Melodramatic Mafia Short Stories & Devotion Novels

I've been in a secret relationship with Declan Gibson for five years, and I've tried to seduce him more times than I can count. Yet, when I stand in front of him in my birthday suit and a pair of bunny ears, all he does is worry that I'll catch a cold and wrap me in a blanket. I used to think his restraint came from being the mafia don, that he was saving our first time for our wedding night. However, one month before the ceremony, he secretly plans the city's grandest fireworks show to celebrate his childhood sweetheart's birthday. They hug and share a slice of cake in public. That night, they check into a hotel. … The next morning, I watch them leave together. That's when I realize Declan is not restrained. He just doesn't love me, so I walk out of the hotel. I call my parents. "Dad, I've broken up with Declan. I'll marry into the Sullivan family as planned." My father is stunned. "I thought you were madly in love with Declan. Why did you break up? I heard Bryson can't have children. You've always loved kids. What will you do once you marry him?" "It's fine," I reply, disheartened. "We can always adopt."

I am a top-notch surgeon. But when my ex-boyfriend —— now the Don of the Blackwood family —— was brought to the hospital injured, even the head nurse advised me against taking the case. Everyone said the Dante Blackwood despised me. Because three years ago—the last time we met—I took off my engagement ring and handed it back to him, then got into the car of Dominic, the Don of Mercer family. But I still put on my white coat and walked in. Not only walked in—I pressed my hand right against his stomach without a shred of hesitation. Before the punch came, it was the killing intent in his eyes. "I told you. Touch me one more time, and I'll break every bone in your body." The interns outside the door were all holding their breath for my safety. I adjusted my gold-rimmed glasses and let out a helpless smile. But the moment I undid the buttons of his shirt, even though his mouth told me to get out, his body couldn't help but tense up.

In the VIP lounge of an underground casino, Maeve, the Falcone family's princess, had been plied with too much hard liquor. Fueled by alcohol, someone goaded her into revealing the most shameless thing she'd ever done to win over the Don. She swirled her glass, pointed at me dealing cards behind the table, and threw her head back with a laugh. "Seven years ago, when Declan was in a coma after a shootout, I took his private phone. And I deleted the distress message that bitch sent him. Every last trace of it. Then I replied in his name: You're a burden. Go die." "You'll never guess what happened next. That idiot stood outside the safe house all night in a downpour, like a stray dog. I almost died laughing…" The room erupted in crude laughter. Only the man enthroned at the head of the table remained silent. The crystal whiskey glass in his hand shattered with a sharp crack. Blood mixed with the amber liquor, trickling over the veins on the back of his hand before dripping onto the carpet. His murderous, bloodshot eyes were locked on me. I calmly dealt the last hole card in front of him and offered a clean, white silk handkerchief. "Don Declan, you should wipe your hand. Blood on the felt is bad luck." After all, some stains never wash out.

My husband, Don Axel Thorne, died protecting me in a mob war. I was his widow for six years, until I turned thirty. The old guard of the Family told me it was time to move on. My friends told me to let him go. Even in my dreams, his bloody hands would cup my face, begging me to live again. So I agreed to an arranged marriage. But first, I went to his grave for one last goodbye. I’d just left the cemetery when a post appeared in my feed. [Thanks, hubby, for the six-year anniversary gift! A fifty-million-dollar penthouse in Miami!] My blood ran cold. My hands shook. The phone nearly slipped from my grip. In the photo, the man I buried six years ago was slipping a massive diamond onto another woman's finger. The background was a lavish penthouse. His style. I put my people on it. We had the location in minutes. Drove straight there. I knocked, the door opened, and I froze. The woman standing there was Seraphina. His adoptive sister. The one the Family exiled six years ago for her obsession with him.

My husband, the Don, never acknowledged me as anything more than his political bride. From the day we married, I knew there was someone else in his heart, a woman from the slums named Elena. But for the sake of my family's honor, and for that small, pathetic scrap of love I still held onto, I endured everything in silence. Until two months ago. He came home drunk and reckless and lost all control. He kicked open my bedroom door and took me like a man possessed, and the whole time, the name he breathed into my ear wasn't mine. It was hers. But that night left something behind. I was pregnant. I thought maybe this child could be the thing that finally turned us around. So I walked to his study door, pregnancy report in hand, heart full of something dangerously close to hope. That's when I heard his voice through the door, soft and tender, speaking in a tone I had never once heard him use with me. "Don't worry, Elena. Once you have the baby, I'll bring him into the family personally. He'll be the only heir I recognize. As for Jessica..." His voice turned cold and contemptuous. "She'll never have children. For the past seven years, I've had someone slip the highest dose of birth control into the warm milk she drinks every night before bed. She's nothing but a political arrangement. Why would I let her carry my bloodline?" The door opened. He stepped out and saw me standing there, frozen. He assumed I'd do what I always did, scream and cry and demand answers. He had no idea this time was different. This time, I was really leaving.

I was arranged to marry the Mafia Don Silas Monroe. I thought our marriage would be cold and boring. Instead, after the wedding, he became impossible to resist—distant and unreadable by day, but heated and possessive by night. I thought that secret side of him belonged only to me. Until one night, while his mouth was on my skin, a man with my husband’s exact face stepped into the room. The man behind me only smiled against my shoulder. “Be quiet, Anna. You wouldn’t want Silas to find out you’re sleeping with his brother, would you?” That was when I realized the man in my bed was never my husband. It was his twin brother, Eric Monroe.

Three days ago, the Lucchese Family's assassins ambushed a Moretti Family stronghold, and I threw myself in front of Eric without a second thought. That was the fourth time I'd taken a bullet for him. But before I could even begin to recover from the gunshot wound, my attending physician handed me an even more devastating diagnosis: late-stage brain cancer. The tumor had already metastasized, and I had less than a month to live. Just as I sat there in agony,Eric walked in，he strode to my bedside and took my hand, his expression tender with concern. Knowing I only had days left, I tested the waters. "Eric... when are we getting married? Will you marry me?" "Soon, soon, sweetheart. Trust me. Once I've secured the Don's seat and cleared out all those old men in the Family who oppose me, I'll give you the most spectacular wedding this country has ever seen. I'll make sure everyone knows that you, Selena, are the only woman worthy of standing by my side." His voice was so sincere that it could have fooled anyone. But in that very instant, I heard another voice. [Damn it, why is Selena bringing up marriage now? Doesn't she know I'm at the most critical moment in the power struggle? Angelina is the Astalotta Family's princess. Only by marrying her can I get her father's backing and secure my position as the Moretti Don once and for all.] [Marrying Angelina is just a strategic move. I'm putting on a show with her, using her family's influence. Selena is the true love of my life. Why can't she just be a little more understanding and stop pressuring me at the worst possible time?] I could hear Eric's thoughts. And what chilled me to the bone was the brutal truth hidden in those thoughts. I closed my eyes, exhausted. I didn't expose him. I didn't have the strength to confront him. I was out of time.