Hypocrisy Mafia Short Stories & Countdown Novels

They say Don Julian Marconi would burn the world for one tear of mine. Five years ago, at the Met Gala, he spent millions to hang emeralds around my neck and swore I was his Madonna. Five years later, beneath the velvet boxes of our anniversary, I found a lace strap soaked in sin—and a fresh, crimson smear on his collar that told me exactly whose bed he’d left. I smiled. I asked him to sign a blank sheet of paper. And that meant he was agreeing to whatever I wanted. He called it love. I called it the death warrant for his empire. In fifteen days, I finalized our divorce papers. I boarded the Stella d’Oro as Serena Cole and burned Celeste Marconi to ash on the deck. Then I vanished with his fortune, his power and the one secret that would destroy him. I was the saint he worshipped. Now I am the ghost who haunts him. No groveling. No forgiveness. No second chance. Just ashes.

After my family goes bankrupt, my younger brother, Simone Novello, is diagnosed with ALS. Just as I think I can't do anything anymore, Don Luigi Sartori decides to propose to me. Five years into the marriage, not only have I obtained all of Luigi's love, but he's also groomed my body to the maximum in bed. Thinking that this is a sign of love from Luigi, I cooperate with him even more passionately in bed. But when I'm delivering wine in a clubhouse one day, I witness Simone, who's supposed to be wheelchair-ridden, chatting with Luigi with a smile while clad in a high-end suit. "Simone, you've been pretending to be afflicted with ASL for five years just to punish Caterina for scolding Maria back then. Now that Maria is in a good mood and plans to return to the country, shouldn't you stop punishing Caterina then?" Simone sneers at Luigi. "I'll have my doctor inform her that I will recover after some time." "ASL is a deadly and incurable disease, you know. How can you possibly recover from it? Will Caterina even believe that excuse?" Simone flashes Luigi a confident smile. "Caterina is stupid, remember? Since when doesn't she believe anything we spout? Anyway, we'll just make it up to her in the future." I lower my head, feeling my tears rolling down my cheeks quietly. The thing is, Simone, there's no more future for me. Your ASL is a lie, but the deadly disease plaguing me is real.

I am someone with a strong desire to share every little detail with my lover. The blush of dawn outside the safe house window, a slightly-too-bitter espresso, the new flower shop on the corner. Even if Carlo's shadow just flickered through my mind for a moment, I couldn't stop myself from hitting send. His replies were always brief, but they were instant. I used to think that was just how a cold man like him showed his love. That all changed seven days before the wedding, when I found an AI auto-responder on the burner phone he never let out of his sight. It broke down every sentence I sent, categorizing them and extracting keywords to generate the most perfectly dismissive answers. When I said I missed him, it replied, "Behave." When I said I was scared, it replied, "I'll handle it." When I wanted to argue, it replied, "Be sensible." So, for half a year, the one replying to my messages was never Carlo. Meanwhile, in another chat window, the messages between him and another woman were piled high. From simple good mornings to random midnight thoughts, From secret talks about family business to whether they should take the yacht out on the weekend. I finally understood. Carlo wasn't a cold person. It wasn't that he didn't like to share his life; he just didn't want to share it with me. And I finally decided to make a heartbroken exit from this absurd charade.

I could see the countdown above a person’s head when they had already decided to leave their partner. The day my father’s countdown hit zero, he slapped a lawyer’s letter on the breakfast table and walked out on my mother and me. The day my best friend’s countdown hit zero, she finally threw her parasite of a boyfriend out of her apartment and changed the locks before sunset. That was why I’d always been terrified of seeing a countdown above my fiancé, Lucian Bellandi. Luckily, for seven years by his side, the space above his head had stayed clean. Lucian was the youngest Don the Bellandi family had ever seen. He owned the docks, the casinos, and half the South Side’s dirty money, yet he saved every soft part of himself for me. Until last month, when he picked me up after a family auction. I looked up and saw blood-red numbers stabbing into my eyes. [702 days, 14 hours, 22 minutes.] Less than two years. My heart tightened like a cold hand had closed around it. I started searching for an answer like a woman losing her mind. Had I done something wrong? Then, during a blizzard by the lake, we ran into Mia Crane at the back entrance of the Bellandi Hotel. Lucian had just brought her into his charity foundation as a new assistant. Snow clung to her hair and lashes. She was shivering from head to toe, but her smile was bright and painfully innocent. Lucian pulled a black silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to her. His face was calm. There was nothing openly improper in the gesture. But in that exact second, the countdown above his head jumped. [327 days, 4 hours, 47 minutes.] More than three hundred days, gone. And I knew I had found the reason.

Marcello, the Don of the Valence family, has severe PTSD. He’s cold, and he pushes everyone away. But I can hear his thoughts. I know about the possessiveness hiding under that cold front. When he says, “Stay away from me, I don’t want to see you,” what he’s really thinking is: Lilian, don’t go. Don’t leave me. I really need you. Six years of marriage, and I’m used to him never meaning what he says. But tonight, at the family banquet, his assistant is on his arm again, instead of me. I ask Marcello, “She’s standing where the Don’s wife should be. You got nothing to say about that?” Impatience flashes across Marcello’s face. “You’re twenty minutes late, Lilian. You have no right to question me.” “Either go stand in a corner, or get the hell out of my estate. Now.” A second later, his thoughts crash into me: Lilian. Get mad. Slap her. Scream that you’re my wife. Prove you love me. I need to feel secure. But this time, seeing the smirks on everyone’s faces, I’m just… tired. I take off the diamond ring, the one that marks me as the Don’s wife. “Since there’s no place for me here, let’s get a divorce.” Perfect timing. The hospital is sending me to London for a placement. I leave tomorrow.

The private jet touched down in Solverno well past midnight. Behind me, an explosion rattled the terminal windows hard enough to make the glass shudder. Three days earlier, my husband, Damiano Salvato, had flown to Solverno to negotiate a deal. The city was now caught in crossfire, and his phone did not connect no matter how many times I tried. I dialed his Underboss, Enzo Conti, with shaking hands. The line rang for a long time before he picked up. His voice sounded strained. "Y-You're really in Solverno right now?" Another explosion hit, and the panic in my chest tightened another notch. "Where is Damiano? Which zone is he in?" The line went quiet for a moment before Enzo answered, almost reluctantly. "He never left Havenport." A second later, a photo flashed across my screen. Damiano was underwater with a woman, the two of them tangled together, laughing. I recognized her immediately. It was Valeria Caine. Three years ago, Damiano had stood before every Capo in the family and sworn he would never see that woman again. He had probably forgotten that today was our third wedding anniversary. "Signora Salvato, the truth is... they never stopped seeing each other. But the Don has treated you so well all these years that no one dared say a word." On the other end of the line, Enzo's voice trailed off into nothing. I looked down at the unsent message still sitting in the text box, the six words I had typed out for him. "I'm coming to bring you home." The cursor kept blinking. If that was how things stood, then there was no reason to keep waiting for him.

My husband was an elite mercenary. Three years ago, shortly after we got engaged, he accepted an S-Rank emergency mission. Before he left, he held me close and said, "This is my last mission. After this, I'm done being a mercenary. When I come back, we'll get married." I believed him. And I waited for more than a thousand days and nights. Three months ago, he finally came home. I thought my three years of waiting had finally come to an end. But just moments ago, I was on my way to tell him that I was pregnant with his child when I overheard his conversation with his lieutenant outside the study. "What about Vivian and Ethan? Ethan is already over two years old. He's your biological son. You can't hide this forever. If Miss Moretti ever finds out..." My husband shot his lieutenant a cold glare. "She'll never find out. The only child I'll ever acknowledge publicly is the one Isabella gives birth to. Tell Vivian to keep both herself and Ethan quiet." His lieutenant hesitated. "Aren't you afraid she'll leave you if she ever finds out the truth?" Adrian looked confident. "Isabella loves me too much. She won't leave." Ethan? His biological son? So while I had been waiting all those years for him to come back and marry me, he had already built another family. He even had a two-year-old son with another woman. I stumbled back to my bedroom and called my father. "Dad, I want to come back to the family."

After I was kidnapped by my Family’s enemies, I was left with severe PTSD. I couldn’t stand the noise of intense sound. On our wedding day, my husband, the Mafia Don Andre, swore before God that he would create a world of silence for me. For five years, he never wore any device that made a sound. He even ordered that no gunshots were to be heard anywhere in Sicily, losing several major deals because of it. Until my best friend Alice returned to Sicily and openly played rock music inside the estate. The terror of being kidnapped came rushing back. I crawled onto the floor, begging and apologizing over and over. Tears mixed with the blood running down my face as I kept hitting my head against the ground. Half an hour later, the music stopped. Alice held up her phone, laughing so hard she could barely stand. “Oh my God. She actually thought she was being kidnapped again.” Andre recorded my humiliation with a phone in his hand while laughing and comforting me. “Alice said this is exposure therapy. After a few more times, you won’t be afraid anymore.” My brother stared at me through the screen and scolded me from the other side. “Monica, look at yourself. How can you possibly be worthy of being a Donna?” My entire body was drenched in sweat. My hair was covered in blood, and I couldn’t even stand. I stared at the note in Andre’s hand, and realized. Last month, he was the one who replaced my noise-canceling headphones with headphones that played nothing but loud noises. Last week, he was the one who took me to that noisy bar. The silence he once built for me was now being destroyed by his own hands. Slowly, I pushed myself up from the floor. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I simply looked at him.I no longer wanted to remain in his world.