Plot Twists Mafia 短篇故事與 Bias Revenge 小說

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 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."

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."

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.

Five years into my marriage, my private investigator sent me photos while I was at a foundation gala. Adrian was supposed to be in Paris closing an acquisition. But the photos showed his private jet parked in Aspen. He was walking down the stairs with his arm around a young dancer everyone had been talking about. I looked through them all and forwarded them to my lawyer without making a fuss. [He's broken Clause Seven again.] Adrian had added that clause himself before the wedding, back when we were still in love. For each act of infidelity during our marriage, I could choose one of his personal assets. The first time, I took the penthouse in Tribeca. After that came a winery in Napa, a private island in the Caribbean, and his thoroughbred farm in Kentucky, among other things. It stopped being interesting. He had enough assets to cheat his way through the rest of his life. He sat across from me and asked, without a care in the world, what I wanted this time. I took my time before answering, "Adrian, I want a baby. "Yours."

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

The day I found out I was pregnant, Mia Bell—my husband Julian Moretti's personal secretary—posted on Instagram. "Boss, thank you for taking such good care of me. Who says you can't be pregnant and still get spoiled?" In the photo, Mia wore nothing but lace underwear and leaned against a man's chest as she took a selfie. His hand rested on the smooth curve of her belly. On his ring finger was the Don's signet ring—one I would have recognized anywhere. I left a one-word comment: "Congratulations." Seconds later, Mia called me in a panic to apologize. She claimed she'd only posted the photo to provoke her boyfriend after a fight. Julian Moretti took the phone from her and said in a low voice, "Vivian, delete the comment. You know why she's by my side. She took a bullet for you. The least you can do is not make her feel like it was all for nothing." I held the pregnancy report and opened my mouth to speak, but the call ended before I could say a word. Five minutes later, Mia posted again. "One big protector on the outside and one little protector on the inside. Life is perfect." Julian liked the post. I slipped off my wedding ring and tossed it into the grass beside the road. Then I tucked my latest prenatal report into the bottom of my bag.