Contos de Mafia sobre Plot Twists e Romances com Bias

I loved Marco De Luca fiercely for three years. I didn't care that he had come to the Vittori family for my half sister Isabella. Nor did I care that he hid his identity as heir to a rival family and lied to me by posing as a bodyguard. That lasted until Christmas Eve. My whip brushed Isabella, a single frightened tear slipped down her cheek, and Marco had people take savage revenge on me, leaving ninety-nine lash marks across my back. That was when I finally gave up on him. I went to my father myself and said I would marry the comatose Castellano son in New York in Isabella's place. Two weeks later I cut every line of contact with Marco and flew to New York. But on my wedding day, Marco De Luca, now the Don, forced his way into the ceremony with ninety-nine lash wounds of his own, begging me in tears not to marry.

When I went to get a replacement copy of our marriage certificate, the clerk at the registrar's office told me, "This certificate is a forgery. There's no record of your marriage in the system." "But Michele and I got married four years ago, at St. Mary's Church. We had witnesses..." I steadied my breathing. "Please check again." The clerk sighed and clicked her mouse a few times. "We found a registration for Michele Corleone, but the spouse listed isn't you." My voice shook. "Who's his legal wife?" The clerk answered without looking up. "Rita Greco." Before I heard that name, I'd still been telling myself the system might have made a mistake. But of course it was Rita, Michele's childhood sweetheart. Suddenly everything made sense. In the four years I'd spent as Michele's wife, he'd never once held my hand in public. No famiglia galas, no formal introductions. Some of the Corleones didn't even know my name. I'd asked him why, and he'd told me, "It's to protect you. In the underworld, the less visible you are, the safer you are." I'd believed him. Now I finally understood. The marriage I'd poured everything into, the one I'd believed in for four years, had been fake from the very beginning. I'd never once been let into his real life. And as the woman who'd made that mistake, only one path was left to me. With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn't touched in four years. [Papa, I want to come home.]

When Lilith, the woman my fiancé Andrew had never gotten over, was kidnapped and used as leverage by a rival family during a critical transfer of power, I urged him to put the Family first and wait until our internal affairs were stable before rescuing her. By the time he became Don and went after her, Lilith's body had already been dumped in the wilderness. She had died horribly. Andrew never blamed me. If anything, he treated me better than ever and refused to let anyone defy me. Later, after seizing control of both families, he slaughtered my people. His first act was to deliver me to the rival family bound to mine by a blood feud. He stood by while they tortured me to death. He stood over my body, his gaze cold as unmelting ice. "This is how she died. Now you can suffer what she suffered." When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment Lilith was kidnapped. I didn't stop him from giving up his chance to be Don in order to save her. He disappointed the Family. Perfect. This time, both families would answer to me.

In the fifth year of my secret marriage to Dante Greco, a notorious Los Angeles mafia heir, I became pregnant. While I was at the family hospital for a prenatal checkup, I happened to see Vivienne Sarti's Instagram. "He says I'm still pretty even when I'm pregnant!" In the photo, she was lying lazily in a man's arms. My chest tightened at once. On his finger was the lion-head ring worn by the Greco Don. I tapped the "Like" button. Seconds later, Vivienne called me. "Ana, I wasn't trying to upset you. I was—" Before Vivienne could finish, Dante snatched the phone from her. "Anna Reid, who gave you permission to monitor our social media accounts? I've explained it to you plenty of times. We grew up together, and our families work together. If you keep getting jealous like this, how are the rest of us supposed to function?" I gripped my phone. For five years, Vivienne had used their childhood bond as an excuse to insult me. I had endured it every time. Dante would spend whole nights with Vivienne under the pretext of discussing family business. The moment I asked about it, he refused to say a word. He always said it was because I had no mafia background of my own. It wasn't my world, and I was done trying to force my way into it. I took off my wedding ring and dropped it in a trash can on the street. Then I called the private hospital. "Hello. I want today's prenatal record deleted. No one can know about it."

At the altar, right before we exchanged rings, my husband Julian stopped. "The heads of both families are here," he said. "Let's get this out in the open." A pause. "Seraphina Gallo... she's carrying my child. Three months" I stood there in my pure white, handmade gown. "What did you say?" He adjusted his cuff. So elegant. "The next heir to the Valenti family can't be a bastard." He looked at me with those blue eyes I used to drown in. "Don't worry. You'll still be my only woman. You just can't have the title of Donna. I'll sign over the Upper East Side penthouse. I'll take care of you." Take care of me? Ten years. An engagement ring. Now, a joke for the entire New York underworld. The antique Cartier cross my mother left me—our promise to each other—was still on his neck. I reached for it. He grabbed my wrist, frowning. "Alessia, don't make a scene. Don't embarrass your dying father." My father. Lying in a private suite, kept alive by a machine that cost a fortune. He'd mortgaged his life's work—his leather shop—for this wedding. Snickers from the guests. Julian's mother, matriarch of the Valenti family smirked. "Don't blame my Julian. A purse-maker's daughter marrying into a Cosa Nostra family? Pure fantasy." Through my tears, I saw a man leaning against the church doorframe. Caspian. Everyone knew him. The unkillable underground fighter from the docks. A plaything for the rich to bet on in their cages. He must have just come from a deathmatch—he smelled of motor oil and blood. He just stood there, watching this train wreck. The entire mob knew this beast. Came from the slums, no parents, lived in a leaky warehouse nobody dared go near. I ripped off my veil and pointed straight at him. "Julian Valenti, I'm not marrying you. I'm marrying him."

My father died. He left me a contract. A marriage to the Donovans. The Chicago Outfit. He wanted the future Don to protect me. The whole family's power, wrapped around me for life. But on my wedding day to the eldest, Finn… he ran. Took my family housekeeper's daughter with him. His brother, Cillian Donovan, stepped up. He married me instead. Wedding night. I was in the music room. Alone. Playing the cello. A sad song for my father. Cillian kicked the door open. His eyes were bloodshot. Pure jealousy. A sneer on his face. “Does marrying me instead of Finn really hurt you this much?” For the next five years, he brought women home. Different ones. Kissing them in my rose garden. Fucking them in our bed. I swallowed it all. Played the part. The perfect Donna of the Donovan family. Until today. When he kept his latest toy around for four months. My heart hit the floor. She clung to Cillian's arm, her red lips at his ear. “Cillian, the way your wife looks at me… like she wants to eat me alive.” Cillian stroked her hair, not really caring. His eyes found mine. A cruel smile. “My wife? She doesn't want to be. She wants to be his woman. The traitor's.” That night, a rival family hit the estate. Fire everywhere. Cillian grabbed his girl. Ran for the armored car. No hesitation. I was on the ground. Smoke in my lungs. Couldn't move. I watched him drive away. Leaving me in the dust. Something inside me just… snapped. Five years of this bullshit marriage. I was going to end it. Myself. …

As the family's Chief Counsel, I busted my ass for four years. When the family's new rackets launched, my promised twenty-five percent cut was slashed to three. Christian, the Don, patted my shoulder. "It's all for the family." I didn't cause a scene. From the next day on, I clocked in on time, clocked out on time, and refused to do a single thing outside my contract. Two weeks later, the family's core rackets ground to a halt. Our partners threatened a turf war. Christian cornered me at my desk. His eyes were bloodshot. "Vittoria, what exactly do you want?" I glanced at my watch. It was five thirty. "Christian, I'm off the clock."

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.

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

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.

My father, Don Rocco, threw me to the wolves—a sick Wall Street game called the “Zero-Sum Gauntlet.” But when his precious adopted daughter, Scarlett, got rejected by Parsons? He whisked her off to Milan for Fashion Week to cheer her up. She thought she’d won. Rubbed his favoritism in my face. What she doesn’t know? In our family, the ones having fun are the ones we plan to throw away. Everyone says Scarlett is the Bellini family’s little princess. The darling of New York’s underworld. Every year, the family spares no expense on a massive birthday bash for her. And me? The actual daughter? I have to step aside. My father, Rocco, never threw me a party. My birthday gift every year? A new number on the family ledger. Another account to launder. He keeps me in the shadows. Scarlett is the one on his arm. So everyone thinks I’m the outcast. The rumor? That I'm just a decoy. That Scarlett is the true heir, hidden in plain sight. That she’s only a pretty face because I’m in the way. I just traced my finger over the “Zero-Sum Gauntlet” entry form. Said nothing. Why waste time on idiots? I’ve got a game to win. And an empire to claim.

I was the biological daughter of the Moretti family, stolen and deliberately switched at birth. When they finally brought me home, everyone believed I had come for their money and power. No one said it more often than Bianca, the daughter they had raised in my place. She said poor people knew better than anyone how to look helpless, and how to trick the rich out of everything they owned. For three years, I tried to prove her wrong. I kept the surname Vale. I stayed away from Moretti Holdings. I refused every expensive gift they offered me. Then my father announced that the family was facing a liquidity crisis. Several core accounts had been frozen, and three of their transport routes had been shut down at once. I believed him. I signed an emergency cash-sale agreement for the house my adoptive mother had left me and rushed to the hotel with confirmation that eight hundred thousand dollars was waiting in escrow. Only then did I learn that there was no crisis. It had been a test. Bianca swirled the wine in her glass and smiled at the room. “She offered eight hundred thousand because she thinks she can use it to buy the entire Moretti family.” My parents did not contradict her. My father even asked whether I had known all along that the family could never truly fall. In that moment, I finally understood. No matter how much I gave, they would call it calculation. So I revoked the transfer authorization. I gave up the Moretti name, and then I gave up on them.

My younger sister, Arianna Valenti, is engaged to Dario Lancieri, heir of the Lancieri family. But after drinking a glass of spiked champagne, I end up sleeping with Dario. To preserve the alliance between our families, my Madre decides that I will marry Dario in Arianna's place. I marry the man Arianna loves, while she is sent away to marry the gravely ill elderly Don of the Bellini family as part of a political alliance. On her wedding day, Arianna is ambushed and killed by a rival faction. From that moment on, Dario hates me with all his heart. Our marriage lasts for more than 20 years, filled with nothing but indifference and humiliation. On the day I finally succumb to my illness, Dario doesn't even come to see me. He only sends someone to deliver a single message. "Vera, stay the hell away from me in your next life." … When I open my eyes again, I'm back at the exact moment I receive the spiked champagne. Before I can even react, Dario snatches the glass from my hand and smashes it against the floor. I look at the way he gazes at Arianna, and suddenly, I understand. He has been reborn as well. In front of both our parents, he takes Arianna's hand and announces, "Arianna and I are getting married this month. As for Vera… she can fulfill the arranged marriage instead." Memories of my death flash through my mind. This time, I'll give him exactly what he wants. "Fine. I agree."

After the car lost control on the highway, the passengers around me were all panicking, calling their loved ones to say what they thought might be their final goodbyes. The airbags had gone off. Glass covered the seats. My hands were shaking as I pulled my burning-hot phone from my pocket. Only after a long while did I finally call Vito Moretti. When he rejected my call, I sent him a text instead. 【I probably won’t make it out of this one. Vito, what a shame that we won’t get to grow old together.】 As I stared at the chaos outside the car window, I was strangely calm. The driver managed to avert disaster, and after I escaped the accident unharmed, I saw that Vito had posted my text on his social media. A group of his Mafia brothers flooded the comments, calling me dramatic and accusing me of seeking attention. I calmly liked his post and uploaded one of my own. “After narrowly escaping death, maybe my luck is finally about to change.” His brothers immediately swarmed the comments under my post, mocking me one after another. “Oh, weren’t you almost dead? Looks like you’ve got quite the life in you.” “Serafina, did you know Vito was with Mia tonight and deliberately choose this moment to cause a scene? Who exactly are you trying to disgust?” “Why couldn’t you be the one having the anxiety attack?! A woman who stays by the Don’s side and still gets jealous of a young girl. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

When I walked out of the hospital clutching the miscarriage report, dazed and hollow, my husband Enzo called. "Feeling any better? I'll send a car for you. Corinne, you know that as my Donna, you have to follow the family rules. I can't bend them just because of your old stomach issues." "And don't blame Elara. She was only doing what she was told." I answered flatly, "Okay." He laughed. "That's my good girl." What Enzo didn't know was that it wasn't just a stomachache. I'd lost the baby. Three hours earlier, when the pain had become unbearable and I tried to leave, Elara had stopped me: "Ten more minutes, Corinne. You shouldn't put Enzo in a difficult position over something so trivial." Enzo. She was always bringing up Enzo in front of me. But the moment I learned I'd lost my child, I no longer wanted to be his obedient Mrs. Moretti. In ten days, I would vanish from his world completely.

Three years together. Lucian proposed seventy-seven times. Aurelia said no every single time. The entire family called her ungrateful. How dare she reject the Underboss? But Aurelia knew the truth. Lucian never wanted to marry her in the first place. The first three times, she said yes. She took the ring with tears in her eyes. Each time, his face turned to ice. "A proper woman doesn't give in so easily," he scoffed. She took the hint. She handed the ring back and said no. Only then did his warm smile return. Then came year three. Aurelia overheard that line between him and Bianca, her adopted sister—intimate, sick, and unmistakable. It hit her like a bullet. Lucian never loved her. Not for a single second. The Syndicate took them both from the same orphanage. Yet Bianca was their spoiled princess, and Aurelia was dirt under their boots. She thought Lucian was different. She thought he was her only way out. Reality slapped her across the face. One cry from Bianca, and Lucian dropped everything. It didn't matter where they were or what they were doing. He always ran to Bianca. He always left Aurelia behind in the cold. Fine. Aurelia pulled off the invisible chain around her finger. She was done playing his sick little game. She stepped away. She let them have each other.

After five years by Leonardo Rizzo's side through bloodshed and gunfire, I had finally made it to our wedding day. In those five years, my surgical skill had earned me a reputation throughout Chicago. I had saved Leonardo more times than I could count. But as I stood at the altar in my wedding dress, he walked straight past me and slipped my ring onto his adopted sister Julia Rizzo's finger. My whole body went rigid. Leonardo looked back at me. There was a hint of apology in his voice, but he made no move to take back the ring. "Baby, when Julia and I were children, I promised she'd be my bride at my first wedding. As the Don of the Rizzo family, I can't break a promise. You'll understand, won't you?" Julia smiled and chimed in, "Sofia, we made this promise ten years before you came into his life. Every elder in the family witnessed it. Besides, this is Leonardo's first wedding. He needs a practice run. I'm just helping him rehearse. You understand, don't you?" They exchanged a smile. Suddenly, everything I'd fought for these past five years meant nothing. I tore off my veil and stepped down from the altar. If I had never been his first choice, then I was done with him for good.

All of New York knew that Caspian Solis, the Don of the Solis family, worshipped the ground I walked on. Then an ambush left him with amnesia. Not only did he forget me and our twenty years together, but he also mistook his secretary, Ivy, for the love of his life. He tossed our matching bracelets and stared at me with dead eyes. "You are not my type. Ivy is the woman I love." My heart shattered. I tried everything to help him remember. Until I overheard a conversation between him and his right-hand man: "Don, how long are you going to keep this up? What if your wife finds out you are faking the amnesia?" Caspian exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke, completely unbothered. "She won't." "I just want to have some fun while I am young. Eating the same meal every day gets stale, doesn't it?" "When I have had my fill, I will tell her my memory came back. After all, Lorelai is the one I truly love." Standing outside the door, I felt violently sick. A thought sparked in my mind: If Caspian could fake amnesia to play me, why couldn't I? So, I accidentally fell down a flight of stairs. When I woke up, I locked eyes with Caspian's ally and biggest rival—Zane, the most feared Don in New York. I smiled and threw myself into his arms. "There you are, darling."

I stood beside Luca as he went from a poor boy to the most powerful man in Chicago. I saved him, and an explosion crushed my spine. I would never dance again. Later, I was diagnosed with late-stage cancer. In that time, a woman appeared at his side. Beautiful, clever, from a powerful family. She could stand beside him, sit in on his deals, solve his problems. And I could only sit in a wheelchair. Everyone said I was holding Luca back. I thought so too. So I left him, meaning to go and die alone

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