Historias cortas de Familial Bond Mafia y novelas ambientadas en Face Slapping

On my tenth birthday, my parents, the Don of the Falcone family and his wife, were murdered in a targeted hit. Because they took a sudden detour to pick up my custom birthday gift, they drove right into a rival syndicate's fatal ambush. My brother, Vincenzo, blamed my childish demands for their deaths. When Vincenzo took over as the new Don, his first act was to banish me to a remote convent to do hard labor. For eight whole years, he never visited me once. When I died on the operating table in the family hospital, he was standing guard right next door. He was watching his adopted sister, Lucia, get a heart transplant. He had saved her from a street shootout years ago. Just before I lost consciousness, I heard him comforting Lucia through the wall. He told her not to be afraid and promised to save her. The last words he ever said to me were, "Are you faking a cough or fainting this time? Do not bother me unless you are actually dead!" Twenty-four hours later, a nurse finally found my body lying in a pool of blood. No one ever came to claim me. What my brother didn't know was that my heart would keep beating inside Lucia's chest forever.

The Cassano family has a strange tradition. Any man who wants to marry me has to go into a dark room with my father for his “test.” Only the ones who pass get to be with me. But over the years, I’ve had several boyfriends, and every single one of them came out of that room a different person, with murder in their eyes. My fifth boyfriend, Dominic, scoffed at the idea. “It’s just some old-school scare tactic.” “I love you, and I want to marry you,” he promised. “Don’t worry, baby.” He went in. When he came out, he looked at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe. “You filthy bitch. I can’t believe the Cassano family even lets you live.” He lunged at me, his hands wrapping around my neck, trying to kill me. I closed my eyes in despair. I don’t understand. What the hell is in that room? Why does everyone who enters come out wanting me dead?

My sister came back after being kidnapped. She had no memory of what had happened. She saw the photos on my wall and became convinced that my boyfriend, Don Colton Turner, was hers. She hid under our bed. When Colton and I started getting intimate, she crawled out and accused us of cheating on her. She pulled out a grenade and screamed, "You've betrayed me! Neither of you is walking out of here!" Just as she was about to pull the pin, my mother lunged at her, grabbed the grenade, and threw it out the window. But Beth wasn't done. She pressed a gun to her temple and threatened to kill herself. In her mind, she was Colton's Donna, while I was his secret lover. My mother rushed forward to grab the gun just as Beth pulled the trigger. My mother died on the spot. After that, Beth tried to kill herself almost every day. Colton eventually packed his bags and said wearily, "We should have slept in separate rooms. If we had, your mother would still be here. I'll take her to the house outside the city for now. Once she's stable, I'll move back. That way, she can't hurt you again." I simply nodded. Part of me was even grateful that Colton had thought everything through so carefully. Then one day, I went to a private hospital for a prenatal checkup. As I walked out with the report in my hand, I froze. My supposedly dead mother was standing there, gently stroking Beth's hair. "A healthy baby. When it's born, it'll look just like Colton." Colton laughed. "Better if it looks like Beth." My mother nodded, satisfied. "At least all that acting wasn't for nothing. Once the baby is here, I can stop worrying." The blood drained from my face as my heart pounded against my ribs. So it had all been a lie. After they left, I forced myself to calm down, walked back into the hospital, and scheduled an abortion.

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.