Plot Twists Mafia Short Stories & Family Emotions Novels

When I went to get a replacement copy of our marriage certificate, the clerk at the registrar's office told me, "This certificate is a forgery. There's no record of your marriage in the system." "But Michele and I got married four years ago, at St. Mary's Church. We had witnesses..." I steadied my breathing. "Please check again." The clerk sighed and clicked her mouse a few times. "We found a registration for Michele Corleone, but the spouse listed isn't you." My voice shook. "Who's his legal wife?" The clerk answered without looking up. "Rita Greco." Before I heard that name, I'd still been telling myself the system might have made a mistake. But of course it was Rita, Michele's childhood sweetheart. Suddenly everything made sense. In the four years I'd spent as Michele's wife, he'd never once held my hand in public. No famiglia galas, no formal introductions. Some of the Corleones didn't even know my name. I'd asked him why, and he'd told me, "It's to protect you. In the underworld, the less visible you are, the safer you are." I'd believed him. Now I finally understood. The marriage I'd poured everything into, the one I'd believed in for four years, had been fake from the very beginning. I'd never once been let into his real life. And as the woman who'd made that mistake, only one path was left to me. With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn't touched in four years. [Papa, I want to come home.]

When I heard that my father and my husband, Luca Santangelo, had been ambushed and killed in Sicily, I was preparing Thanksgiving dinner with the other women of the Valenti family. The bodyguard who brought the news was soaked in blood. "The Don's been killed, and Mr. Santangelo's been shot dead! Marco and Nico fought their way out with their men, but Moretti's people are still hunting them!" The words were barely out of his mouth when a shrieking alarm tore through the night. More than a dozen SUVs blocked every exit, and masked gunmen pounded on the gates. Outside, the men were jeering. "Before dawn, we drag every last one of them to the Moretti dungeon. Torture them first, then wait for the final negotiation!" Without a word, Nonna ordered the safe room locked from the inside. Then she handed out cyanide capsules, one by one. She said, "The men of this family died in a firefight. The women of this family will never be taken hostage, tortured, and used as bargaining chips." Before long, dozens of women around me had stopped breathing. I drew the pistol Luca had given me as a token of his love, aimed it at my chest, and pulled the trigger without hesitation. As blood spread across my dress, I heard our own men snickering over a walkie-talkie outside the door. "The Don and his sons spoil Miss Bianca too much. They put on this whole show for an adopted daughter." Another one snorted. "Scare Millie for one night, and she won't dare bring up divorce again. Mr. Santangelo can show up tomorrow morning with flowers, sweet-talk her, and that'll be that. It's not like she'd actually kill herself." I stared blankly at the ceiling. The ambush was fake. Their deaths in battle were fake. Even the so-called sworn enemies outside the door were fake. But the dozens of loved ones lying lifeless around me were real. The warm blood pouring from my chest was real. And the estate, which would never see dawn, was real too.

Everyone called my sister Alessia a prodigy. I was the only one who knew she was a thief. From the day I moved back into the brownstone, she started taking from me. Quietly. Carefully. My designs. My sketches. My drafts. Everything I created would appear under her name before I even had time to finish it. The family stood behind her. Always. My father, Salvatore Lucchese, head of the family, his word law itself, said he believed Alessia. So I became the liar. The plagiarist. The disgrace. They threw me out of the outfit's front shop. Blacklisted me from the industry. Erased my name. Then one of her loyal admirers ran me down in the street. That was the end. Or it should have been. When I opened my eyes again, it was the day before the national jewelry competition. This time, I didn't draw a single line. Let's see what my darling sister delivers… when the well has run dry.

The wedding had been postponed ninety-nine times. I called the wedding planner and told them to change the bride's name to Ivy Sterling, Charles Hart's childhood sweetheart. "Donna, are you sure?" the planner asked cautiously. "This time, the Don didn't postpone again." I heard the surprise in his voice. My answer was calm. "Yes. Change it to Ivy Sterling." From the very beginning, Charles gave only one instruction for the wedding: "Adjust the decorations according to Ivy's taste." He explained that Ivy had good taste, that she would only serve as a reference for our wedding. But every choice, the flowers, the favors, the entrance music, was made by Ivy. Even my wedding dress. She had said lightly, "A mermaid silhouette suits her better." So I decided to give the entire wedding, steeped in her presence, to them. And I walked away from this farce completely. From now on, let him keep his old dreams. I will go and enjoy my own boundless sky.

My mom passed away when I was twelve, leaving everything she had to me. My dad cried at her bedside, swearing he'd never remarry and that he'd take care of me no matter what. But six months later, my stepmother moved into the villa my mom had left me, with her daughter. She told me, "I'll love you like you're my own." It didn't take long before my room, my clothes, everything, was taken over by her daughter. I got shipped off to a boarding school and was only allowed home on weekends. That went on for four years. After my father had been away on business for months, her abuse only got worse. She even tried to make me take the fall for her daughter. When I refused, she locked me in the basement and left me there to die. I fought with everything I had, found the old phone my mom had left behind, and called my grandfather. On the other end of the line, his voice was pure fury: "No one messes with a granddaughter of the Moretti family!"

After my little sister Sophia and I came of age, Father gave us two choices. Go to the front lines with his most trusted lieutenant and fight in the shootouts. Or go to the coast and marry into the local arms-dealing dynasty. In my last life, Sophia cried and kicked and screamed to go to the seaside. I put down the paintbrush I loved and took the gun the lieutenant handed me. In the end, I carved out a name for myself on the front lines, took back every inch of territory the family had lost, and became the successor the council of elders unanimously acknowledged. Sophia, meanwhile, was ignored by her husband, frozen out and neglected by his entire family, and died of depression. After being reborn, Sophia couldn't wait to plant herself beside Father's lieutenant, Lorenzo. "Catherine, the front lines are too dangerous. You go to the coast and live easily. I'll leave the good life for you." The lieutenant paused, then smiled with relief. I said nothing. I just told the housekeeper to pack my bags. I was ready to leave immediately. Sophia didn't know. In my last life, the reason all that lost territory was recovered, the reason that unruly lieutenant came to respect me completely, was because when we were surrounded, I refused to retreat. I cut a bloody path out with my bare hands. Reborn, with no endless artillery in my ears, I just wanted to chase my dream of art.

I’m the Blackthorn family’s top surgeon and their “cleaner.” I’ve handled countless messes for Evan Blackthorn. I was also his secret lover for five years. He was inside me more times than I can count, holding me tight as I came apart, kissing me with an obsession for my body he never bothered to hide. It all ended after sex one night, when he said with a casual laugh, “I should get a wife, Rachel.” “And maybe you should find a good man and get married, too.” I wasn’t angry. I just quietly said, “Okay.” In my last life, I insisted on staying by his side. It got me both my hands broken, my career as a surgeon shattered. In the end, during a raid by a rival family, he left me behind as bait, holding his brother’s widow, Sofia, tenderly in his arms. So this time, I learned my lesson. I stayed away from him. Found a new man, just like he wanted. But this time, the always cool and calculated Mafia Don lost his mind.

For my grandmother's birthday, I took her downtown to Carlucci Jewelers, the finest jewelry store in the city, to pick up the emerald necklace we had ordered. The saleswoman had barely set it out when a woman dripping with jewelry snatched it off the counter. "They're letting slum rats into the VIP room now? I want that necklace. Throw them out!" For my grandmother's sake, I forced myself to keep my temper. "We already paid the deposit on that necklace. Please put it down." The woman gave me a contemptuous look and tossed it back onto the table. "So what if you paid a deposit? This store doesn't sell custom jewelry to gutter trash who can't even afford Hermès!" I'd been away for six months, and apparently one of my family's businesses had a new policy. I asked the saleswoman beside me about it, but she looked terrified and didn't dare say a word. The woman admired her nails, pleased with herself. "Let me make this clear. Luca, the man behind this store, is my husband! "In here, what I say is Sicilian law!" My grandmother and I both froze, then looked at each other. When did my cousin get engaged? And when had he handed the family's money-laundering operation over to a woman like this? I'd entrusted it to him. My grandmother gave a cold laugh and slowly turned the crucifix over in her fingers. "If Luca can't keep his own woman in line, we'll put someone else in charge."

The Ivanovas and the Vitales are well-known aristocratic families who have maintained everlasting friendship through generations. My name is Anastasia Ivanova. I have been the daughter of the Ivanovas for twenty years, only to discover just now that I was switched at birth. When I was swept out of the Ivanova’s mansion like rubbish, Lorenzo, the youngest son of the Vitale family, firmly picked me up in spite of all objections. Lorenzo always acted cold and distant toward me. I didn’t know why he came to take me into his car at that time. He whispered in my ear again and again, ‌"I’ve wanted you for a long time."‌ He pinned me against the leather seat, making me cry until my voice was hoarse. At that moment, I finally understood his coldness over the years was not indifference but restraint. Soon after, Lorenzo overrode all objections to marry me. His parents were vehemently against me, but Lorenzo directly stripped them of power and became the youngest godfather. Scarlett Montgomery tried to stop us from getting married, but Lorenzo canceled all her credit cards and threatened to send her away. I thought we would have a happy life. Three days before our wedding ceremony, he planned to send me abroad, claiming enemies might retaliate. But, I accidentally overheard him talking to Scarlett in the hallway at night. "Thank goodness. You tricked her into leaving until after I give birth. You’re so good to me!"‌ He kissed her cheek, ‌"I don’t want Anastasia know our affair. You must keep it secret."‌ Their dialogue made me devastated. But I didn’t confront him immediately. Instead, I quietly completed my immigration paperwork as a way to make a clean break with him.

The day I died, my cousin Theo Valenti was being named heir to the Valenti family. And I was wearing his suit, riding in his car, and luring the killers away from him. When I was seven, Dad chopped off my long hair and trained me to walk and talk just like my cousin. I even had to shoot like him. Theo was the only heir to the main branch. My parents had handed me over to take his place whenever danger came knocking. When someone tried to kidnap him, I got in the car instead. When someone was waiting to ambush him outside a party, I walked out the front door in his place. Over 13 years, I took two bullets for him and was kidnapped three times. Every time Mom saw me hurt, all she ever said was, "Nothing can happen to your cousin." Dad would give me a rare pat on the shoulder. "Daisy, being chosen as Theo's stand-in is an honor." When I was little, I actually believed him. Dad hardly ever praised me. The only time he ever straightened my tie was when he sent me into danger. Then he'd warn me not to embarrass the family. I thought that if I proved myself worthy of that "honor," one day they'd look at me the way they looked at Theo. The night Theo turned 21, our rivals found out which route he'd be taking. So I put on his suit and went out in his place one last time. My cousin made it to his succession ceremony safe and sound. I got shot. Blood soaked through the suit fast. I called Dad. "Dad, I'm at North Hill. I've been sh—" "Daisy, wait another half hour." Dad cut me off. Deafening applause filled the background. "Your cousin's ceremony isn't over yet. We'll come get you when it's done." Then he hung up. They all thought I'd wait for them, the way I had for 13 years. Only this time, I didn't last long enough.