Melodramatic Mafia Short Stories & Bias Novels

At my wedding rehearsal dinner, a photo of me and my fiancé’s older brother—naked in bed—was displayed in front of everyone. I said it was a setup. Jason, my soon-to-be husband and the Don of the Vale, said, “I trust you.” He erased the footage—and married me anyway. For two years, he kept me hidden while my stepsister, Nerissa, stood beside him in public. He said it was to protect me—so I believed him. I believed him even when the rumors said he was sleeping with her, even when he introduced her as his Donna… until today, when I found them in bed together. Jason didn’t even stop kissing her when he saw me. “Do you like this anniversary gift, Alina?” That was when I finally understood— Jason had never believed me—and the reason he still married me wasn’t love. It was punishment.

Two years into my marriage with Luca Mancini, I'd gotten used to waiting. Wait until the accounts were settled—then he'd take me on our honeymoon. Wait until the family meeting was over—then he'd celebrate our anniversary with me. Wait until his men were taken care of—then he'd call the private doctor to see me. I knew how hard it was to sit in the Don's seat, so I never cried or made a scene about it. I even took half the work off his shoulders without being asked. Because of my patience and all the times I stepped back, things between us finally softened. When he was exhausted, he'd lean his head on my shoulder, kiss my forehead, and say: "My Donna, once this busy season is over, I promise I'll make it all up to you." Today was my birthday. He'd promised me half a month ago that he'd spend it with me. I'd booked out an entire restaurant. The cake was cut. I was waiting. But from six to ten, he never showed. Then a photo popped up in my inbox: In the pouring rain, Luca was holding an umbrella, shielding his childhood sweetheart, Anna, tight against his side. The timestamp on the photo read 9:40. Twenty minutes ago. He'd tilted the umbrella over Anna's head, letting the rain soak him through. Then his text came through: "I've got an important meeting. I'll be home late." Looking at that message, I didn't reply "Got it" like the good, understanding wife I always was. I thought I'd gotten used to waiting. I thought if I just cleared every obstacle out of his way, I'd finally get the man who kept his promises. But staring at that photo, my heart sank all the way to the bottom. It was never the waiting I was afraid of. It's just—last month, I was diagnosed with terminal leukemia. This was the last birthday I'd ever have. I stood up, hollow, and walked home alone through the endless sound of rain. The man I'd been waiting for—I couldn't wait for him anymore.

My husband, Don Axel Thorne, died protecting me in a mob war. I was his widow for six years, until I turned thirty. The old guard of the Family told me it was time to move on. My friends told me to let him go. Even in my dreams, his bloody hands would cup my face, begging me to live again. So I agreed to an arranged marriage. But first, I went to his grave for one last goodbye. I’d just left the cemetery when a post appeared in my feed. [Thanks, hubby, for the six-year anniversary gift! A fifty-million-dollar penthouse in Miami!] My blood ran cold. My hands shook. The phone nearly slipped from my grip. In the photo, the man I buried six years ago was slipping a massive diamond onto another woman's finger. The background was a lavish penthouse. His style. I put my people on it. We had the location in minutes. Drove straight there. I knocked, the door opened, and I froze. The woman standing there was Seraphina. His adoptive sister. The one the Family exiled six years ago for her obsession with him.

I'm the so-called 'Lady of Glory'—yeah, that girl from the Archbishop's prophecy. They said I'd bring endless glory to whatever Family I married into. But at our engagement party, my fiancé—Marco Falcone—swaggered onstage holding hands with his pregnant stripper girlfriend. Then he grabbed my wrist, dragged me forward, and made me kiss her hand. "Lola's the only woman I'll ever call my wife," he said with a smug little grin. "If you still want this marriage, your De Luca money better support her and the baby." I slapped him. Ripped the contract in half. Let it snow confetti. "Please. I can marry someone a hundred times better." Right when I was about to torch the entire Falcone Family, someone stepped out of the shadows. Marco's older brother, Dante Falcone. The one who'd been injured, underestimated, and pushed aside. He locked eyes with me, totally unfazed. "Signorina De Luca, do your words still stand?"

My fiancé, Orlando, was a mafia captain. Three years ago, he got caught in a shootout, and someone tried to kill him. I took the bullet for him without thinking twice. The wound left me so weak that I spent most of my days stuck at home. Afraid I'd get hurt again, Orlando brought in a maid named Cecilia to look after me and act as my stand-in. Whatever was meant for me, she tried it first to make sure it was safe. Little by little, she got everything before I did. First to break in my heels. First to sleep in my wedding bed. Even the trip to Iceland I'd waited years for—she went with Orlando first, in my place. When the accident happened at the shopping center, Orlando still carried Cecilia into the emergency stairwell first. A falling stone column crushed my ankle. Lying in that hospital bed, I finally lost it. Orlando only frowned at me. "Nadia, stop making a scene. Cecilia is just your stand-in. She faces the danger first so you can stay safe." He sounded so sincere. He took my hand and pressed it to his lips. "Nadia, try to understand how hard this is for me. I can't let you get hurt again. I just can't." That devotion of his made me give in one more time. I never imagined that even at my own wedding—the day that mattered more to me than anything—Cecilia would wear my wedding dress before I did. I can make do with something secondhand. But I don't want a secondhand man.

Married seven years, and after my husband Nathaniel broke another promise to me over his new assistant, I set a glass jar on my nightstand. Every time he broke a promise, I dropped a coin inside. Ten disappointments. That was the final line I drew for myself. The first coin was for the anniversary he forgot entirely, all for her birthday. The third coin was for the date night he promised me, then turned around and took his men to clear out a whole venue for her birthday party. The sixth coin was for the time I got shot by accident, and he just told me to bandage it myself while he carried her into the hospital in his arms. By the ninth coin, Nathaniel finally noticed the jar. He picked it up, gave it a shake, and joked: "Audrey, this is dangerous. The last one, you have to remind me. I can't lose you." So when the tenth time came around, I made a point of reminding him before I left. Our seventh wedding anniversary. Nathaniel promised he'd be home before eleven. At eleven-thirty, Victoria sent me a photo. Nathaniel, sitting in the pet ER with her ragdoll cat in his arms, still wearing the shirt I'd ironed for him that morning. Then she sent a voice message. "It's your anniversary today, Don. If you don't head back soon, that coin jar on Donna's nightstand is going to be completely full." On the other end, Nathaniel laughed. "So what if it's full? She's not going anywhere." "I gave her power, status, gave her everything. She's crazy about me. You think she'd dare leave?" A two-second pause in the recording. Victoria let out a dry laugh. "Really?" I laughed too. I loved him too much, so I was willing to put up with anything. But in the end, that just became something he took for granted. I slid the diamond ring off my ring finger and placed it in an envelope, along with ten cold coins. Nathaniel, there really was no "us" anymore.

I secretly sent Lena Parker, my husband Dominic Caballero's mistress, away to Sicara. I'm defying his authority as the Don of Coastwick, New Hudson. That very night, he abducts my parents and younger brother, using their lives to force me to reveal Lena's whereabouts. Dominic pushes his phone in front of me. On the screen, I see my family tied to chairs, the timer of the bombs ticking down. 00:59:59 00:59:58 He sits across from me and taps his fingers softly against the table, like he's closing a business deal. "Alyssa, you have 59 minutes," Dominic says in a calm, almost gentle voice. "Where's Lena?" I freeze, my throat tightening as if strangled. I can't get a word out. This is the third time he's pressed me. The first time, he asked where Lena had gone, but I stayed silent. The second time, he grabbed my chin and said in a low voice, "Alyssa, don't play games." Now, for the third time, he's threatening my family's lives. "Dominic…" I call out, my voice trembling. "They're my family. They're the most important people to me." He chuckles. "Is that so? Then why didn't you think about how important Lena is to me when you sent her away?" I stare at him, feeling how utterly absurd it all is. Important? He told me before that other women were just playthings. Once he got bored, he'd dump them. He swore I was the only one he loved. But now, for Lena, he's willing to kill my family.

I spent eight years raising Dante's children. Three of them, and every single one belonged to him and his arranged wife Bianca. Not one was mine. I fought against it. I really did. But the Costello family needed heirs, and my background was too ordinary. The family would never accept me. Dante always had something to say about it. "Nora, once Bianca has the baby, I'll take you to the States. You can go to art school, open your own gallery. It's what your mother always wanted, isn't it?" Then Bianca had a son, and suddenly the family needed a daughter too, someone they could marry off to another faction. When the daughter came, the elders stepped in and said the mob was a bloody business and you needed enough children to guarantee the line would continue. Eight years. I went from Dante's lover to something worse than a servant. Then I got pregnant. I was so happy I could barely breathe when I told him. I thought this baby would finally be our way out. But there was no smile on his face. Just a look that was pained and apologetic, like he already knew what he was going to say. "Nora, you don't have a place in this family. Neither does your child. He'd disrupt the line of succession. We can't let him be born." I pressed my hand to my stomach, just barely starting to show. Hot tears hit the floor. Fine. If we couldn't leave together, I would leave alone.

After my younger sister went abroad, I married the mafia Don in her place. Five years after we married, we became each other’s greatest enemies. He hated me for driving my sister away and scheming my way into becoming his wife. I hated him for always treating me as a stand-in, never once acknowledging me in front of the world. My lack of status brought humiliation to my vain parents, and from that moment on, their love for me turned into hatred. In the end, he and my parents left me behind on a snowy mountain while celebrating Christmas with my sister. In the bitter cold, I died together with the child I never got to meet. Meanwhile, my sister basked in everyone’s love and had the happiest Christmas of her life. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day my sister returned from abroad. This time, I would not beg Gideon or my parents to love me ever again.

My husband Dante, Don of the Moretti family, was killed in a gang crossfire. I was devastated, because the same day, I’d also found out that my IVF injection had worked. I was pregnant. The Moretti didn’t want me to spiral. So they called in Dante’s twin brother, Ash Moretti, to help around. I felt both guilty and grateful until I overheard them talking in the study. “It was Ash who died. Why would you make us tell Harper it was you?” His father asked. Dante’s voice. “I only married her because you promised me the Don’s seat.” Then Gianna’s voice. “Dante had given her a child. That alone should’ve been enough.” So. It wasn’t my husband who died. It was his brother. And my husband and his sister in law thought this was his clean exit. As he wished, I gave it to him. When the doctor told me the fetus had less than a ten percent chance of survival, I agreed to terminate. And along with reclaiming everything else I had once given the Moretti, I walked away from his life—for good.

I am halfway through filling out the marriage application with Luca Moretti when his phone rings. He glances at the screen, and the moment he sees the caller's name, his expression changes. "I have something urgent to take care of. We'll register our marriage another day," he says after answering it. Before I can say anything, Luca is already on his feet. A moment later, he hurries out of city hall, leaving me sitting there alone with the unfinished application in front of me. All because his childhood friend, Rosa Conti, has woken up from a nightmare. A little while later, my phone buzzes. Luca has sent me a text. "Rosa is extremely upset. I need to stay with her. I'm not coming back today." I stare at the message, my fingers tightening around my phone. This isn't the first time Luca has abandoned me for Rosa. There have been countless occasions when he's chosen her over me. Every time, I've argued with him, cried, and eventually forgiven him when he comes back. But this time is different. For once, I'm not going to argue. I'm not going to wait for him to come back, and I certainly won't forgive him and pretend everything is fine like I always have before. Under the sympathetic gaze of the clerk, I quietly push the marriage application aside and pull out my phone. I scroll through my contacts until I find the name of someone I haven't spoken to in a very long time. I stare at the number for a moment. Then I type my message. "Come to City Hall now. Let's get married."

My mother sent me to Chicago to marry Marco Ricci. A power move. One meant to cement our family’s control of the city. After all, my grandfather was the one who put the Riccis on the map. They owed us. They were supposed to treat me like royalty. I went to the fanciest jeweler in Chicago to buy my fiancé a gift. But some broad snatched it right from me. Before I could move, the store manager was fawning all over her. “Miss Bianca! A gift from Mr. Ricci? It’s perfect on you!” Marco? My fiancé? So this was his whore. She slid the sapphire ring onto her finger and shot me a look of disgust. “Who the hell do you think you are, bitch? Trying to take what’s mine?” I didn't even look at her. I just called Marco. "Your whore has something of mine. You have three minutes. Get down to the jeweler and handle her."

During my second year of marriage to Vincent DeLuca, Don of the DeLuca family, I was kidnapped. By the time I escaped, I was four months pregnant. The first person to find me was Luca Moretti, the childhood friend I'd loved for ten years, the one who had refused to marry me. When Vincent saw my pregnant belly beneath Luca's coat, he had his men drag me to a hospital and forced the doctors to end my pregnancy. That night, I heard Luca confront him. "You know Victoria never betrayed you! How could you kill your own child?!" Vincent laughed, and there was nothing warm in it. "I only married her so Sophia could marry you without a hitch. You two are about to get engaged, and I'm not letting this baby become the talk of New York. The man Sophia marries can't have a scandal hanging over him!" The blood in my veins went cold. Back when Luca turned me down, Vincent stepped in and claimed he'd fallen for me at first sight. It had all been for Sophia! And now he'd killed his own child for her, too! I wiped away my tears. That same night, I answered an email from Professor Diane Walker that had been sitting in my inbox for two years. "Professor Walker, I'd like to join your sculpture studio." I was going to leave New York and leave Vincent, and I was never coming back.

The first time Rafael betrayed me, he threw the woman from his club at my feet. His eyes were bloodshot as he told me to take my pick. My love for him was a sickness, so I forgave the transgression. For the second betrayal, I had the dancer sent out of New York, warning her never to set foot on the East Coast again. On the night of our engagement party, sealing the union of our two families, Rafael pinned me against the walnut desk in the study. His eyes burned with rage as he demanded: "Where is Nina? She's carrying a Mancini heir." "It was a mistake. You can take your anger out on me. Nina is naive; she doesn't deserve this. I'm begging you, just let the child be born safely. I swear I'll never see her again." "You're afraid of childbirth. This gives you an heir without the risk." "Listen, Alessia. You are the future Donna of the Mancini family. When that child is born, it will know only you as its mother. I swear on my life." He forced me backward until shards from the vase I'd knocked over cut into my skin, staining my silk dress with blood. I looked at him and smiled, then gave him the address of a safe house in Brooklyn. He slammed the heavy oak door behind him. Shaking, I pulled out my encrypted phone. "You were right about him. Is your offer still on the table?"

Lucien Varelli loved me best when my madness belonged to him. I tracked his convoy routes, checked his burner phones, and almost turned the city upside down whenever he disappeared for more than five minutes. At first, Lucien loved it. He kissed the signet ring on my hand and swore no woman, no family, no power in the city could ever take him from me. Until the night I cut off a call from Celeste Ardian. After that, I was no longer his wife. I was a problem. A scandal. A woman too unstable to stand beside the heir of a ruling house. So Lucien signed the papers and sent me to St. Dymphna House. They called it a private residential clinic. What it really was, was a place where inconvenient women were broken down and rebuilt into something quieter. Five years later, Lucien came to take me home. The director told him I had done beautifully. I no longer screamed. I no longer fought. I knew how to lower my eyes, soften my voice, keep my hands still, and smile like a proper Donna. Lucien thought they had cured me. He was wrong. They had not cured my madness. They had only killed the part of me that once loved him.

I’m the Vettori family princess. The only one. It was our fifth anniversary. A big dinner party at the estate. A waiter spilled red wine on my husband Marco, heir to the Rossi family. My best friend, Sofia, slapped the waiter. Hard. Then she was all over Marco, helping him out of his jacket. Her hand lingered on his waist. A second too long. I just stood there, watching. Sofia saw me. "I was just closer, that's all. Helping him clean up. Don't overthink it." I just smiled. Grabbed my glass. I went to make the rounds with the old dons from the other families. I would finish this night with my head held high. Later that night, Marco crawled into my bed, stinking of booze. His hands were on my waist. He wanted sex. I pushed him off. "The alliance is over," I said, my voice dead. "We're finished." Marco sobered up fast. His face went cold. "I'm trying to apologize here. You're divorcing me because Sofia helped me with my jacket?" I laughed. He didn’t get it. Not until I threw the proof of his betrayal in his face. Not until I cut him off from my family. Then he was on his knees, crying, begging me to forgive him.

My husband, Dante, is the most untouchable Don of the Vance family in New York. He has one unbreakable rule: After 9 p.m., if he's out on family business, he does not take calls. I understood his devotion to the family, so for five years, I did my best never to disturb him. Until last night, when I was driving alone past the docks and walked straight into an ambush by a rival family's armed men. In a panic, I called Dante, begging him to save me. The phone rang for what felt like forever. When he finally picked up, his voice was ice-cold: "Nora, we've been married a long time. As the Donna of the Vance family, you should know the rules." Then he hung up. That night, I barely escaped the hail of bullets by the skin of my teeth. I spent the night in the hospital. But when I came home the next morning, all I got was a reproachful look. He accused me of interrupting a critical family shipment deal—and of sending a fake distress signal. I knew how hard he worked, so I swallowed my hurt. But later, when I used his computer, I accidentally saw his call log. One contact had been calling him almost every single night—always after nine. For five full years. I knew that number. It belonged to Alexa, the Vance family's Capo. The woman everyone in the family had agreed, for all these years, was the one truly fit to stand beside Dante. In that moment, every ounce of suppressed hurt came flooding back. After I calmed myself, I picked up my phone and found an invitation I'd received a few days ago—to an international art exhibition. And I clicked "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from his world completely.

Three days before our wedding, I found out I was pregnant with Matteo Calderone's baby. I hurried to tell him, only to find my best friend, Raffaella Moro, crying in his arms. "What am I going to do... It's his baby... That man from the projects... He forced me..." Matteo gently patted her back, his chin resting on her head. His voice was softer than I'd ever heard it. "Don't be scared. I promise you, I'll take care of you and the baby. "Even after I'm married, this will be the only child I ever have." I stood around the corner in the hallway, the doctor's report crumpled in my fist. For three years, I'd followed them everywhere. I'd taken a knife for Raffaella, fought Matteo's fights, and cleaned up more of their messes than I could count. I did it all because I couldn't bear to lose either of them: my boyfriend or my best friend. Raffaella cried herself out and fell asleep in Matteo's arms. Finally, Matteo turned around and glanced at me. "Oh, right, Elena. How did your checkup go?" I opened my mouth, but barely got a word out. He waved me off and turned back to Raffaella. "You're strong and healthy. I'm sure you're fine. Raffaella's been through so much. I need to stay with her. Don't overthink it." I stayed where I was. I watched him hold Raffaella's hand and brush a tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb. The wall lights cast their shadows across the floor until they merged into one. I stood at the edge of their shadows and realized there was no place for me beside them. I stuffed the report into my pocket, turned, and left the exam room. I took out my satellite phone and called the number I'd saved three years ago but never used. "Father, I lost. "I'm ready to do what the family wants."

Vincent hated me for six years. He was certain I had betrayed him, and that I had gotten his childhood sweetheart Sophia killed. So he destroyed my family, sent my brother to prison, and married me to torment me. I explained many times but he never believed me once. Then I died. But among the things I left behind, he discovered that when he was bullied, I was the one who found the evidence. When the police took him away, I was the one who hired his lawyer. When his enemies came to kill him, I was the one who paid for the tip and warned him in time to run. He hated me for all those years, and fell in love with me the year I died.

I was at the vineyard with my mother-in-law Teresa Moretti to go over the books when a stack of bills hit me square in the face. "How much can a tax audit even make you?" The blonde woman pointed at the scattered cash, her smile dripping with contempt. "Take the money and get lost. Don't ruin my tasting party." I let out a cold laugh. "What's your name? And who gave you the authority to run this vineyard?" "Monica Moretti." Monica picked at her nails, smirking. "The vineyard was a gift from my husband Luca. So naturally, he's the one who authorized it." I turned to look at Teresa. This vineyard—Luca had bought it behind the family's back just a week ago. Luca is Teresa's only son. And my husband of seven years.