?" "The one she dragged on," I corrected him. He glared at me. "Isabella, you're acting like a jealous psycho. Making a scene over nothing. Fine. The engagement is off. Don't come crying back to me." He thought I loved him too much. He thought I'd never leave. But he was wrong. Even the hottest fire turns to ash when you spit on it enough. This time? I was done.

I've been in love for six years, but my wedding has been called off 99 times by the man who claims to love me most, the mafia boss, Daniel Reed. The first time is on a private island off the coast of Sorellia. He promises me a secret wedding. But an hour before the ceremony, he gets a call saying that his new assistant, Emily Jennings, has been taken by a rival family. Without a word, he leaves me behind and sails off into the night. The second time, we're standing at the altar, exchanging vows. His underboss then leans in and whispers, "Emily's in trouble." Daniel tears off his boutonniere and walks out without looking back. Emily has been kidnapped again—this time, near the border district. He leads an armed raid that very night while I'm left behind, becoming the laughingstock in the mafia's VIP lounges. No matter when I schedule the wedding, Emily always ends up in danger. And Daniel always runs to her without hesitation. Eventually, I realize I will never win against the reckless Gen Z assistant who constantly drags him into chaos. After the 99th cancellation, I decide to break up with him and disappear from Valemont. I move out overnight, erase every trace of myself, leaving nothing behind. But I never expect him to go completely mad. He shuts down the ports, searches every villa, and unleashes his entire family's intelligence network just to find me. His eyes burn red like a wild animal on the edge of collapse. "Elara," he growls, "just give me one more chance."

A deal between families forced my Fiancé Marco Corvini to marry me. My parents were dead. His obsession was Isabella Falcone, the princess of our rivals. In the end, Marco devoured my family’s empire and threw me to the wolves. He paraded Isabella on his arm like a prize he’d won. Twenty years later, I was on my deathbed. My own son—our son—held the poison. He said I was useless, that his father needed the Falcone family’s power. Then I opened my eyes. I was back. Back on the day of my blood oath. This time, to save my family, I didn’t sign my name on the pact. I signed hers. Isabella Falcone’s. As for me? I took the fortune my parents left me and disappeared. This time, I wouldn’t be the fool bleeding for a man who was never mine.

When I was six, a car crash wiped out most of my memory. My foster parents told me my parents had died that night. They said they had taken me in, given me their name, their home, and the protection of one of New York's most powerful families. So I spent twelve years proving I deserved to stay. I cleaned up my younger sister Bianca's messes, handed her the credit for my work, and locked every trophy I earned in a wooden archive box because my success made the family's real daughter uncomfortable. Then, at eighteen, I ordered a certified birth record for my student visa. The clerk looked at me and said, "Your parents have always been Vittorio and Elena Romano. There's no adoption on file." I had never been an orphan. Bianca knew. My relatives knew. The family attorney knew. Even the old butler who carried me home from the hospital knew. For twelve years, everyone had played a part in the same lie. So I hid the birth certificate and kept playing the grateful adopted daughter. I fixed Bianca's speech, prepared her heir's gala, and smiled while my family erased my name one last time. They had no idea I'd already booked a one-way flight out of their lives.

I was scrubbing a mountain of dishes in a restaurant kitchen when I spotted my fiancé, Matteo DeLuca, who'd sworn he was buried in debt. He sat in a private dining room on the top floor of a three-Michelin-star restaurant. His tailored suit only added to his cold, intimidating air. Beside him, his right-hand man leaned forward to light the Don's cigar with practiced deference. Across from him, his legal advisor held a glass of red wine. "Matteo, isn't it time to put an end to this test? She even pawned her precious cello to pay off your debts." Matteo blew out a smoke ring and said nothing. The woman raised an eyebrow. "Then test her one more time. Tell her your enemies are going to cut off one of your hands, then see if she'll step in front of the blade for you." Hesitation flickered in Matteo's eyes. His fingers tightened around the cigar. After a long silence, he answered in a low voice. "This is the last test. If she passes, I'll give her the DeLuca name and all the honor that comes with it." I stood behind the glass partition, still clutching the $100 I'd just earned that day. To pay off his fake gambling debt, I'd given up my summer orchestra audition. I juggled three jobs, and the chilblains on my hands kept splitting open and scabbing over. I'd believed that if I could just get through it all, I'd be able to play my cello again. All that struggling just to survive, and it turned out I was only auditioning to become a Donna. I straightened the crumpled $100 bill, slipped it into my bag, and calmly untied my apron. If I still hadn't passed his loyalty test after everything I'd done, then I was done playing his game.

Introduction Even when Victor Ravelli, the Don, picked out a gift for me, he bought two and let my sister Diana choose first. One was a black diamond signet ring he'd paid a fortune for at an auction in Russia. The other was an obsidian brooch that came free with the diamond. It didn't go with my wedding dress at all. For once, I spoke up, pointing to the black diamond ring before Diana could claim it. "This time, can I choose first?" Victor twisted the family's bone ring around his thumb and ruffled my hair. "Diana's always been competitive. If she can't have her first choice, she doesn't want anything at all. You're just filling in for her. What you wear doesn't matter." I fell silent, staring at the brooch as a hollow feeling settled in my chest. I'd spent ten years with Victor in this war-torn territory, but to him, I'd always be Diana's replacement. Whenever someone tried to assassinate a member of the Ravelli family, Victor would send Diana straight to the safest underground bunker. Then he would shove a fully loaded Beretta into my hand. "Cover me out here. If you make it back alive, I'll reward you." At Mafia council meetings, he let Diana choose her seat first too. Diana took the second-in-command's seat beside him, a sign of absolute trust. Then Victor pointed me to a seat at the far end of the council table. "The one in the back is a little far, but it doesn't matter where you sit." When we won a territory war, he let her pick her district first too. She claimed the lucrative West District, where she could rake in the profits without getting her hands dirty. Then Victor put me in charge of the North District, where gunfights could erupt at any moment. "The North District's rough, but you're a good shot. You're perfect for it." Later, the same thing happened with our marriage. He loved Diana, but she chose power and the position of family heir. Devastated, Victor fastened a necklace bearing the family insignia around my neck instead. He worshipped Diana. I was nothing more than a tool to him. I looked at the obsidian brooch and pushed it away. "She can have both. I'm done choosing." It was time to tear up the marriage contract too.

The heir to the New York mafia family, the Donovitch crime family, chose me as a potential fiancée candidate. But I refused to become his wife and the future Madre of the Donovitch family. Because in my previous life, he missed the desperate call from his childhood sweetheart on our wedding night. That led to the sweetheart being killed by a Mexican cartel in revenge. He vented all his frustration on me, using sulfuric acid to disfigure me, tearing off my limbs. He tormented me for five long years. Finally, he used the punishment method for a traitor to stuff me into a gasoline barrel and burn me alive. In this life, I will definitely change my destiny. He has a thing for his stepsister, so I'll let them have each other. But this time, that cold and arrogant man ends up crying and begging me to come back.

When Adriano Morelli realized I hadn’t submitted a single household request in three days, he called me himself for the first time in months. “Serafina,” he said, his voice smooth and patient, “the clinic has been cleared. Your file is back on priority. See? When you stop making things difficult and learn how this family works, I make sure you’re taken care of.” He always sounded the gentlest when he was reminding me who held the power. What he didn’t know was that by the time his name lit up my screen, the divorce papers were already drafted. From the outside, I had everything a woman could want: a guarded penthouse, a driver on call, designer clothes, and the last name of one of the most feared men in the city. But almost none of it was mine. The cards were monitored. Cash had to be approved. Staff took Viviana Costa’s orders before they ever listened to me. Even the wardrobe budget, my schedule, and access to the family office all ran through her hands. Adriano called it convenience. Three days ago, I was rushed into a private clinic, blood soaking through my dress, while a doctor told me there was still a chance to save the baby if the emergency deposit was paid immediately. I called Adriano until my hands shook. Viviana stalled the transfer. First there was no direct authorization. Then the amount was too large. Then Adriano was in a meeting and could not be disturbed over something that might not be serious. By the time the money came through, it was too late. The baby was gone. I had stayed with Adriano for two reasons: I loved him, and I believed that when it truly mattered, he would choose me. I was wrong about both. Our child died first. My marriage died with it.

Eight years with Marcello Cartel. I took three bullets for him, suffered two miscarriages, and finally, our wedding day was here. But the day before, Marcello said we had to postpone. "Gia’s pregnant." "The kid isn't mine. But we grew up together, and she’s like a sister to me." "I need to marry her first. Otherwise, people will talk, and she’s too fragile to handle the whispers." "We’re pushing our wedding back three years. Don't contact me until then." "You'll explain it to the Commission. Tell them you weren't ready to be the Don's wife." I sent back one word: "Okay." Then I booked a one-way ticket to Paris for three days later. I'm not showing up to his wedding tomorrow. And I'm sure as hell not waiting another three years. Because I am done with him. For good.

Everyone knew I’d do anything for Lucius Falcone. I was his shadow, his most devoted follower… or, to be blunt, his lapdog. For three years, I trailed after him, indulging his every mafia-heir whim. When he went street racing at midnight, I was in the passenger seat, even when I was burning up with a 104-degree fever. When he was screwing some other woman, he’d call me to bring toys, and I’d show up, no questions asked. Finally, Lucius started to soften. Just when everyone thought I was about to finally get what I’d been working for… At the party celebrating his taking over as Don of the Falcone family, he showed up with some bombshell on his arm. He gave me a bored look and said, "You're dull in bed. Tina, on the other hand, knows how to get me off." The whole room was waiting for me to break down. Instead, I just gave a small smile. "Then congratulations to you both." Then I turned, walked out, and got on a plane to Paris. Lucius was already making bets that I’d come crawling back within three days. What he didn't know was that his mother had paid me five million dollars to do it all. The contract was up. The money was in my account. I was finally free to leave him and to finally chase my own dream in Paris.

For the past ten years, all of Boston society had been guessing whether I would end up marrying Alexander Grant, Nathan Cole, or Julian Vale. One of them took care of every problem that came my way. One remembered every allergy I had. One built me an observatory with a view of the whole city. I never once doubted that I was loved. I had always been the spoiled little princess everyone doted on. Then my mother found her older daughter, Vivian Ashford, who had been missing for twenty-two years. Vivian was the one expected to marry into Black Harbor for the Ashford family. To make up for the life she had lost, the three men started asking me to give up a little at a time. Alexander missed the fitting he had promised to come to, because Vivian needed the practice in front of the cameras more than I did. Nathan canceled the follow-up on my old injury because Vivian had a panic attack when she heard about the medical exam before the wedding. Julian booked the entire observatory to make up for my birthday, then, while I sat there alone until closing, sent me a text that read, "You're the sensible one. Go home by yourself tonight." When I got back to the estate, I asked them why none of them had told me beforehand. But Vivian cried and said she didn't want to be the reason they lost me. So Alexander stepped in front of her, Nathan told me to stop upsetting her, and Julian said I shouldn't be using one broken promise to test whether they loved me. As I turned to leave, I heard them making a pact in that room. "Until the engagement is settled, no more coddling Evelyn." "She'll be angry." "She'll sulk for a few days and get over it. She could never bring herself to leave us for real." They weren't wrong. Back then, I really couldn't bring myself to leave. What they didn't know was that I had already let go, and I was never coming back.

I was the late Don's favorite daughter. Marrying into the Rossi family, one of the four great families, was an honor they scarcely deserved. On my wedding day, the Rolls-Royce had barely pulled up at the church when a woman in a plain cotton dress knelt on the steps, a baby in her arms. My groom, Carlos Rossi, stepped into my path in his tailored suit, looking torn. "Isabella, Lily was with me during a shootout in the South District... She gave me a son, and now she has nowhere else to go. "We're standing before God today. Why not let her come back to the estate with us? "You'll be the lady of the house. Lily can be my mistress. That way, the Rossi family will have its heir." The mob bosses and guests gathered at the church entrance broke into shocked murmurs. Carlos's grandmother, Maria Rossi, spoke without so much as raising her eyes. "Ms. Marino has standing of her own. She hardly needs to fight for a title. "But for generations, the Rossi family has had only one heir. This boy is our future. We can't let him grow up a bastard, can we?" The Rossi family's enforcers dropped to one knee in unison. "Please, Ms. Marino, show mercy!" I glanced down at the swaddled baby, then at Carlos's pleading eyes. Then I smiled. I took off my diamond tiara, rested it on the car's window ledge, and got back into my own bulletproof car. "Carlos, if you want to carry on your bloodline, I won't stop you. "But my father's will was clear: I was marrying down. He wasn't handing me over as a gift. "If the Rossi family can't handle the honor, I'll take it back." Before I'd even finished speaking, 12 Maybachs pulled up in perfect formation in the square outside the church. A man as handsome as a Greek god strode up to the car door. "Ms. Marino, I'm here to take you home."

I’d been through seven foster homes. Before each one sent me away, they stopped answering my questions, stopped looking at me, and let the house grow silent. I couldn’t stand that kind of silence. So I became someone who talked too much. When my biological mother finally brought me into the powerful Moretti family at seventeen, I tried even harder to make people like me. Within one day, I knew the guards’ birthdays, the school nurse’s favorite podcast, and where my classmates kept their emergency medication. My stepsister Bianca called it manipulation. My stepbrother Luca called it an addiction to attention. To cure me, he ordered my entire school and family not to speak to me for seventy-two hours. My calls were blocked. My messages were quarantined. Even my mother promised not to answer. Then I had an accident. Bianca secretly switched the trail marker on my backpack, sending me down an abandoned path by mistake. I fell forty-five feet into a flooded smuggling tunnel, my leg shattered beneath a slab of concrete. I called everyone I knew. Ninety-nine times. No one answered. Before I closed my eyes, I sent one last voice message. “I’m sorry. I know I talk too much. But don’t worry. I won’t bother you anymore.”

We'd been together seven years before Damian Caruso finally agreed to the wedding. Inside St. Patrick's Cathedral, I stood at the aisle in a lace gown, surrounded by the most dangerous mafia elders from New York and New Jersey. Three minutes, and the Don would take his vows and take over the rest of my life. Then he answered a phone call. "Bella got into a car accident. In Brooklyn." Bella. The orphan of a dead servant. The "life debt" Damian owed her. Her needs always came before mine. When a gun was to my head, he was at her therapy. When I nearly went into shock from fever, he missed my call because he was staying the night with Bella, who's afraid of the dark. Now, at our vows, Damian turned to the priest. "Apologies. Something's come up. The wedding is postponed." The room erupted. Young lieutenants laughed openly, their whispers crawling up the aisle. "$100,000 says our future Donna lets the Don go to Bella. She's been trained too well." Damian heard them. His head snapped toward the row of young lieutenants, and the laughter died instantly. No one moved. No one breathed. He turned to the priest. "Apologies. Something's come up. The wedding is postponed." Then he saw me. Something flickered in his eyes—not guilt, not hesitation. Just the calm expectation of a man who had never once doubted I would still be there when he returned. He draped his coat over my shoulders. "Viola, I have to go. You've always been the sensible one. As future Donna, you know how to handle this. Don't let them make a joke of us." Yeah. I used to be so "sensible." For seven years, I swallowed every grievance and cleaned up his messes. "Go. I'll wait here." My voice was calm. He nodded, satisfied, and strode out. The bells rang seven times—seven years of me bleeding for him. When the seventh fell, his car had vanished around the corner. And with it, the last of my hope. Damian thought I'd be waiting, like always. But this time, I was done.