Countdown Mafia Short Stories & Novels

I'd been married to Dante Vitale, the Don of the Sicilian Mafia, for three years. Everyone knew it. I was the woman he'd carefully protected and cherished since we were young. When I was fifteen, a group of thugs cornered me. Dante stepped in to protect me and ended up with several broken ribs. Three years ago, in front of the entire Mafia, he swore before my late father's portrait that he would love me and take care of me for the rest of our lives. Then I accidentally spilled coffee on our marriage certificate. When I took our marriage certificate to get it reissued, the clerk told me it was fake. Isabella was his real wife. And Dante didn't even seem to think it was a big deal. "Dante says you're as pure as the moon, meant to shine where everyone can see you. I'm the blade he keeps close to his side. He wants us both. But, Marie, I'm the one who's actually his wife, aren't I?" I closed the message without responding to Isabella's taunt and replied to my friend's email instead. "Book me a flight to Paris for next week."

I canceled the wedding to the Sicilian Mafia don. The wedding planner was stunned after hearing this. “Are you sure? Mr. Moretti specially reserved an entire private island for this wedding.” I nodded. “I’m sure. He’s still accompanying his childhood sweetheart to watch fireworks over the sea.” For five years of our relationship, Luca Moretti had never let me suffer any grievance. He had shielded me from gunfire and once declared in front of the entire family that he would marry no one but me in this lifetime. Everyone believed that cold-blooded man loved me to the extreme. Even I believed it. Until today, when he said his business trip needed to be extended and he couldn’t make our agreed wedding date, telling me to postpone the arrangements. Then I received a video from an unknown number. Under a sky full of fireworks, his childhood sweetheart Vera stood barefoot in the waves, turning to smile at the camera. Vera: “But tomorrow is the day you’re supposed to marry Chloe. Maybe we should leave now.” Luca stopped her: “The wedding can be any day. But this is the first time we’ve watched fireworks together since you returned home. I don’t want you to have any regrets.” In that moment, I finally understood. The wedding I had waited five years for could be postponed at any time for Vera. I repeated to the planner: “Cancel everything.” I had already completed the resignation procedures, and the plane ticket out of this city was booked. Luca thought the wedding could be rescheduled. He didn’t know that I had already decided I would wait no longer.

Raffaele Moretti, the Mafia Don, once made me a promise. If I proposed to him fifty-one times on livestream for the whole world to see, he would show up for the fifty-second and finally make our relationship public. But when the night of my fifty-second proposal came, Raffaele was in the Maldives with his childhood sweetheart, Gianna. He bought her an entire yacht just to put a smile back on her face. I became the laughingstock of the internet. Later, he sent me an apologetic message. “Gianna was upset. I only went with her because she needed a change of scenery. That's why I missed it. Don't read too much into this.” “I'll say yes when you propose for the fifty-third time. Then you'll be my Donna.” Sure enough, he arrived at my fifty-third livestream in a perfectly tailored suit. And as he watched, I set fire to all fifty-two letters I had written asking him to marry me. Hidden among them was my liver cancer diagnosis. "There won't be a fifty-third chance, Raffaele." Because in a matter of days, I would be dead.

Everyone in Sirano knows that Lorenzo Gallo only likes one type of woman—submissive and docile. I happen to fit those criteria. When we're dating, Lorenzo has gifted me jewelry, villas, and even a harbor. He has also prepared a grand proposal for me. After the proposal, Lorenzo tells me that the Don has ordered him to sire an heir with his widowed sister-in-law, Elena Marino. Only when an heir is produced will the Don acknowledge Lorenzo's wedding with me. Since then, the phrase that he utters to me the most is "just wait for a little longer". I have to wait for Lorenzo throughout all 99 nights of him sleeping with Elena. I need to keep waiting till she gets pregnant once again. Just as I think all the waiting has come to an end, I accidentally overhear a conversation between Lorenzo and his best friend. "Lorenzo, the hospital has confirmed that Elena is pregnant with a boy. This means you must marry Susanna now." "It's impossible for me to be with Elena in this lifetime. But Susanna is very docile, not to mention she loves me with all her heart. She's the best candidate for my marriage." It turns out that the man I thought who loved me deeply had fabricated those feelings just to protect another woman. That night, I no longer drag out Howardson University's invitation, and chose to leave for a ten-year classified medical research program abroad. Lorenzo Gallo, I don't want your misplaced love anymore!

I took a bullet for Vittorio, and it left my right hand permanently damaged. After that, I stepped back and supported him from behind the scenes. For eight years, I stood beside him as he rose from a low-level underling to Don. On his first day as Don, he had my portrait hung in every church he owned, to show the world who I was and how much I mattered. When I told him we had too much blood on our hands, he began going to church every day to confess and pray for us both. Once, I offered to go with him. He only shook his head, his expression solemn. "You got blood on your hands because of me. None of it is your fault. Let me carry all the sins alone." I was so moved that I believed him for three whole years. Then, yesterday, a security-system reset accidentally connected me to an abandoned camera in the church. Against the church's stone wall, he was kissing a young woman. Silver chalices lay scattered across the floor. "Don..." Her voice was tearful. "This is a church. The Donna's portrait is still out there, watching..." Vittorio frowned. He yanked off his tie and bound the hands she was using to hold him back. His voice came out ragged. "Forget her. Focus." I sat in front of the monitor, listening to the obscene sounds they made, and didn't move until dawn. When the first light of morning came in, I called a contact on the dark web. I'd made up my mind to leave. The family's master ledgers lay open on my desk. Without a moment's hesitation, I tossed them into the shredder beside me. The grinding of the machine echoed through the room. This time, I was done being his right hand. And I didn't want to be his Donna anymore.

Seven days after my twin sister Bianca suffered cardiac arrest and slipped into a coma, my fiancé Matteo De Luca sat beside her ICU bed, holding her cool hand through the night. “So you were telling the truth.” “If I don’t marry you, you really will die.” “Bianca, wake up, and I’ll marry you immediately.” After his promise, her pulse quickened on the monitor, and Bianca opened her eyes. Everyone called it a miracle. Only then did I learn that Bianca was a Contract Holder, and the man she had been assigned to win was Matteo—the man I had loved for five years and was about to marry. His promise had only stabilized her. According to Bianca, the contract would not be complete until the marriage became legal. That same night, our two mafia families rewrote the wedding plans. The De Luca chapel remained booked. The reception, guest list, and priest stayed the same. My mother placed the De Luca heirloom veil that had been fitted for me on Bianca’s head, my father ordered the lawyers to replace my name on the marriage documents, and Matteo slid my engagement ring onto her finger. They were relieved that Bianca had survived and assumed I could wait. Standing outside her room, I watched Matteo kiss her hand as the system spoke inside my mind. 【Target individual is preparing to marry another Contract Holder.】 【Original task entering failure countdown.】 They did not know I was a Contract Holder too. Bianca and I had received the same task, with the same man as our target. She was awake. Now I was the one marked for erasure.

Three days before my wedding to Don Marco, I scheduled a memory erasure procedure. "Ms. Leah, are you certain you want to erase the memories from this period of your life and forget the people you knew?" I ran my fingers over the wedding invitation Marco had carefully prepared and said softly, "Yes." Three years ago, on the night Marco and I got engaged, Violetta was involved in a car accident. When she woke up, she identified me as the person responsible. That was when I learned that even an innocent person could become the villain in everyone else's eyes. Marco, the man I loved most, believed her and sent me to prison for three years. "Leah, you nearly destroyed her life. You should be grateful that she's still willing to forgive you." "But I can't keep cleaning up your messes forever. You need to learn to face the consequences of your actions." That was Marco's final decision. The truth was, if he had been willing to investigate a little further, he would have discovered what really happened. During those three years, Marco never responded to my pleas or my cries for help. All he left me was a promise that he would marry me after I was released. An empty vow. But I no longer needed his belated tenderness. Marco, I choose to forget you.

On my sixth birthday, my older sister, Bettina Moretti, gives me a cake with a message written in frosting. It reads, "Happy Sixth Anniversary of the Day We Found You!" I burst into tears and run to my parents, desperate to know if it's true. My father, Vittorio Moretti, nods. "That's right. If your sister hadn't begged us to take you home, you probably would've frozen to death next to a dumpster." My mother, Elisabetta Russo, pats me on the head. "Your sister saved your life, Alessia Moretti. You owe her a debt you'll never be able to repay. Don't forget that." From that day on, Bettina always comes first. When she refuses to go through the family's grueling advanced combat training, I take her place without hesitation. Even when my ribs get broken, I don't dare complain. I don't want my family to think I'm a burden. But no matter how much I sacrifice, even when I put my life on the line, my parents only ever praise Bettina. "She's the pride and joy of the Moretti family!" Then, this Christmas, I come home to the estate early and find Bettina doubled over with laughter in our aunt, Giulia Moretti's arms. "Seriously, is Alessia an idiot? She actually thinks she's adopted! I made that up when we were kids, and she's believed it all these years!" Giulia stares at her in disbelief. "Wait, you never told her you were joking?" My father scoffs. "Why would we? It's just a harmless joke." My mother chimes in. "Exactly. Besides, if Alessia finds out she's our biological daughter and Bettina's the one we adopted, what if she starts picking on Bettina?" A sharp pain shoots through my chest. I clutch at it as my legs give out beneath me. For years, I've kept quiet about how sick I am, forcing myself to endure the pain because I'm terrified of being a burden to my family. Two days ago, I finally saved up enough money to see a doctor. But he told me I've waited too long to get treatment. I have only five days left to live. Suddenly, I taste blood in the back of my throat. "Papa, Mamma... if I die, you won't have to worry about me bullying Bettina anymore, will you?"

It was only on our first wedding anniversary that I realized the rubbers I bought before our wedding had long expired. No one would believe that my mafia husband, Andre Garcia, and I had never consummated our marriage. That night, I gathered my courage and bought a suggestive nightgown. After downing three glasses of whisky, I hugged Andre tightly and whispered in his ear, "Darling, let's do it today. I want you..." However, Andre shook my hand off indifferently as if he were handling a gun. "Danielle Lawson, do you have no shame? You've done such shameless things time and time again. If you're really that lonely, I'll order you some toys so you can play with them to your heart's content." My face turned deathly pale as I stood there, stunned. I could not understand why a wife begging for her husband's affection was considered 'shameless' behavior. I curled up on the couch, unable to help but ask on social media. Danielle: [My husband has no dysfunction. Why won't he touch me after marriage?] Someone replied: [Perhaps your husband has someone else.] Like a dagger, that comment pierced me awake. I suddenly realized—maybe the problem was not that I was unattractive but rather that he was never mine. The moment I deleted my account, I also made the decision to leave. Who could have imagined that Andre, who would usually not even glance at me, would frantically search for me after I disappeared? "Danielle, I can't get a hard-on after you left!"

His gun-roughened hands burned against my waist, every breath laced with the cold, unyielding possession that had made him the most feared Cosa Nostra Don in all of Sicily. A shrill ring sliced through the haze. He answered in guttural Sicilian. It was the dialect I’d learned years ago to fit into his world, so I caught every word. His consigliere was screaming down the line at him for filing a valid, legally binding marriage license with Sofia Lombardi, the woman who’d abandoned him when a bomb left him mute for seven years. Luca’s order was cold as a trigger pull. “Secure the original license in the family vault. Draw up a forged, null-and-void marriage license for Isa to keep her compliant.” In the eyes of the law, of his entire crew, I was nothing but his mistress. After seven years of laying down my life for him, I’d been reduced to nothing but his mistress. Another call flashed. Luca turned to me, the lie already shaping his mouth. “Family matters. The guards will see you home.” Without a word, I stepped out into the Palermo night, my hands shaking as I dialed his mother, Anna Vitali. “I’ll take your fifty million euros. I’ll leave Luca. For good.” Anna once said Luca and I were worlds apart. I had to admit she was right. This time, I want to leave with dignity.

At senior prom, Celeste Bell asked me in front of half the school if she could have the first dance with my boyfriend. Nico Moretti didn't wait for my answer. He removed the white orchid I'd pinned to his tuxedo and replaced it with the red boutonniere she'd made for him. I didn't argue or cry. I simply stepped aside and let them take the center of the dance floor. Ten minutes later, Nico texted that Celeste had lost her father and was caring for a mother with multiple sclerosis. He told me to quit making a big deal out of nothing. If I kept acting this jealous, he said, he wouldn't introduce me as his girlfriend when we got to Columbia. I read the message and smiled, because he had no idea I'd already turned down Columbia and accepted a full ride at the University of Washington. In a few weeks, on his eighteenth birthday, I would leave Boston for the other side of the country. Nico Moretti had always believed he could push me as far as he wanted and I'd still come back. What he never understood was that once a quiet girl finally walks away, she rarely bothers with a goodbye.

The day I was kidnapped by my enemies, my adoptive father, Lucien Moretti, stormed into the warehouse with his bodyguards. He took a bullet for me, then carried me to the car, his body drenched in blood. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” That was the sentence he said to me most often. Lucien was the most ruthless mafia don in Sicily, yet he had spoiled me, the daughter of a deceased friend, for ten whole years. In the hospital room, as I watched Lucien sleeping peacefully, I could no longer suppress my feelings for him. “Lucien, I love you.” He suddenly opened his eyes and frowned at me. “Don’t get any improper ideas. I’m your adoptive father.” From that day on, he withdrew every bit of favoritism he had shown me. He blocked my number and instructed his right-hand man to stop reporting anything about me to him. The guards at the estate no longer let me in. “Mr. Moretti says you’re no longer welcome here.” Whenever I appeared in front of him, he would turn and walk away with a cold expression. Until half a year later, I was diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer.

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."

When Luca Moretti chose the jewelry for our wedding, he still bought two pieces and let my twin sister Bianca choose first. One was a ruby cuff from a Sicilian auction. The other was an off-the-rack black onyx bracelet, the kind sold in every mall jewelry store. For the first time, I reached before Bianca could. I pointed at the ruby cuff. "This time, can I choose first?" Luca set his palm on my head with the easy affection he used to make me behave. "Bianca has always been stubborn about quality. If it's not the best, she won't take it. You don't care about this stuff, Elena. The other piece isn't bad." I didn't answer right away. Something inside my chest went quiet. In my own family, Bianca always got the first slice, the clean seat, and the room with the view. My mother said she needed the best because she carried the Bellini name better. My father called it practical. Marriage worked that way too. The Bellinis and Morettis had promised one daughter to the Moretti heir long before either of us knew what love was. Everyone assumed that daughter would be Bianca. Instead, she made her position crystal clear: she'd rather keep her freedom and her spotless public image than become Mrs. Moretti. So Luca turned to the remaining Bellini daughter. I had known Luca for twenty years, and in his world, I always stood behind Bianca. I looked at the black onyx bracelet on the table and pushed it back. "Bianca can have both. I'm not choosing." I didn't want another leftover choice. Not anymore.

My husband was the Don of the DeLuca Family. As his Donna, I had spent years tolerating his indulgence of his stepsister. That was, until My five-year-old son and my husband's beloved stepsister were strapped to ticking time bombs. My terrified little boy screamed for me. As the DeLuca Family's lead bomb disposal expert, I knew I could save him. But my husband Matteo, the Don who ruled a mafia empire, pressed a cold gun barrel between my eyes. "Disarm Lilia's bomb first, or I'll shoot our son myself." He gave the order without a flicker of emotion, all to protect the stepsister who had perfected the helpless-innocent act. I could only watch as Noah vanished in a ball of fire. But Matteo forgot something. I wasn't merely his wife. I was the intelligence and explosives expert who kept his entire weapons empire alive. When I ripped his precious Family out by the roots and returned on the arm of his greatest enemy, the untouchable Don finally broke. He dropped to his knees and begged me to come back.

When Dante postponed our wedding because of Nadia for the fourth time, I accepted it silently as usual. But after hanging up, I immediately had my private lawyer draft a divorce agreement. I placed the agreement on the last page of our postnuptial agreement, then asked Dante to sign it. He was rushing pick up Nadia, so he signed his name without reading it at all. "The agreement will take effect 7 days after signing." Seven days. Seven days later was the exact wedding date Dante had promised me. The countdown began.

Five years ago, on our third anniversary, I rejected Matteo's proposal in front of the entire syndicate. I pointed at my stomach. I sneered at the man who used to worship the ground I walked on: "Don't be naive, Matteo. You're just a stray dog from the gutter. I'm carrying the rival boss's heir." It poured that night. He was shattered. He walked away from everything. Five years later, he climbed over a mountain of bodies. He ruled North America as the new Don. He returned to New York and bought out every single debt my family owed. Then, he brought his pregnant fiancée along and kicked down the rusted door to my run-down apartment. He looked down at me with cold eyes. "What's wrong, Princess? Hiding out in a dump like this now?" He had no idea. My body was already in the final stages of transplant rejection. Every single day I stayed alive was just to see his face one last time before I died.

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.

My best friend, the youngest daughter of the Brown family, Jessica, had just given birth, and I went to see her at the hospital with my husband, Frank James. When I held the little guy in my arms, I could not help but tease him, "Be good, baby boy. Your Godparents are here to see you." Frank, who had been standing at the side quietly, suddenly said, "I'm not his Godfather. He should call me 'father'." He was the Don of the James family and my husband, so I thought I misheard him as I looked up at him in disbelief. Frank smiled and repeated, "That's right. You didn't mishear me. This is my baby. I was with Jessica the day your father had the accident. What a night of passion that was." I was stunned. I felt my throat tighten, unable to believe what was happening. It took me a long time before I finally squeaked something out of my throat, "But we just registered our marriage at the church yesterday…" Frank laughed and pulled me into his arms, nuzzling his lips against my ear. "Don't overthink this. It was over between Jessica and me a long time ago. We just see each other occasionally when we get lonely." After that, he teased, "But I bet you didn't know that before I met you, she used to be the person I trusted most. She's also my first woman." I leaned into his arms stiffly, feeling cold all over. Three years ago, I stayed in a strange family and fought hard for Frank. Three years later, I could also let him go without hesitation and give him up to the other woman. I no longer wanted this man.

My fiancé had spent the past two weeks planning an extravagant birthday party for me. But when I finally arrived at the ballroom, I discovered that everything had been decorated to suit my younger sister’s taste. Even the three-tier birthday cake was made with mangoes, which I was allergic to. When the servers wheeled out the cake, I had barely closed my eyes to make a wish when my sister took it upon herself to blow out the candles. “Claire, you’re always so unlucky. Let me make a wish for you instead. I guarantee it’ll come true!” Julian smiled indulgently as he helped her remove the candles. “Mia’s just a kid at heart. Why hold it against her?” When it was time to cut the cake, my sister once again stepped in ahead of me, taking Julian’s hand and guiding it to make the first cut. Our friends started teasing them. “You two are the real stars of this birthday party, aren’t you?” Mia ducked shyly behind Julian, who immediately came to her defense with a laugh. “Eat your cake and leave her alone. Mia’s shy. Stop teasing her.” Everyone crowded around Julian and Mia, while I was reduced to little more than a background prop. I turned to leave, but just before I reached the door, I heard my sister call out in alarm. “Where’s Claire going? Is she upset?” Julian paused for a moment before answering casually, “It’s nothing. She’s always been the jealous type.” With that, the last shred of hope I had left finally died. I accepted an offer from VELMONT, one of Milan’s leading fashion houses, and booked a flight to Milan for three days later. My engagement party with Julian was supposed to take place that day, but I had no intention of showing up.