Cerita Pendek Feel-Good Story Mafia & Novel Homewrecker Cheating

Everyone in the underworld knew Daniel Taylor loved me more than anything. He was a powerful mafia Don. Yet every year, he set aside a whole month to go to the monastery of San Colombano, climb its 102 stone steps one by one, and pray for me and the child we'd lost. And I had always believed I was the happiest woman in the world. Until the day I saw the video my best friend, Talia Marino, posted on Facebook for her son Renzo's fifth birthday. In the video, Renzo kept calling out for his daddy in a singsong voice. A moment later, a pair of hands reached into the frame and picked him up. Gentle, practiced hands. But I recognized the four-leaf clover bracelet on one wrist. I'd searched the whole city to find it for Daniel. I sat in front of a warm fire, but a chill crept through me. Just then, Rosa Santos, our housekeeper, came over. She took the 4D ultrasound printout from my hand. It had already started to yellow. "Donna, are you thinking about your daughter again?" I looked up. I hadn't even noticed the tears on my face. Yes. I was thinking about her again. Today was the anniversary of her death. I closed the video and called the cemetery office at the monastery. "Hello, this is Lucia Capello. I'd like to arrange for my daughter, Emma Taylor, to be reburied..." "Of course. You'll need to submit the paperwork, and the process takes three days." When I hung up, I booked a flight to Malmö for three days later.

At our engagement party, my fiancé, James Pierce, and my best friend, Rachel Bellini, slipped into Italian again. Years ago, the two of them had gone off to college in Milan together, leaving me to study alone in America. Right before our engagement speeches, James leaned close to Rachel's ear and murmured in low, husky Italian, "If you were the one standing here beside me today, I'd be so much happier." I turned to stare at him in disbelief, every ounce of joy draining out of me in an instant. But James just smiled at me, all innocence, and switched to English. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Nerves getting to you?" I had lost count of how many times James and Rachel had talked in Italian right in front of my face. At dinner, they critiqued the dishes in Italian. At the movies, they joked about the plot in Italian. Over afternoon tea, they traded old stories and private jokes in Italian, things only the two of them understood. I had protested. We had even fought about it. But James would only say impatiently, "Isabella, this is how we lived for four years of college. Can you stop making a scene over nothing? If you can't understand Italian, go learn it yourself!" Rachel glanced at me, smothered a laugh, and went on in Italian, "Look at that shocked little face. She clearly has no idea how hard you went at it with me the night before your engagement party." James answered with utter contempt and absolute certainty. "So what if she found out? You think she could survive without me?" The note card with my speech slipped from my fingers and landed without a sound, but the weight of it hit me like a blow to the chest. They had no idea. My father is Italian. I was born in Italy. After my parents divorced, I moved to America with my mother, Eleanor Bennett, when I was ten. I understood every word they said in Italian.

The day I learned the family's secretary had been Richard's mistress for three years, I called off the wedding without a second thought. Heartsick, I took a family flight and moved out to the West Coast, only to walked straight into an ambush. When they had me surrounded, Richard appeared out of nowhere and threw himself in front of the bullet meant for me. He ordered his most trusted guards to keep me alive, whatever it cost. Dying, he stared deep into my eyes. "Elise, I have no right to ask your forgiveness. Just live. Live well, and let me love you properly in the next." The sea ran high and wild that day, and they never found his body. By the time the rescue boat pulled me out of the water, I had already cried myself hoarse. After that I lived to eighty, carrying the guilt of him every single day. Then I opened my eyes again and found myself back, before he had ever betrayed me. This time, before I could even speak, he fired Charlotte right in front of me. Apart from family business, his greatest interest was cooking dinner for me. Everyone marveled at it. The Don himself, Richard, loved Elise nearly to the point of madness. And then, the night before our wedding, I heard his thoughts. [I'm finally about to have Elise.] [This time I can't let her find out Charlotte exists.]

My Rival Bragged About Her Don Husband, But He Was My Secret Husband I was the heiress of a Mafia family. Since I always kept a low profile, the head cheerleader Selena Hartwell mocked me throughout high school. After graduation, I cut contact with every last classmate and threw myself into family business. Then, just as our family was reestablishing its foothold on the East Coast, an old high school group chat blew up. Selena went crazy tagging me: "Ava Costanzo, I'm getting married — and my husband is a Don! I'm ordering you to come to my wedding!" The wedding photo she posted showed the groom cropped out, but I recognized the cufflinks. The man beside her was Julian Moretti, the second son of the Moretti family, a crew that couldn't even manage two shipping routes without leaning on us.

I was in the living room, handling some work, and casually asked the smart assistant to play some music. "Alexa, play some jazz." "Sure. By the way, just a reminder—four days from now, at ten in the morning, you're scheduled to accompany Sienna to her prenatal checkup." My hand froze midair. My name is Victoria. And I'm not pregnant. Jonathan was walking out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair. He saw the look on my face and pulled me into his arms. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" I casually darkened my phone screen and smiled. "Nothing. Just a little tired." Jonathan kissed my forehead, his eyes tender and full of love. "Go get some sleep. Don't miss your birthday party tomorrow—you're the star of the night. I can't wait to spend it with you." I leaned into his chest, my lips curling into a cold little smile. My dear husband, you'd better not have done anything to betray me. Otherwise, you're about to find out exactly what it costs to betray the daughter of a mafia family.

After Lucas's first love Mara returned from abroad, he became obsessed with rolling a die and set a rule: odd numbers meant he'd stay with me, even numbers meant he'd go to her. But over three long years, every single roll came up the same: a glaring six. The day I had a miscarriage and nearly bled to death, he tossed out the words "Six is even, I should go be with Mara" and left without looking back. Eventually he moved out altogether and stopped caring whether I lived or died. It wasn't until Mara latched onto a billionaire and publicly cut ties with him that Lucas came crawling home, broken and lost. He burned everything that belonged to Mara, tried every trick in the book to win me over, and got on his knees begging for my forgiveness. On New Year's Eve, eyes red and brimming with tears, he pulled me into his arms. "Brenna, let's start over. From now on, my life is yours." I pushed him away, pulled out that brass die, and hurled it at his feet. It landed on six. I listened to the sound of Elliot honking outside and smiled. "Lucas, I've got a rule of my own." "Odd numbers, I stay with you. Even numbers, I go with Elliot. "See? Even God isn't on your side. Don't make a scene."