Feel-Good Story Mafia Short Stories & Bias Regret Novels

I'd made a deal with my childhood friend Damian to apply to Southern State University together. The day before the application deadline, he secretly changed my application to a community college. An hour earlier, my campus anonymous wall had received a submission— "I changed my childhood friend's college application to a community college." "She's too outstanding. So outstanding that everyone around her feels inferior. I did this to teach her some humility." "Besides, I know she can't leave me. So we'll still be in the same city, and I'll help her fix these flaws." After tracing the IP of that anonymous post, I realized the person whose college application had been changed was me. I didn't confront him. I didn't cry. I just quietly changed my application to Harvard. Damian was certain I couldn't leave him. He tried to control my life. But he forgot—I am the princess of the Moretti family. We were never meant to belong to the same world.

In the middle of the night, my husband started talking in his sleep. "My little treasure, Daddy's taking you and Mommy to the new house tomorrow." But we were using protection. Where the hell did a kid come from? So I opened his phone. I saw the money transfers to another woman—spent on all kinds of luxury shit and a house. The photo album had pictures of her in a skimpy stripper outfit, a little bump in her belly. The last one was an ultrasound. Four months along, it looked like. I didn't make a sound. Just saved the evidence. They were about to learn the price of betraying a mafia princess.

Before the Visconti family's truce banquet began, only two seats remained empty at the long table. One was at the far end. The other was to the left of Lucas Visconti, the man I'd married under contract. Three months earlier, to settle a blood debt hanging over my father, I'd signed a marriage contract and become the secret wife of the youngest Mafia boss in New York. According to the seating chart approved and sealed by both families' consiglieri, Sophia Vitali, their negotiator, was supposed to sit at the far end. The list hadn't been changed, but the place cards on the table had been swapped. I had just started toward Lucas when he looked up. "Sophia, take this seat." The banquet hall fell silent. Enzo, the Vitali family's consigliere, stiffened. "Is this a gesture of goodwill, or are we to understand that Sophia is now under your personal protection?" Adrian, Lucas's consigliere, spoke under his breath. "Boss, the official seating chart hasn't been amended. We can still fix this." Roman Hayes, the underboss, also stopped the estate manager from setting out any more silverware. But Lucas overruled the objections. Sophia's brother Dominic had taken a bullet for Lucas six years ago and died of his wounds three days later. "She's here for the negotiations. I take full responsibility." Enzo demanded that the incident be entered into the truce minutes and reserved the right to suspend the talks. Lucas didn't back down. Throughout dinner, he fielded every toast meant for Sophia, using the negotiations as his excuse. When a waiter knocked over a champagne flute and broken glass sliced my wrist, he didn't even turn around. I slipped off the obsidian ring reserved for the Visconti inner circle and set it on the table. Adrian and Roman's expressions changed in unison. Lucas had forgotten the one thing that mattered: the secret wife he'd kept in the shadows was the only person who could unlock every dark secret of both families.

The Hawaii honeymoon we'd promised each other on our wedding day kept getting postponed, year after year. Now, in the third year, it was finally happening. I was so excited I packed my bags three days early and headed to the airport. That's when I saw her childhood best friend standing right there with her. Meeting my confused gaze, Claire explained matter-of-factly, "There were only two tickets left, and Ryan really wanted to see Hawaii, so I went ahead and bought his." "How about you get another ticket tomorrow and catch up with us? Or, we can just wait for next time." Next time again. But I was done waiting. I waved at them. "Have a safe trip." Then I turned around and called my father, the Don of the Moretti family. "Father, I need the private jet. I'm going to Hawaii for a few days." "Oh, and that thirty-million-dollar investment we gave Claire? Shut it down."

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."

At the annual mafia charity gala, my fiancé Vincent dropped three million dollars on the most coveted antique necklace in the room. Everyone looked at me with smiles and congratulations. My friend grabbed my arm, whispering, "Your patience finally paid off! All those years of kissing his feet weren't for nothing!" Then he turned around and handed the necklace straight to Bianca, the daughter of our rival family. I opened my mouth, ready to remind him that I was his fiancée. But Vincent just threw me a look of pure disgust. In front of everyone, he sneered that I was trash with zero class and couldn't handle a real crowd. Humiliated and crushed, I went onto the dark web and posted a fifty-dollar bounty for help. That was how I matched with Gabe—the feared, ruthless enforcer everyone talked about. A man infamous for his cold blood turned out to be shockingly gentle with me. He never told me I wasn't enough. Instead, he just held my grip and whispered, "Keep your hand steady, Princess." For the first time in my life, I realized I could actually be happy. So when Vincent came crawling back to fix things, he was stunned to find out the truth: this time, I was the one walking away.

For five years, Julian and I had been a secret. We had our own hidden apartment where, night after night, he could not get enough of me, leaving his insanely possessive marks all over my body. Tonight was no different. But the difference today was that before I could even catch my breath, he suddenly asked for the number of Essa, my family's gorgeous maid. "Darling, don't you think it is too boring to stick to just one woman for the rest of your life?" "She has a killer body. I do not want to give up all the thrills out there just for you." I stared into his eyes for a few seconds, then pushed his hand off my chest. I gave a calm nod. Later, when someone asked me who I was into, I casually dropped the name of my sworn enemy: Kian, the heir to the Santoro family. Julian's face instantly darkened, but I could not care less. However, I ended up bringing unexpected trouble to my doorstep. Kian blocked my doorway, a smirk playing on his lips as he asked, "Didn't you say you were into me?" "What a coincidence. I am into you, too."

On the National Working Women's Day, the company gave perfume to every female employee as a gift, except me. Just as I was about to ask HR, I overheard my colleagues whispering in the breakroom. "After all, Gianna is the CTO. Isn't it a bit too obvious to leave her out so publicly?" "That’s Mr. Caro's order. We’re just following it." "Who doesn't know Serena is Mr. Caro's real love? But Gianna shamelessly spends half her day running into his office!" I froze in place. Married for three years, I accompany Matthias Caro in building this company from the ground up. To avoid office gossip, I never asked him to make our relationship public over those these years. In return, when my colleagues maliciously speculated about me, I got his indifferent, evasive silence and his blatant favoritism toward an intern. Taking a deep breath, I picked up my phone and dialed the number of my father, who was the most feared Mafia Don of the East Coast. "Father, I plan to return to the family." "And... please change the company's bidding slot to someone else." For three years, to protect Matthias's pride, I hid my identity as the Mafia Princess, leveraged my network and technology to bring hundreds of millions of dollars into his company, and even secured a spot in this bid. But now, I’m taking it all back.

Colter Giordano, my fiancé of six years, heir to the Giordano family, took a bullet for a dancer named Mia. He didn't take one for me. A bullet tore through my shoulder. Blood bloomed across my dress, hot and sticky. But my heart hurt worse. He asked if I was okay. Just once. Then he rushed Mia to the hospital, leaving me bleeding on the floor. The next day, Mia's picture popped up on my Instagram feed. There she was, in a luxury hospital suite. Colter was fussing over a scratch on her arm that was barely there. The caption was just two words: "My Hero." I liked the post. Then I made an encrypted call. "The Falcone family's offer," I said. "I'm taking it. Get me on a plane to Sicily. Three days."

My marriage to Dante Moretti, the heir to the Moretti family, was arranged when we were kids. But after my father died, he publicly refused to marry me. Three times. Each time, he used his dead mother as an excuse, and I couldn't argue. The third time, I walked in on him with some starlet on the anniversary of his mother’s death, and I overheard him sneer: “A boring woman like Isabella? Who the hell would want her?” “So desperate to marry me. It’s pathetic.” I looked down at my white wedding dress, turned on my heel, and knocked on his father's door. Later, on the day I moved into the Moretti estate, I ran into Dante. He thought I was there to force his hand and ran his mouth. But he had no idea I was already his new stepmother.

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?"

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

Ethan and I met at a soup kitchen in the slums. We were fighting over half a moldy bread roll. I only learned his story from other people later. His father was the head of Lorencio's largest crime family, killed in a bloody power struggle from within. His mother took a payout and vanished. My father was an accountant for another family. He was framed for cooking the books and shot dead. Same story, same wound. That was what brought us together. We clawed our way up from a crumbling slum to the marble halls of the Lorencio crime families, until finally Ethan took his seat as Don of the Valeria Family. Nine years of marriage. No church. No proposal. Not even a proper cake. Then one day, out of nowhere, Ethan said he wanted to get me a diamond ring. "We had no church and no priest when we got married. I've been meaning to do this properly for a long time. And there'll be more to come." I stared at the custom diamond in the display case, enormous and flawless, and felt something close to happiness. The sales associate smiled and complimented his taste, mentioning that another couple had just ordered a ring too. They'd walked out minutes ago, planning a proposal for tomorrow. "Nine years together and still this in love. That's everything." I reached for his hand. He stepped away, said he needed to take a call. I hadn't heard his phone ring. I followed. Down the hallway, I watched him press a woman against the wall, his mouth on hers. His voice was sharp with jealousy. "You actually agreed to let him propose to you?" "Break it off. I'll buy you the ring." I stood frozen. My chest caved in. Then a pair of hands pulled me into a fitting room alcove. A man's breath was close, warm in the dark. A low voice, almost amused: "Your husband's sleeping with my fiancée. Why don't we give it a try too?"

The night before my wedding, my drink was spiked with an aphrodisiac. In my past life, I pinpointed my fiancé, Cassius, in the crowded room. We spent a passionate night together, and the wedding went off without a hitch the next day. I thought I had chosen happiness. That was until his assistant, Valerie, died in a yacht explosion. He went insane, pushed me off a cliff, and roared, "Valerie and I had a pact! I was supposed to leave the day before the wedding to travel the world with her! If you hadn't clung to me all night, I wouldn't have missed it, and she wouldn't be dead!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the night I was drugged. This time, I threw myself into the arms of Cassius's twin brother, Saul. I whimpered, "Baby, I feel so hot." Seeing the visible relief on Cassius's face, I sneered inwardly. He didn't know yet—the old Godfather had promised me that whoever became my husband would inherit the title of Godfather. In this life, I didn't want Cassius anymore. And he could kiss the Godfather title goodbye, too.

My husband, Cesare Ferrante, the most feared Don of the Ferrante family, had always hated children. Yet everything changed the moment my stepsister, Bianca Moretti, moved in next door with her six-month-old baby. Suddenly, my husband became obsessed with that child. He personally fed the baby formula, sang lullabies, and carried the baby everywhere he went. Every day, he came home exhausted at dawn, yet his face glowed with joy, as if that baby occupied his entire soul. I became invisible to him. Three days ago, someone forced my car off the road, and I crashed into the median. Blood streamed down my forehead, and my vision swam. I called Cesare 55 times. He did not answer a single call. Instead, he posted a photo of the baby on his social media. [My little angel smiled today!] I had had enough. Tonight at the family banquet, every member of the famiglia was seated around the table. I raised my final toast, then set down my glass. "I want a divorce." They all froze. "Are you insane?" My parents' voices rose in unison. Cesare grabbed my wrist, disbelief written across his face. "Giulia, you want to divorce me just because I was busy taking care of the baby and didn't answer your calls? You're actually jealous of a six-month-old child?" I did not meet his eyes. Instead, I stared at the glaring kiss mark behind his ear. "Since you love that child so much," I said calmly, "I'll make it easy for you. Go be that child's father."

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.

Three years into my arranged marriage with the Valachi family heir, the one that got away came back. He left me for Julia eight times. The ninth time, he left me bleeding on the side of the road with a gunshot wound to go running to Julia, who’d called him because she felt a little dizzy. "She needs me. You get that, right, Leona?" This time, I didn't fight for him. He didn't know about the bet I’d made with Julia. The ninth time he abandoned me, I would be the one to leave for good. So on his birthday, I left a set of signed divorce papers on his desk and got on a plane.

I once risked my life to save Jaxson Rourke on a rainy night. He remembered my face. Yet, when he came to propose, he mistook Elena for me simply because we shared a similar appearance. My stepmother forbade me from revealing the truth. Tragically, Elena was frail and passed away from illness before the wedding. My father couldn't bear to let such immense wealth and status slip away, so he decided to hand the marriage to me instead. He thought that I would surely win the Jaxson’s favor, thinking I closely resembled Elena, enough to replace her. But, my father was wrong. Jaxson only has hatred for me, "You two look so much alike.” He sneered, “Why did she have to be the one who died, and not you?" After the marriage, Jaxson remained indifferent towards me, never believing a word I said. Now, I have been reborn to the time when Jaxson had just gotten engaged…I knelt before my stepmother and pleaded, "To avoid any unexpected trouble, please arrange my marriage as soon as possible.

04:00 AM. JFK International Airport. I switched off airplane mode, and my phone lit up. The first notification was an Instagram story from my husband, Donovan Valentino, Don of the Valentino family, posted at 3:30 AM: a photo of Seraphina Moretti’s back, captioned, “Run 50 completed. Package delivered safe.” An hour before that, my flight had hit catastrophic clear-air turbulence, dropping two thousand feet in seconds. I’d clung to my seatbelt until my knuckles turned white, the crumpled threat letter from a rival crew pressed like a blade against my ribs. In those blind, falling seconds, one thought burned through the panic: If I live through this—if Donovan is waiting at arrivals—I’ll tear up my transfer papers to Dubai and stay. But there were no missed calls. No messages. He’d been too busy collecting Seraphina. He knew my flight details. He just didn’t care. Four years of marriage. 50 fully armed security details for Seraphina. For my 112 long-haul flights over those same four years? The most I ever got was a driver in an unmarked sedan. Even the night Gambino’s crew tailed me from Manhattan, and I spent six hours locked in a diner bathroom. He didn’t pick up until dawn, after the twelfth try. My transfer to Dubai was confirmed. The signed divorce settlement was in my bag. This was the last time I’d ever come back for him.

As the only daughter of the Rossi family, I had three exceptional men handpicked and raised by my mother as potential husbands. Once, they had gone to extraordinary lengths to win my affection. One bought me a centuries-old watchtower on the Sicilian coast. Another presented me with a one-of-a-kind black diamond ring. Then Blair, the daughter of our longtime butler, returned from boarding school, and all three men became obsessed with her. They adored her kindness, her innocence, and her delicate nature. Meanwhile, they condemned me for the coldness and ruthlessness I had developed after growing up in a world of blood and violence. Once they had broken my heart beyond repair, I washed my hands of the three ungrateful bastards and agreed to marry Vito Capello, the Don of the Capello family, who had been left in a vegetative state. The news shattered their pride. What I couldn’t understand was why they still thought I was playing hard to get—even after I became Vito’s Donna.