Bias Mafia の短編小説 & Marriage 小説

　　Eight years into my time with the Moretti family, I was both their most capable core member and Don Dominic's wife of three years—but we'd never actually signed the marriage contract. 　　Every single time we were about to go to City Hall to register, he'd ditch me for his female subordinate. 　　The first time, he left me waiting on the side of the road all day because she was sick and weak. 　　The second time, he dumped me halfway there because of one phone call from her. 　　After that, I got stood up again and again. 　　After being stood up for the seventeenth time, I decided to give them what they wanted. 　　I accepted the invitation to a top-tier medical project in Paris, packed my bags, and boarded a plane. 　　But when I actually left, he lost his mind...

After being dumped for the 99th time for being a “chatterbox,” I finally met my soulmate, Lysander Thorne. As the Mafia godfather, he was a man of few words, but listened to every single word I said with rapt attention. His proposal shattered the curse that had doomed me to a hundred rejections. But, I discovered a fatal flaw in Lysander after we got married. Whatever he spoke to me, he never exceeded ten words. I thought it was his stoic personality until I gave a hand to a girl being harassed by a thug at the bar. At the police station, the girl asked, “Has your husband not arrived yet? My friend will pick me up and you can leave with us.” The next second, I saw Lysander rushing in, looking utterly disheveled. “Elara Thorne! Why do you stir up trouble on your very first day back home? You've got wings of your own now, haven’t you? Did I ever tell you to stay safe firstly when something happened? Stop being so impulsive!” It turned out Lysander could get emotional. How ridiculous! When Lysander entered, his eyes were solely fixed on Elara. I looked at him with a blank expression, and wordlessly walked out of the police station.

I was once Fiona's consigliere. I put the Falcone Family in her hands，helping her become the untouchable Don. And when a rival family put out a hit, I took the car bomb meant for her. It cost me my eyes. She knelt by my hospital bed and swore a blood oath. She would be my eyes. I would be her only husband. Later, after an operation by a top surgeon, my eyes recovered. I couldn't wait to rush home to surprise her. But when I pushed open the door, I saw her tangled together with Leo, her bodyguard, on the desk I had custom-made for her. Fiona was pressed against Leo in revealing clothing, her face flushed. Crumpled white tissues littered the floor. Between ragged breaths, she called Leo’s name repeatedly. "Fiona, why are you still keeping that useless blind fuck around? Let me take care of him for you." "Leo, shut up. I need more time. Now, get inside me. That's all that matters." The Chicago winter rain was bone-chilling that night. I completely gave up. After walking out of the house in just my shirt, I pulled out my phone and booked a one-way ticket to Sicily. I will cut ties completely with this family and with her.

My husband promised we would spend Thanksgiving with my parents this year. Right before we left, he looked down at his phone and frowned. "Damn it. I forgot to change the delivery address again. Your parents' gift basket went to Cassia's place." I stood in the entryway with my fingers frozen around my scarf. For three years of marriage, Roman DeLuca had never removed Cassia Vail's address from his shopping apps. Whenever I asked him why, he always said the same thing: "Cassia and I grew up together. She’s basically family." The Italian espresso machine I wanted went to her apartment. He said her old machine had broken anyway. The sapphire bracelet for our wedding anniversary was signed for by her. He said asking for it back after she opened it would look petty. The sunflowers and baby's breath he promised me on Valentine's Day ended up in her hands. He said she had already put them in a vase, and he couldn't give me secondhand flowers. This time, I had reminded him for two weeks. The Thanksgiving basket had a low-sugar pumpkin pie, nut-free cookies, and a custom low-sodium turkey roll for my father. I had chosen every item myself. It still went to Cassia. I kept my voice steady. "Drive over and get it back." Roman's face darkened. "She already signed for it. What do you want me to do? We'll pick up wine and pastries on the way. Same thing." "It isn't the same. Get it back." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Elena, can you stop turning every little thing into a family trial? No one makes things awkward like you do." Every time something meant for me ended up with his childhood sweetheart, I asked him to get it back. Every time, I got some version of the same answer. I stopped arguing and watched him slam the door behind him. A few minutes later, I wiped my tears and texted my attorney. [Happy Thanksgiving. Please draft a divorce agreement for me. Thank you.]

The day of the wedding, Enzo's first love Lucia showed up at the estate in the same custom gown I was wearing. I watched them greet the guests together. Kept a straight face and told them they made a much better match. Lucia ran off crying on the spot. Enzo called me jealous in front of every family guest at the ceremony. After the reception ended, he took Lucia on our honeymoon. I didn't argue. I just had my lawyer draw up divorce papers.

When I went for my prenatal checkup, I filled in my mafia husband Enrico Salvatore's information in the spouse column. However, the doctor told me, "The system shows no record of you ever being married. You're unmarried." I froze, unable to believe it. "How is that possible? We got married five years ago. Please check again." The doctor pulled up the system records again, and only one line appeared on the screen: [Marriage Registration: None.] At first, I thought the hospital had made a mistake. Then, I overheard Enrico talking to one of his men. "Isabella's the only one in my heart. I'll give her everything else she wants. But Luisa gave me a daughter. For the sake of the family's bloodline, I have to register our marriage and give her that status. Isabella can never find out about the registration." At that moment, I finally understood. The small wedding five years ago was nothing but a cover. We never registered. There was no legal marriage. Even the child I was carrying had no legal standing. It was all an elaborate lie he had crafted. Since none of this ever truly belonged to me, I would just leave.

My boyfriend, Enzo Valenti, is the sole heir to the Valenti mafia family. He has more than enough wealth to last for generations. Despite being together for three years, he's never bought me a single gift. He even makes me split the cost of the cheapest box of condoms. After a car accident, I find out that I'm ten weeks pregnant. The baby still has a faint heartbeat. If I can come up with another 500 dollars for the medication, there's a good chance the baby will survive. I drain my bank account and borrow from every friend I can. When that's still not enough, I have no choice but to beg Enzo for help. Enzo, on the other hand, is convinced that I'm faking the pregnancy to get money from him. He refuses to send me anything. Three days later, I lose the baby. That's when I discover that Enzo has just given his childhood sweetheart, Vivian Moroni, a villa, a Rolls-Royce, and countless pieces of jewelry. His stinginess over the past three years was all part of a test. He wanted to see if I was only with him for his money. When I tell him I want to break up, he transfers a penny to me in front of the entire company with "Gold Digger" written in the memo. Then, he demands that I admit that the pregnancy was a lie. I pull out the paperwork confirming my miscarriage and the records of the wages he's been secretly withholding from me and lay them on his desk. "You're right. I'm not pregnant. You killed our child over 500 dollars."

My husband was working over the holidays, again. He’d been sent out of town to oversee one of the Family’s dock operations and a string of gambling houses.. I decided to buy a ticket and surprise him. Only business class was left. Staring at the five-figure price, I gritted my teeth and spent a year’s worth of savings. Then I couldn’t even figure out how to pull down the damn tray table. The socialite seated next to me let out a cold laugh. “Never flown business class before?” I forced an awkward smile. “My apologies. You must be… important. You have that aura.” “Oh, me? No. The man who keeps me is important. He’d charter a private jet if I asked. Business class is practically slumming it.” I blinked. “A… keeper? That’s rare.” “Not really. I’m his secretary. I mess up a lot. Cost him a fortune. He yells at me until I cry. And then, well… crying leads to other things.” She winked. “You know how it is.” “Funny,” I said, my voice tight. “My husband has an assistant who helps him manage accounts for the docks. She’s always messing things up too.” “You’re married?” She looked me over, head to toe. “My man has a wife about your age. Says he’s sick of her. That touching her is boring. Says I’m more exciting just brushing my hair out of my face.” She leaned closer. “I told him I wanted to see him for New Year’s. So he told the wife he had to work.” The diamond on her finger caught the light. It was identical to the wedding band I’d lost. My body went cold. No. Matteo was just a low-level enforcer. A foot soldier the Family occasionally trusted with small operations—dock shipments, backroom gambling, nothing more. When did he become a Don?

The year I returned to the Moretti family, everyone expected the biological daughter and the adopted daughter to fight for their place in the family. But Gianna was different. She was the first to learn sign language so she could communicate with me. She knew I hated sitting with my back to a door. She also knew I didn't want anyone asking why I still refused to speak after two years back home. That night, at a charity gala, my father was supposed to sign an agreement that would end our family's involvement in the port's illegal operations. Instead, Luca Vitale stormed in with representatives from eight families and proposed a toast to my father. He took one sip and collapsed. A second later, the ballroom screen lit up. Gianna's payment to a pharmacist and chat messages mentioning "Dad's wine" had been used to make it look like she'd bought drugs to murder our father. She really had made that payment. She handed over her phone for everyone to see, but the original messages had been deleted, and she couldn't recover them. Luca gave us ten minutes: hand over Gianna or hand over the port. All the while, Luca's doctor stood beside my father with a syringe in his hand. He refused to say where he'd gotten it. My mother told Luca, "You can have the port. You can't have either of my daughters." Gianna pulled away from her anyway and walked straight to Luca. All she asked was that he let our father go to the hospital first. As she passed me, she signed with trembling hands, "Don't tell them about your past for my sake." I stared at the syringe. I'd seen that same medical kit at the clinic in Malta. I'd also seen what happened to patients once they became bargaining chips. If Gianna was willing to go that far for me, then I was willing to risk everything for her, just this once.

I took the fall for my husband over an illegal arms deal and spent three years in federal prison. By the time I got out, he already had a child with another woman. On the day of the christening, I calmly handed him divorce papers. Everyone said I had lost my mind—that I was declaring war on the Nelli family. I was perfectly clear-headed. Before I went in, my husband, Silvio Nelli, held my hand and swore he would never betray me as long as he lived. But the night before my release, I dreamed that he wiped out the Thorne family for that woman and took everything I had. I died beside my parents' bodies while he held that woman's child. In the end, he was the only one who came out ahead. Now the child from my dream was real. I wasn't going to wait for the nightmare to come true. I would take back everything my three years in prison had bought him. Then I'd make him pay in blood.

My fiance did not come home the night his childhood sweetheart returned to the country. His voice was as gentle as ever when he called. "Honey, she saved my life. Now she's terminally ill, it's only natural for me to take care of her." I told myself he should indeed repay her for saving his life. He continued, "Once I've repaid her, I'll cut ties with her." He looked so determined and loving that I believed him, time after time. But when a chandelier fell at his birthday banquet, the person he protected was that woman. He did not notice my shoulder was already soaked with blood. The day before our wedding ceremony, he locked me in the basement. "If you're still going to act like this, you need some time to think about what you've done. You can come out before the wedding!" Through the doorway, I saw their fingers locked. In that moment, every feeling I had for him disappeared. I did not cry or make a scene. I called my mother instead. "Mom, I think it's time I listened to you and came home."

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.

I've been married to Sylvia Fuller, a mafia donna, for ten years. I'm there with her in every life-and-death situation. My hands, which are meant for playing the piano, have developed calluses from using guns. They are also stained with blood from the enemies. But when Sylvia turns 28, she falls head over heels in love with Wilson Hink, the young man she's brought back from the slums. Sylvia has hidden him very well… right until the moment I bump into him accompanying her to a prenatal check-up. Mad with jealousy, I demand Sylvia for answers, but she just passes me a divorce agreement in a lackadaisical manner. "Wilson is a man of religion. He can't sire a child without getting married, so I have to give him a legitimate status. Sign this agreement, and I'll give you 40% of my shares." I refuse to give my position away, so Sylvia keeps forcing my hand. In the end, she even kidnaps my younger brother, who's paralyzed from waist down, and drags him to the spot beneath a hydraulic press. "Sebastian Chance, either you sign the agreement, or watch him get crushed. Your choice." I kneel on the ground and beg Sylvia to stop. But soon, I hear the hydraulic press being activated. It doesn't take long before I'm completely covered in my brother's flesh and blood. I end up collapsing onto the gore-splattered ground. When I open my eyes again, I realize I've gone back in time—back to the time when Wilson has accompanied Sylvia to the prenatal check-up. This time, I don't say anything. Instead, I contact a rehabilitation center located overseas before filing for a divorce and leaving Sylvia behind. But once I'm gone for real, Sylvia actually goes crazy.

Five years into our secret marriage, Alex finally agreed to give me a wedding. But the day before the ceremony, I was the one who called it off. The Castellano Family butler asked me, stunned, "Ma'am, the ceremony is tomorrow. Are you sure you don't want to wait for Mr. Castellano to come home?" I picked up my packed suitcase. My voice came out light, almost relieved. "He isn't coming. Right now he's in a church in New York, saying his vows with his adopted sister."

My mother, Diane Sutton, was helping me into the bridal suite when she suddenly stumbled forward. Someone had smeared strong adhesive across the red carpet. Her shoe came off, and four of her toes poked through her torn stocking. My father, Martin Sutton, rushed over to help her, but as soon as he turned, everyone saw the sticky note on his back. "Clearance! 99 cents!" The room fell silent. Chiara Lombardi, Enzo Valli's assistant, couldn't hold back anymore. She burst out laughing, then said, "Look how embarrassing they look! I hereby declare the 100th test officially underway!" I froze. "Wasn't it already over?" Three years ago, Enzo told me he wanted to marry me. His father, Don Marco Valli, respected me as an attorney but believed my family background made me unfit to marry his son. So Marco and his advisor came up with 99 tests and put Chiara in charge of them. They hoped I'd eventually give up and call off the wedding myself. Over the next three years, Chiara replaced my toothpaste with mustard, swapped my shampoo for depilatory cream, and even released rats into my room at night. Whenever I felt like I couldn't take it anymore, Enzo would pull me into his arms and murmur, "Nora, just hang on a little longer. Once the tests are over, I promise no one will ever hurt you again." He could not openly defy the procedure the advisor had set, but he never once bothered to ask what Chiara had put me through. As long as we got married in the end, what I endured along the way didn't matter. Last night was the 99th test. I thought the nightmare was finally over. Then Chiara announced, "You passed. But your parents haven't! You're going to be the Donna one day. Your parents represent the Family too. If they can't handle something this minor, what good are they?" I turned to Enzo for help. He ruffled my hair as if soothing a petulant child. "Do as Chiara says. Just hang on a little longer." I'd put up with this for three years. I was done enduring it.

The third year of my marriage to Dominic, he started resenting the things I asked of him. The first time I caught him acting too close with his personal assistant, Kayla, we had the biggest fight of our marriage. I told him to keep his distance. He said I was being too sensitive. After that, every time I showed the slightest displeasure, Dominic would punish me by going to Kayla on purpose. He took her to pick out furniture for a new apartment and let her sit in the passenger seat. When I was sick, he left me alone in the Staten Island estate and took her to a dock party. In the end, I stopped expecting anything. Stopped asking. Kayla told Dominic happily, "Don, just provoke Donna a little more. She'll get so scared of losing you, she'll stop trying to control you." Later, when he tossed me a hundred-million-dollar Brooklyn waterfront infrastructure contract and told me to hand control over to Kayla, I did it. "That's how it should be, Evelyn. That's my good Donna. You should trust me instead of always trying to tie me to your side." He looked at me, satisfied. But what he didn't know was that the dock's control was no longer in his hands. What he knew even less was that I'd tucked a divorce agreement into that infrastructure file. And he signed it without ever knowing.

I spent six months and more than 30,000 pounds organizing a ten-day trip to the south coast for my husband and his family. Safe-passage papers, inns along the way, an armed convoy, a private doctor. I even checked the spare tire on every car myself. The night before we left, my husband's ex, Victoria, said she wanted to come along. He didn't even talk it over with me. He just gave her my seat in the convoy and told me to go alone through the Blackmoor district, controlled by a rival gang. That route took 36 hours, and just last month, three people had turned up dead along it, their faces beyond recognition. His parents said Victoria had grown up in their household. The sister-in-law I'd helped raise said Victoria was delicate and couldn't take risks. As for me, I could make money, I knew medicine, and I'd always cleaned up their messes, so of course I should figure it out on my own. On the day they left, I didn't argue anymore, and I didn't chase after the cars. They went south, and I turned and went north. For the next few months, I stayed at a mountain lodge, soaked in hot springs, took only the patients I wanted, and stopped paying all their bills while I was at it. Later, the man who'd never cared whether I was safe pulled nearly every string the family had, just to beg me to take one call.

My husband, Charles Vison, was the Don feared throughout Sicily. In three years of marriage, I had been the only person who could get away with anything around him. I always believed that no matter what happened, he would stand by my side. Until my younger sister, Sandra, caused a disaster. With the Vison Family backing her, she got into a confrontation with a rival Family and shot the rival Don’s wife dead in the chaos. The retaliation came immediately. They bombed one of the Vison Family’s docks and ambushed a cargo ship. Three days later, the two Families finally sat down at the negotiation table. The other side made only one demand: Sandra had to be handed over. Otherwise, their Don would fight the Vison Family to the bitter end, no matter the cost. “Or…” The man sitting at the head of the table suddenly turned his gaze toward me and smiled coldly. “I could make you feel what it’s like to lose the person you love most.” That night, Charles received information that the other side would launch another bombing attack at the port banquet seven days later. After a long silence, he decided that I would fake my death in that explosion. “Only your death can calm their anger.” “When that happens, I’ll arrange for you to leave here and go to a private island in North America.” I stared at him in disbelief. “Why me? Why do I have to fake my death? Sandra was the one who killed her.” My mother’s eyes immediately turned red. “Your sister has never been able to take care of herself. How is she supposed to survive alone on an island like that?” My father tried to persuade me as well. “You’re more sensible than her, and you’re better at taking care of yourself.” I ignored them and looked at Charles with hurt in my eyes. I was certain that he couldn’t bear to let me go, but in the next moment, he avoided my gaze. “I’ll send people to take care of you.” In that moment, everything I believed in fell apart. I looked at the three people standing against me and smiled through my tea

In my last life, Enzo Saletta saved me from the fire. Chiara Bellini died in my place. For months, he cared for me like a devoted husband. He guarded my hospital room. He bought gifts for our unborn child. He told me none of it was my fault. I believed him. Until the night after I gave birth. Our son was asleep beside me. I was too weak to move, still aching from labor, but for one brief moment, I believed we were safe. Then I smelled smoke. The door would not open. Outside the locked door, Enzo’s voice cut through the smoke. “You took Chiara from me. Now burn with your child.” I screamed his name until my throat bled. No one opened the door. The flames swallowed me and my newborn son. When I opened my eyes again, I was back inside that burning warehouse. Five months pregnant. Smoke in my lungs. Chiara still alive. This time, I did not call Enzo. I waited until he came. I watched him carry Chiara out first. Then I crawled through the fire alone, bleeding for a child he would never get the chance to kill. Everyone believed I had set the fire. Everyone called me jealous, vicious, and insane. But they had forgotten one thing. Before I became Enzo Saletta’s wife, I was the woman who helped build the Carmine family’s security system. Chiara deleted the main footage. She did not delete mine.

I died five years ago. Now my husband, the Don of our Mafia family, wants me to take the fall for his sister again—this time for accidentally killing a British noble's heir during an arms deal. He's holding a fake confession letter with my forged signature, storming into my old apartment in the rust district, only to find it empty. Frustrated, he grabs the corner store owner downstairs, demanding to know where I am. The owner pauses, wiping his hands on his apron, calmly tells him: "Serafine? She died five years ago." "Heard it was retaliation from a rival family during the gang war. They ambushed her in an alley... shot her over a dozen times. She died immediately." My husband, Lucien, refuses to believe it. Convinced the owner is on my payroll, hiding me to help me escape his reach. He scoffs, his eyes filled with scorn: "Oh, so what? Because I called her out for messing up that last job, now she's throwing a tantrum?" "You tell her, if she doesn't come back and take the fall in three days, I'll revoke her grandmother's 'special family protection'! Let the old woman rot!" With that, he storms out, his rage still simmering. The owner watches him leave and sighs, shaking his head. "There's no grandmother left to protect... That woman passed away not long after Serafine did... couldn't survive the winter without our family's medical supplies and protection..."