Plot Twists Mafia Short Stories & CEO Novels

The night before the bride-selection ceremony, my best friend was having sex with my childhood friend in the most sacred underground chapel. "You're getting married tomorrow... and I'm just a stray from the slums. How could I ever be worthy of you?" Chloe said, her voice thick with tears. Victor Moretti pulled her closer into his arms. "Isn't what we're doing here proof enough of how I feel? Relax. I've already rigged tomorrow's draw. God will choose you, and only you." "But will your family accept me? Everyone knows Elia is your fiancee. Tomorrow's ceremony is just a formality..." "A formality?" He scoffed. "She doesn't even deserve the effort of me going through the motions. My wife is whoever I say she is." I stood behind the door, my nails digging deep into my palms until the sharp sting kept me alert. I used to think we were each other's rock. But from the beginning, I had been the only one who felt that way. Victor, if tomorrow's ceremony is nothing but a show you can rig however you please, I'm done playing my part. Seven days later, I walked toward the wedding car in my gown. Victor charged toward me like a man possessed, clinging to the car door as he screamed, "Elia, don't marry him! I love you..." I slapped him hard across the face and enunciated every word. "From now on, call me Aunt Elia."

The wedding's in half an hour, and my fiancé's assistant, this woman, just hands me this paper. Rule number one: No physical contact with him outside, not unless he explicitly permits it. Rule number two: Intimacy is to occur only when he initiates it. She is obligated to satisfy his desires at least once a month. Rule number three: He can demand his due at any time, any place, and she cannot refuse. ... After I finished reading this entire two-page contract, I had to fight to keep a smile on my face. Swallowing the fire in my gut, I called my fiancé. "Marcus, what the hell is this?" "What do you mean, 'If he fathers a child, she must raise it, no matter who the mother is'?"

Everyone in New York knew I was the Godfather’s heart. Gavin Whitestone’s heart. He loved me for ten years. He’d fly into a rage if I so much as got a paper cut. But he’s the one who gave me these three scars. The first time, he pulled every doctor to treat Sofia, the girl who took a bullet for him, and ignored the shrapnel tearing into my side. The second time, he was drugged and fucking Sofia in his bed. When I walked in on them, he shoved me aside, desperately carrying her to the hospital. The third time, he took my father's last gift to me—a revolver—and gave it to a pregnant Sofia, just to make her smile. He told me, “It’s all for the baby. Once the baby is born, we’ll go back to how we were.” But this time, I didn't forgive him. I threw away every gift he ever gave me and vanished without a trace. And that’s when the untouchable Godfather finally broke.

I'm going to die. In the eyes of the underworld, I was a sinner. My death would be a final, cursed dishonor. But even with the Ricci family in ruins, I was still the noble Principessa. The Ricci pride in my blood would not allow my body to fall into the hands of a rival Family. Humiliation. Desecration. Photographs flaunted for all to see. I didn't much care if my body became a trophy to celebrate their victory. But if the world knew the last of the Ricci bloodline had become a plaything for our enemies, it would be a disgrace to the entire Family. After weighing my options, I dragged my broken body to the turf of my ex-boyfriend, the man I'd left seven years ago, now the Don of the Falcone family. "After I die, I need you to handle my body." He was silent for a long moment, then let out a cold laugh. "Of course. I'll sink you in the Hudson River with a tombstone tied to your feet, engraved with the name of your filthy family."

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 husband, Kieran, is the heir to the Thompson family. In the three years of our arranged marriage, he has never once touched me. I told myself he was just cold and guarded, that I could find a way into his heart, little by little. Then one day he came home drunk, pinned me to the bed for the first time, and called out his first love's name. "Camilla, all these years... I've thought of you every second of every day..." That was when I knew. All the passion and love he possessed was already spent on another woman. I pushed him away, burned every photo of us, and went to a high-end club in New York full of handsome male models. Nine months later, I walked into the airport with my newborn baby in my arms. Later, Kieran searched the world for me, his eyes bloodshot. He asked in a trembling voice why I never told him I was pregnant, why I wouldn't let him see our baby. I glanced at him and gave a light, breezy smile. "Who said the baby was yours?"

After my parents dead, I was taken in by one of his closest friends—the Draycotts. Kaelen Draycott, their only son, treated me like I was family. And I, stupidly, fell for him. When I confessed, he called me sick. Evil. Disgusting. From that day on, he made my life hell. He brought women home, loud enough for me to hear everything. Just to remind me where I stood. When it came down to it, he saved his fiancée. Left me to be shot, mocked, and forgotten. I knew what he was capable of. So this time, I made the choice. I’m leaving. And knowing how much he hates me— Let my farewell be the best wedding gift he’ll ever get.

I'd been gone three months, growing our turf. Came home to find some chick in my robe, on my couch, sipping my wine. I called security. Lesson time. Then Damon—my husband, who only mattered because he married me—jumped in front of her. "It was a drunken mistake. She's just some poor girl. You're not seriously gonna flip over this, right?" I slapped him. "A trophy like you thinks he gets a say now?" Instead of shutting up, he asked for a divorce. For her. Cool. I said yes. He thought ditching me meant freedom. What he didn't get? Without me, he was nobody.

I was just a student who couldn't afford tuition. For five years, I was also the secret lover of Mafia Don Dante Costello. Publicly, I was his personal art restorer. In private, he spent his nights making me his, holding me close and kissing me breathless. Then his family arranged his engagement. To Isabella Rossi. A princess from a rival family. At their engagement party, Isabella stabbed the back of my hand with a shard of broken glass. He made me apologize. To her. For making a scene. Fighting back tears, I bowed my head to Isabella. When Isabella lost a bet and had to play Russian Roulette—one bullet, six chambers—he made me take her place. My hand shook as I raised the gun to my head. "You saved my life once," I told him. "Now you can have it back." The moment I vanished from his world, the ruthless Mafia Don who had everything under control...completely lost his mind.

In order to protect me, Don Salvatore deliberately announces that my fiance, Simone Pozzi, is his long-lost son. Simone shakes with excitement when he sees the man in a bespoke suit stepping out of the Rolls-Royce that is parked outside my house. Just as I'm about to tell him it's all a lie, he shoves me aside. He even brushes his sleeves in disgust, as if he has touched something filthy. Simone says, "Stay away from me. Don't let your poverty rub off on me! Since I'm the Don's son, we'll call off our engagement. An illegitimate bastard like you isn't even fit to wipe my shoes!" When I try to explain, he cuts me off by writing out a check and flinging it hard into my face. The sharp edge of the paper slices across my cheek. "Take this one million dollars as our breakup fee and don't bother me again. We're no longer from the same world," Simone says. I watch the check flutter down into the mud and quietly turn off my phone screen. On the screen is a message Papa—Don Salvatore—has just sent me, "Just bear with it a little longer, Principessa. Papa will bring you home soon to take over the famiglia." Simone is so determined to cut himself off completely. He might have the luck to claim a fortune that big, but not the life to enjoy it.

My boyfriend, Miles, finally invited me to his family’s Christmas dinner. I passed out on the way there. Half-conscious, I heard him whisper, “Sorry, Eva. Those thugs said you’re just their boss’s type. Too pretty for your own good, babe. Blame that—not me.” “Don’t be scared. If you help me pay off the debt… maybe they’ll let me have you back. I’ll make it up to you. For the rest of your life, I swear.” He wheeled me through the back of a casino. My family’s casino. The boss he was selling me to… was my brother. Ever since our parents died in a crossfire, my brother had taken full responsibility for me. More than a brother, he’d become a father figure—a protector. My stupid boyfriend should be scared—he had no idea how fiercely my brother protected me, or how ruthless he could be to anyone who dared hurt me.

I’m the princess of the Hillrose Family. He’s Blair Falcone, Don of the Falcone Family. A perfect match. We were New York's power couple, the envy of everyone in the underworld. Until three days before our wedding. One minute, we were lost in each other, his body moving inside me, his lips trailing fire across my skin. The next, he calmly announces, "Flora, there's something I have to tell you." "Legally, I already have a wife. The old man married me off to her six years ago. She's the daughter of a man who took a bullet for him." "If you can live with it," he continued, "our marriage is still on. As planned." I stared at him in disbelief. "What about me? What were our six years?" He took a slow drag from his cigar. "I know what this is. So, what's it gonna be?" My hand instinctively went to my stomach. He didn't know. I was going to tell him my happy secret tonight: I was pregnant. But now, I wasn't going to tell him a damn thing.

In the Santoro family, there was one rule: the heir marries a daughter from another powerful Family. But Alessio Santoro was crazy. He wanted to marry me, a nobody from a flower shop. He knelt in the family chapel for ten days straight. He even took a bullet fired by his own father, the Don. All just to walk away from his title and run away with me. I held him, crying, begging him to stop. He just smiled and kissed my eyes, wiping my tears. "Don't cry, Thea. As long as I can marry you, it's all worth it." In the end, the Santoros relented. But they had one condition: Alessio would still produce the next heir. Just not with me. He had to have a son with Aurelia Rossi. So I endured. I endured listening to them through the wall, night after agonizing night. I endured the smell of her perfume on his skin, the sight of her marks on his neck every time he kissed me. A year later, Aurelia got pregnant. It was a girl. Alessio begged me, his eyes red. "Just a little longer, Thea." So I waited another year. Finally, news came. Aurelia was pregnant with a boy. I thought we could finally leave, finally be free. But then disaster struck. Aurelia’s daughter had a sudden, violent allergic reaction. Everyone blamed me. They threw me in the cellar and left me to die. And Alessio? He believed them. This time, I was the one who gave up. I walked away from everything.

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."

I'm Serena Sorrento, the sole daughter of Don Salvatore Sorrento. After seeing the news of a female employee getting stalked and assaulted by a stalker on her way home from work, I spend millions of dollars arranging specialized cars for every female employee in my company when they get off work at night. At first, I thought I'd receive a "thank you" from them. But those employees have the gall to criticize me on various major social media platforms. "Our boss is practically forcing us to work overtime!" "Why must employees hand over the information of their home addresses to the company, anyway?" "Since our boss has money to buy those luxury cars, she might as well give us the money right away!" The entire Internet bashes me for capitalizing on my charity, gloating about my wealth, and not knowing what my employees actually want. After receiving a bombardment of insulting and humiliating text messages, I decide to take the Internet's advice and call for a mandatory company meeting. "After receiving the sincere feedback from all the employees, I shall terminate the specialized pick-up service from today onward. Instead, I shall have it reclassified as a transportation allowance. Those who are eligible shall receive 100 dollars per month." As soon as the announcement is made, the entire company goes crazy.

I’m Daisy Valence. Eighteen. The favorite daughter of the Valence family. I woke up and found myself eight years in the future. Not only was I married to my nemesis, Lorenzo Astor, but we had a four-year-old son. Even crazier, the future me was a stone-cold snake, plotting to gut Lorenzo's operation while planning to run off with her "lover" after the divorce. And this "lover"? Just some nobody from the slums I was bankrolling. I must have lost my mind. Just as I was about to cut ties with all of them and get my free, single life back... I found the love letters Lorenzo wrote me, a secret stash of things I’d used, and a phone filled with my pictures… Then he grabbed me, his eyes bloodshot, and held me so tight I could barely breathe. He growled, "Who the hell gave you permission to leave me?" "I never agreed to any divorce, my wife."

My fiancé of three years, Julius, sold me. To a black market auction in Vegas. I was sold to another man for five million dollars. Julius was begging me. "I owe five million," he pleaded. "If I don't pay up, they're gonna dump me in the river." "You're a dead ringer for the Don of the Norling family's late wife. All you have to do is keep him happy, and my debt gets wiped clean." "Don't worry," he said. "When he gets tired of you, I won't think any less of you. We'll still get married." So they drugged me and delivered me to an estate that was all too familiar. But here’s what he didn't know. The Don of the Norling family would kill for his daughter. And I'm that daughter. The one he’s kept hidden all these years.

The sixth year I gave up my family, my name, everything, to be with Marcus. That’s when I found out I was just a stand-in for the one he could never forget. And now, she was back. I accepted my family’s arrangement. The marriage alliance. The day my engagement dress arrived at the office, Marcus looked pissed. “I thought we agreed we’d get married when my career was more stable.” I said nothing. But when the wedding invitation arrived, Marcus finally broke. The groom wasn't him. It was the heir to the Moretti family.

For five years, I was married to the heir of the Romano family, Italy's biggest crime family. Every night, he'd hold me and whisper, "Just give me an heir, and I'll give him the entire Romano empire." But I never got pregnant, and the Don's disappointment in me grew with every passing month. Until I found out my husband had been secretly swapping my folic acid for birth control pills. I was still reeling from the fury when I saw a post from his ex-girlfriend: an ultrasound photo. Her caption was sweet and smug: “Ten weeks along. Vincent said he can’t wait to meet the baby.” Seeing the flood of congratulations, my mind was made up. I found the contact info for my ex-boyfriend—the one who’d spent the last five years trying to get me back. I sent him a single text. 【Give me one month. Then I’m coming with you.】

Five years into my marriage to Dante Moretti, the Don of the Chicago Outfit, the entire underworld knew he loved me more than life itself. He’d had a violin—for me—tattooed right next to his family crest, a symbol of loyalty that could never be erased. Until I got the photo from his mistress. A cocktail waitress, sprawled naked in his arms, her skin marred by the dark bruises of rough sex. She had scrawled her name right next to the violin he’d gotten for me. And my husband had let her. "Dante says only being inside me makes him feel like a man anymore. You can’t even get him hard anymore, can you, sweet Alessia? Maybe it’s time to step aside." I didn't reply. I just made a single call. “I need a new identity. And a plane ticket out.”