Tragic Love Mafia-Kurzgeschichten & Bias-Kurzromane

At my engagement party to Matthew, the Don of the Gambino family, he said he had business to handle. Two hours later, he still wasn't back. I went to look for him. Around the corner of the hallway, his men were whispering in Sicilian dialect. "Poor thing. The future Donna has no idea Don's been screwing Ruth." "The Don's out of his mind. Can't even keep it together on his engagement night." Ruth Martin. His childhood friend. His business partner. I stood there, frozen. Then I walked back to the ballroom. A while later, Matthew pushed through the door. One button missing from his shirt. Sweat on his forehead. Someone clapped his shoulder, asked in Sicilian. "Ha! So? How was it with Ruth? Fucking intense, right? You're a madman." Matthew laughed and answered. "Of course. Couldn't get enough." What Matthew didn't know—I used to be Sicilian. I understood every word. What he also didn't know—I was about to tell him I was carrying his child. I took a sip of my juice. Didn't call him out. Instead, I pulled out my phone and opened the confirmation from the lab in Paris. Hit Confirm. Seven days from now, I'd be on a flight to Paris. Gone from his world for good.

On our fourth anniversary, my boyfriend, the Don, took my sister and me to an exclusive private restaurant. The restaurant manager bowed. “The usual private dining room?” The room had already been scented with Rosalie’s favorite white tea. Her steak medium-rare, no truffle in the sauce. The first oyster went to Rosalie. So did the last. I was given an extra chair by the door, without even a menu. After dessert, the manager opened a cellar ledger. “Today marks three years since you opened a cellar account with Miss Sinclair. Your commemorative case is ready.” The mahogany case bore an inscription: Dante and Rosalie. Forever inseparable. It was dated three years earlier. That night, Dante left my hospital room for two hours on my birthday, claiming family business. He had come here instead. Rosalie traced the words. “After you marry Vivienne, will we still come every month?” Dante refilled her glass. “Of course. I’ve looked after you for ten years. Vivienne will adjust.” On the way home, Rosalie took the Visconti Donna’s seat without hesitation. I let out a bitter laugh and booked a one-way ticket to London three days later. The two of them could keep the future they had built over ten years. I would never be his Donna.

Seven years into our engagement, Riccardo Mazzoni turns our wedding into a mock divorce ceremony as some kind of sick joke. Instead of screaming or throwing a fit, I simply stand there, calm and silent. And just like that, I'm completely done with him. His men all around us erupt in laughter. "Elena Leone, the Don is just messing with you. You're not actually mad, are you?" I don't say a word. The laughter dies down, and the church becomes dead silent. Riccardo drops his smirk, walks up to me, and gently strokes my cheek. "What's wrong, Elena? Are you really mad?" As I look up to meet his gaze, I suddenly remember the conversation I overheard between him and his men last night. "Don Mazzoni, are you really going through with this? Aren't you afraid Elena will leave you if you make a fool out of her?" Riccardo lets out a scoff. "I promised Sofia Coppola I'd prank Elena at our wedding. Once the prank is over, I'll make it up to Elena with the most extravagant wedding imaginable. "She's been with me for seven years. We love each other too much for her to leave me." Right now, I just stare at him. I then tear off my veil. "A divorce ceremony, huh? Then by all means, continue."

I was the Castell family's designated heir in Rosewick, Delmaris, and my older sister Sabrina had been adopted into the family. So she was overprotective of me. She reminded me constantly, "Avery, you're the family's only heir. It's not safe for you to be out in public." Even my dates with Julian Vescari, the Don of the most powerful family in Rosewick, were things she attended in my place. When the grapes ripened at the estate, Sabrina said the crowds made it unsafe. So she went with Julian to pick grapes instead of me. At family banquets, she said there were too many cameras and it made an assassination too easy. So she linked arms with Julian and gave the speeches in my place. Every time she came back, Sabrina told me gently, "As long as I'm standing in front of you, you can inherit everything safely." I always believed she did it for my sake. Until the day before my engagement to Julian. Sabrina was sitting in the dressing room in the gown I'd had made for myself. As I passed the doorway, I happened to see Julian feed her a peeled grape. Sabrina complained sweetly, "I run around handling everything for the two of you and never get a moment to myself, and one grape is supposed to settle it?" Julian answered easily, "You've worked hard. Ask me for anything you want." Sabrina looked him up and down, and then she smiled. The intimacy between them froze me where I stood and sent a sharp pain through my chest. In that moment I finally understood. This boundary-crossing game they called protection had to end.

When I first met Damian Corsetti, he was just one of the Don's many illegitimate sons. He was living a wretched life back then, but his ambition burned all the brighter. "Velia, trust me. One day I'll become the Don, and you'll be the only woman by my side." His confidence won me over. From that day on, I became the deadliest weapon he had. I handled all the dirty work for him. Some questioned his bloodline. I dug up their families' darkest secrets until they had no choice but to swear loyalty to him. Once, I stayed awake for ten days to hunt down a traitor. I caught him moments before he could carry out an assassination. In just a few years, I had become one of the most wanted enemies of nearly every rival Family. And Damian finally became the Don. On the night of his succession ceremony, he walked toward me in a tailored black suit, a bouquet of red roses in his hands. He was finally going to keep his promise. Once he became the Don, he would propose to me. For the first time in years, I lowered my eyes, almost shy. But Damian walked right past me and offered the roses to the woman in the white dress standing behind me. "Vera, will you marry me and become the Don's wife?" Tears streamed down Vera's face as she nodded. Then they kissed, completely lost in each other. The smile froze on my face.

One week before our engagement ceremony, fiancé took me and his foster sister to their hundredth dinner together. The maitre d' knew their table, their wine, and Serena's favorite meal. She sat beside the fireplace while I was squeezed into a chair in the aisle. Then the restaurant presented them with a silver decanter engraved: D & S. Always at the same table. The date beneath it was my birthday three years ago—the night Damian had abandoned me at a clinic because of an "emergency." He had spent those two hours here with her. Serena smiled. "After you and Evelyn get engaged, are we still keeping our monthly dinners?" "Of course," Damian said. "You're my family. If Evelyn can't accept that, she isn't fit to become a Moretti." For four years, I had fought Serena for every place in Damian's life. I fought for the seat beside him, for the bedroom meant to be ours, and for the right to be chosen whenever we both needed him. Every time, he told me to stop keeping score. That night, I finally understood how foolish I had been to abandon my own future for a love that never chose me first. So this time, I chose myself. I accepted Saint Clair Design Group's offer to become its Global Creative Director and youngest equity partner, then booked a flight to Milan for the morning of our engagement. Damian thought my silence meant I had finally accepted Serena's place in our marriage. He didn't realize I had stopped fighting because I no longer wanted a place in his life. He and Serena could keep their fifteen years of brother-and-sister devotion. In seven days, my love for him would be over.

At our wedding rehearsal, Dante Corleone brings Lucia Ferrante, the fiancee of his late brother, Davide. "Davide died protecting me in that shootout on Thanksgiving. Without him, I never would've become Don to the Corleone Famiglia," Dante says. "We have the rest of our lives together, Camilla, but this is Lucia's only chance." So I stand below the stage, watching my fiance drop to one knee before another woman in a wedding dress and reverently kiss the back of her hand. Then the priest turns to Dante and asks awkwardly, "Do you wish to stand before God and recite your vows to Ms. Ferrante?" Lucia bursts into tears and throws herself into Dante's arms. "Camilla, I'm not trying to steal anything from you," she sobs. "I just want to exchange the vows Davide never got a chance to give me before he died. If Dante is willing to stand in for his Fratello and marry me just this once, I'm sure Davide wouldn't mind." Without a second thought, Dante steps up to the altar. I stand below, watching him slip the very wedding ring I designed onto Lucia's finger. I look down at my own empty ring finger. And suddenly, it all feels so pointless. The vows could be borrowed. The ring could be borrowed. Even my man could be loaned out to comfort another woman. In that case, I'm done with this wedding.

Dominic De Luca always called me by his ex-girlfriend's name. When he cooked, he would call out from the kitchen without thinking: "Bianca, come set the table." The birthday gifts he gave me came with cards that read: "Happy Birthday to my love, Bianca." At first, I used to get angry. I would hold his face, make him look me in the eye, and correct him over and over: "My name is Clara, not Bianca." Every time, he would apologize, and every time, I would forgive him. I left Boston to be with him. I gave up a promotion and moved to New York to start over, because Dominic said he could not handle a long-distance relationship. I thought that meant he had finally chosen me. Until the night he got down on one knee to propose. He looked up at me and said: "Bianca, will you marry me?" That was the moment I stopped wanting to correct him. I just took out my phone and replied to an email I had ignored for an entire month. I accepted the position in London. Dominic did not know yet. The moment he put my engagement ring on Bianca's finger, I had already decided to resign and leave New York. This time, I would not wait for him to explain. By the time he finally learned to say my name correctly, I would no longer love him.

To marry Lorenzo Vincenzo, I gave up my photography career. A dream I had held for ten years. But on our fourth anniversary, I asked my sister Greer to draft the divorce papers. She kept asking, over and over. "Why would you leave Lorenzo? He's the top surgeon at St. Vincent's. Rich, gorgeous. Half the city is dying for a shot at him." I swallowed the bitterness clawing up my throat. "Because of a gift." Greer followed my gaze to the music box on the table. The card was in Elara's handwriting. Lorenzo's junior from med school. [Thank you for flying out to do my aunt's surgery, senior. I know it was a long trip. You worked so hard. The little dancers on this music box remind me of us at graduation prom. Hope you like it, Lorenzo.] That day, my father was in a car accident. I rushed him to St. Vincent's. Only Lorenzo could do the surgery. I searched every floor of that hospital, every corridor. Nowhere. I told myself he must be on a business trip. But no. He had left his post for Elara. The same man who once swore he would never abandon the OR for personal matters. Finally, my father died on the table. Greer pulled me into her arms. "The Vincenzo family owns this city. Their reach is everywhere. Where could you possibly go that he would not find you?" I glanced at the flight confirmation on my phone. "Three days. I am flying to Paris, to a photography studio there. And I will make sure he never, ever finds me."

Five years ago, I threw myself in front of a bullet meant for my husband and lost my hearing in the process. Nico Marchetti learned sign language, held my hand through every doctor's appointment and swore he would protect me for the rest of his life. On the night I discovered his betrayal, he sat across from me at a dinner table surrounded by his capos and smiled, "Giulia is the only woman I love. But I hide it well because if she ever found out about Valentina, she'd leave me."  Then he carved his steak and placed it on my plate like a devoted husband. What he didn't know was that I had regained my hearing exactly seven days earlier. I had already contacted the Benedetti family. I had already arranged my escape to Sicily. All I had to do was wait seven more days. Then I disappeared from Nico Marchetti's life forever.

I'd been with Daniel Bonanno for five years. On our anniversary, I was the one who processed his marriage license application— but the bride wasn't me. It was Emma Miller. He told me it was just a merger. A fake arrangement between families. Once he became the Don, he'd marry me for real. I'd heard that line so many times I'd lost count. But I watched him grow closer to that woman. Day by day. Even when I was kidnapped, he was in bed with her. And finally, it hit me. Five years of loving him, and it was all just a joke. So I faked my death. I made sure everyone thought I jumped off that cliff. But after that, Daniel started haunting the base of that cliff. Two years, pacing back and forth, murmuring under his breath: "I was wrong. Please. Just come back."

While my entire family was helping my adopted sister try on wedding gowns, the doctor told me I had almost no time left. I held my terminal stomach cancer diagnosis and sent one message to the Moretti family group chat. “If I were dying, would any of you miss me?” Three minutes later, my parents replied. “You would lie about having cancer just to ruin Bianca’s wedding?” “Enough. The Moretti family has no daughter who tells lies like this.” My brother called, already irritated. “Bianca’s father died taking a bullet for me. No one will ever walk her down the aisle. She only wants to experience one wedding. Why can’t you let this go?” My childhood sweetheart and fiancé, Adrian Vitale, never answered. He was kneeling in front of Bianca, gently arranging the skirt of my wedding gown. Seven days earlier, my family had decided to give her my wedding. I stood there for a long time before signing the body donation papers. My parents and brother could choose her. My fiancé could choose her too. This time, I would fight for nothing.

After I came of age, I entered the Gallo family's trial period. Only those who passed the family's trials within five years would earn the right to wear the family crest. Anyone who failed would be sent to the shooting range as a live target. This year's trial was to seize a weapons shipment at the port. I was the first to locate the weapons cache, but when Vera blundered into the ambush, I had to stay behind and clean up the mess to save her. After the fierce gunfight, my team's casualties ended up exactly one more than Vera's. At the crest ceremony, my mother Carmela once again pinned the family crest to Vera Gallo's chest, smiling with satisfaction. "Vera brought back the weapons with the fewest casualties. She passes the trial again this year, without question. "Not that the crest needs to be awarded twice, but Elsa, you really aren't as capable as Vera. Better luck next time." Better luck next time. I'd been hearing those exact words for four years straight. Ever since Vera was brought back four years ago, I, the adopted orphan, had become the most unwelcome person in the house. Because she claimed everything I had should have been hers. The moment she heard that Carmela had treated me well, she'd spiral into hysterics and threaten to kill herself. From then on, I waited four years and never once received the crest from Carmela's hands. This time, I was done waiting. I was going home. My real home.

In the New York Mafia, everyone knows that Cassian, the ruthless Don of the Valeriano family, loves me. His devotion is practically a legend. A cold-blooded killer like him spends a month every year at his family's estate in Sicily, praying for my health. I always thought I was the only queen in his empire. Until the day I saw an encrypted video. My best friend Bianca was holding a little boy, smiling at the camera. "We couldn't keep our hands off each other at the villa back then. That's how Nico was made." "So every year, we come back to thank God for this gift." A second later, a man's hand reached into the frame to tuck her windblown hair behind her ear. Gentle and practiced. But the man's collar was slightly unbuttoned. It revealed the cross necklace I designed for him—the one holding the fatal bullet I took for him years ago. I sat in a room with a roaring fireplace, but my blood froze. Right then, my private doctor called. "Miss Aria, I have bad news and worse news." "Your fetus has a rare genetic defect. It requires a high-risk in-utero surgery. The success rate is under thirty percent." I looked up blankly. My face was wet with tears I didn't even know I shed. My voice trembled, but it carried a newfound coldness. "Cancel the surgery. I'm not keeping the baby."

For twenty-two years, I had been the only daughter of the Falcones. Everyone in the family held me in their hands. Underboss Leon Marchetti took a bullet for me. Consigliere Enzo Ricci stormed into enemy territory just to pull me out. Vice Don Darius Lombardi even swore in front of the Don himself that no matter what happened, I would always be the first person he protected. They spoiled me rotten, made me willful, and convinced me of one thing. No matter who I eventually chose as my fiancé, they would never leave my side. Until six months ago, when the real Falcone heiress, Bianca Falcone, came back to the family. Little by little, their time, their protection, all their care shifted to Bianca. I cried. I fought. I even swallowed my pride and asked them if there was something I wasn't doing right. All they said was for me to be reasonable. "Bianca spent twenty-two years out there. You've already lived her life for too long." "She's the true heir of the Falcones. Elena, know your place." I started to wonder what they once treasured, was it really me, or just the title of Falcone's daughter. I forced back my tears and knocked on Don Salvatore Falcone's study door. "Don. Tomorrow, I'm going back to my own family."

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.

Everyone knew Salvatore Romano, head of the Romano crime family, had never shown any interest in women. During our three years of marriage, I was the one special exception. Until my sister Lucia showed up. He said he despised picky eaters because he'd nearly starved to death once. Yet the dishes Lucia didn't like disappeared from the table the very next day. He said blondes were shallow. So for three years, I dyed my golden hair black without fail. Lucia wore her blonde hair wild and radiant, and he presented her with a pale yellow diamond necklace. He declared that at every banquet hosted by the Romano Family, no one was allowed to wear the same jewelry as her. To coax a smile from Lucia, he filled the entire garden with lilies. He forgot that I was allergic to pollen. He told her, "If only I'd met you sooner." He told me, "Because of you, Lucia always feels so uncomfortable." I let out a cold laugh, turned, and walked away without looking back.

When my husband Alessio learned I was pregnant, he didn't look happy at all. Instead, he set two abortion pills and a glass of water in front of me. His voice held no emotion. "Elena, the timing is wrong. Until I own Greyhaven Terminal outright, you can't give birth to my heir." The Costa Family still owned a thirty-percent stake in Greyhaven Terminal, the last obstacle between the Rossi Family and total control of the harbor's freight traffic. If I stayed pregnant, my father would use the baby as leverage to raise his price at the negotiating table. Alessio would never let anyone gain leverage over the Rossi Family, not his wife, not even his own unborn child. This time, I swallowed both pills without a fight. When the cramps folded me in half, something in his expression softened. He sat beside me on the bed and took my hand. "Someday, I'll repay you for everything you've sacrificed for me." He thought I had no idea. The day before, I'd seen a pregnancy announcement on my best friend Bianca's social media. In the photo of her positive test, I recognized the sleeve of my husband Alessio's shirt. The mysterious boyfriend Bianca had always refused to introduce was my husband. Looking at the guilt on his face, I spoke weakly. I said I needed his signature to sell a small block of shares in the import-export company he'd given me. I handed him a stack of papers. Guilt did the rest: he signed every page without reading a word. This time, though, I was building my exit. Buried in the stack was a postnuptial property agreement. Once the agreement was in force, I would be gone for good.

In the third year of their secret marriage, Matteo, the newly appointed head of the Moretti Family, requested a Black Rose Ring at the Dowager's seventieth birthday banquet. He stood at the center of the hotel ballroom, a gentle smile on his face. "There's a woman who stood by me through my darkest days and even saved my life during that assassination attempt. I want her to wear the Moretti Family's highest ring of protection. She's here tonight." The room erupted in whispers. Everyone knew Matteo was composed and restrained, never discussing his personal life in public. A few of the old bosses allied with the Moretti Family were the first to egg him on, urging him to bring the woman forward. My heart gave a small flutter. Matteo had never told me about this. Back then, he had been the most overlooked heir in the Moretti Family. I used the shipping company my mother left me to move cargo and funnel funds for him, and I dragged him out of a warehouse filled with toxic gas. It left my heart permanently damaged and half my face scarred. Matteo took the Black Rose Ring from the Dowager's hand and, under everyone's gaze, stepped down from the stage. The ballroom fell silent. The black diamond flashed in the cold light as Matteo crossed toward the far end of the women's tables. I alone felt ice flooding through my veins. He wasn't coming toward me. Matteo stopped in front of my half-sister, Lydia. He slipped the ring onto her right hand, his voice tender. "Lydia was born out of wedlock. She's spent her whole life being looked down on, and what she needs most is a status no one can sneer at. Elena, you're the legitimate Rossi daughter. You own ports, and you're my lawful wife. You've always been generous. You wouldn't begrudge her one empty title." I swallowed the taste of blood rising in my throat, turned away, and snapped the last vial of antidote—the dose he would desperately need the following month.

Five months after opening my bakery in Sicily, I ran into Quill Moretti, the Mafia Don who had once paid me to be his lover. He stared at my pregnant belly, mockery and warning in his eyes. "Claire, you've got some nerve! Thinking you can use a baby to become my wife! "The only woman I've ever loved is Sherry!" I scoffed. "I think you've misread the situation. "I'm carrying my husband's baby." Quill's brow furrowed. "Trash like you will lie about anything! "I want a paternity test. You're coming with me." I nodded calmly. "Fine. We'll go first thing tomorrow morning." Three years ago, I was nothing more than a hotel housekeeper. While cleaning a suite, I accidentally knocked over the man staying there. Quill. He'd been drinking heavily. He stared at me for a long moment, then dragged me onto the bed. We were tangled up together all night. Once he sobered up, Quill tossed me an agreement. "Be my woman. "A million dollars a month." I thought of my mother, who was fighting cancer and desperately needed expensive treatment. She finally had a chance. I agreed without hesitation. Quill's sexual appetite was insatiable. At least five times a day. But he refused to let me get pregnant. "Someone of your lowly status doesn't deserve to carry my child." So I took the pill, over and over again. Until his first love, Sherry Russo, came back. Quill threw me a bank card. "A hundred million dollars to end this. Be smart and take it." I had always known that Quill's possessive hold on me was not love. So I accepted his offer. On the day of his wedding to Sherry, I slipped away without a word. And married a strikingly handsome billionaire who rivaled Quill in every way in a private civil ceremony.