Contos de Mafia sobre Feel-Good Story e Romances com Hypocrisy e Face Slapping

Everyone in Chicago said the same thing: Leonardo Rizzo, the cold, ruthless Don of the Rizzo family, had vanished. It had started a month earlier, when Esme Vale, the most famous fortune teller in the city, told us our marriage was like the moon. "When your marriage shines brightest, a stranger will enter your lives, and it will go dark for good, like the moon swallowed by an eclipse." After that, Leonardo stopped directing the family's gang wars. He stopped going down to the docks to oversee the shipments. He never left the house anymore. He never left my side. He cooked every one of my meals himself and picked out everything I wore. His fear of losing me had become an obsession. All that nervous energy made me laugh. "Leonardo, look at you. Who could possibly come between us?" But Leonardo looked down and pulled me into his arms. "Julia, forgive me for being paranoid. I went back to see that fortune teller. "She drew a card that meant rebirth. She said that if I ever betrayed you, you'd cut all ties, take a new name, and disappear. "And then I'd never find you again..." He looked so lost that, for a second, I didn't know what to think. But it passed. I laughed and put my arms around him, and after that I made a point of clinging to him even harder than he clung to me. Not long after, I got pregnant. When the pregnancy test results came back, Leonardo swept me up and spun me around and around, overjoyed. I thought we could finally put that terrible prophecy behind us. Until the next day, when I nearly lost the baby and was rushed to the ICU.

My online boyfriend, Adrian Ferro, lost a bet at a private casino. And what he'd put up to cover it was me. He added me to a group chat with 100 heirs from New York's biggest mafia families. The group announcement was impossible to miss. "Luca De Santis has won a mystery girlfriend. Weight: 200 pounds." Right after that, someone posted a photo of me from high school, squeezed into a formal gown. In the photo, I was practically bursting out of it. The group chat blew up. "Adrian, did you just give Luca a sow?" "At the charity gala tomorrow night, Luca has to do the couples' challenges with her." Another betting pool opened almost immediately: would I dare show up at the gala? Adrian bet a hundred thousand dollars that I wouldn't show up. He even tagged Luca and wrote, "She's all yours now. How do you like her?" Luca, who'd won the bet, never said a word. Then Vivian Bellini, the reigning beauty of the Bellini family, tagged me. "Tomorrow night is such a big deal. You'll be there, won't you?" I stared at the screen and scoffed. In their eyes, I was still that 200-pound fat girl. But they had no idea I was down to 100 pounds now. Lately, I'd lost count of how many strangers had hit on me on the streets of New York. I didn't bother explaining. I just bet a hundred thousand dollars that I'd show up. Then I typed, "A bet's a bet."

The day I inherited Grandpa's "Peacemaker," I received a call from myself, ten years in the future. "Sienna, don't give that gun to Lorenzo." I obeyed without question. That night, forced to use his faulty Glock, Lorenzo was beaten into a vegetative state during a duel. Guilt nearly broke me, but my parents nursed me back to health. Or so I thought. "You idiot," my future self sneered. "It was a lie to get you on the operating table. They want your heart for your brother!" Finding a transplant agreement in my father's study, I publicly severed ties with the Morettis. Only later, after Lorenzo died from rejection, did I learn they just needed my rare blood, not my heart. I wanted to return and atone, but the phone rang again. "Your parents will kill you for honor. Don't go back." I waited. But instead of assassins, news arrived: the Morettis had been slaughtered by rivals. I bolted for home, only to be mowed down by a black sedan. As I died, I couldn't understand why my future self had orchestrated my end. Then I opened my eyes. I was back at the ceremony.

The night before Christmas Eve, my boyfriend of three years invited me to go home with him for dinner. We barely made it to New York. I didn't even get to see the Christmas tree before he drugged me. "Simona, if I can't come up with collateral, they're going to cut out my kidney. I've got nowhere left to turn. You're all I've got." "Don't worry, I really do love you. Once we get through this, we'll get married. I won't hold any of this against you." "Just this once. I promise, babe." Half-conscious, I was taken to a place I knew very well. Mafia territory. First of all, unless I was badly mistaken, this was my uncle's estate. The Arna compound. Second, my uncle had a deep, almost obsessive attachment to his older sister. Other than my mother, no woman had ever held his attention. Third, years ago, my father made the mistake of calling my mother a nuisance when she wanted grapes during her first month of pregnancy. My uncle had him deported before the week was out. And now someone wanted to hand me over. Me. His sister's only living blood. Hard to say whether they'd die standing up or lying down. Tough call.

Donna Sofia Marino's birthday is held on Valentine's Day. When Francesco Rossi, the Underboss of the Costa family, announces the news on behalf of Don Enzo Costa, everyone in the family is very happy. Well, everyone but me. As expected, Francesco is quick to add, "Someone needs to guard the headquarters. Camilla, you'll be the one in charge of this task." "What the Underboss means is that you don't really carry out any missions in your daily life. Besides, you have tons of spare time anyway. This time, you are to guard the headquarters so that you can deal with any emergencies that might arise." I just smirk sarcastically. The truth is, I'm always the one dealing with the most dangerous matters concerning the Costa family. The transactions of the firearms worth hundreds of millions of dollars are successfully carried out thanks to the plan I've spent countless sleepless nights perfecting. When a crossfire breaks out, I'm always on the frontlines, fighting for the family's glory despite getting injured. While I'm given the title as the executive director, I'm never given any actual power. In truth, my standing is lower than that of a soldato. I'm always the one carrying out the hardest, the most menial, not to mention the most dangerous tasks. But every time credit is given, it's never given to me. I've been enduring this injustice for five long years. This time, I no longer want to keep enduring anymore. With a smile on my face, I stand up from my seat. "Alright then, Underboss Rossi. I shall guard the headquarters. But this will be the last time I ever do this. After this task is completed, I will officially leave the Costa family once and for all."

Drugged by my fiancé and my best friend. Dragged into the penthouse of New York’s most ruthless Mafia Don. But instead of panicking, my tight nerves finally let go. I'm finally home. My fiancé thought the drugs fried my brain. He grabbed my jaw roughly. "Listen up, bitch. Our gang's port smuggling route depends entirely on tonight!" "Word is Cassian's been looking for a woman with a specific butterfly birthmark. The one on your collarbone should fool him." "Serve him like the slut you are. Make him happy. Once the deal is done, I'll even toss you a few stacks of cash." My best friend stroked her red lips and giggled. "Yeah! Getting into the Don's bed is a blessing. Don't act like a prude. Once we get the smuggling route, you'll be our hero. Maybe I'll even let you serve drinks at our wedding." The drugs boiled in my blood. They shoved me roughly through the heavy doors. No one noticed the mocking smirk on my face as I leaned against the sofa. I knew exactly whose territory this was. The unpredictable, violent Mafia tyrant they were talking about? The one who treated women like toys? He's my blood brother. Today, out of pure greed, they hand-delivered me straight into his territory. Tomorrow, they’ll learn that staying alive can be far worse than going to hell.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my husband—Don Enzo Cavina—suddenly put a motion before the family council: The Donna would be barred from taking part in family affairs. “One vote in favor.” “Two.” “Three.” The motion passed unanimously. Being forced off the council just as I completed seven years meant the family no longer had to honor its promise to grant me the twenty-percent stake that was about to vest. I had been reduced to nothing more than an appendage to the Don. My fingertips turned cold, but my gaze remained steady as it swept over every face around the long table. “Why?” Jack was the first to stand. “You’re nothing but an outsider who married into this family, yet you’ve controlled the port, the banks, and the union for seven years. Who knows how much you’ve skimmed for yourself?” James sneered. “If we let you take twenty percent, sooner or later, the Cavina family will become the Medici family.” I turned to my husband, Don Enzo, seated at the head of the table. “Is that really what you think?” Enzo came to me and pulled me into his arms. “You’ve given seven years of your life to this family. I just can’t bear to watch the council drain you any longer.” “You won’t have to sit through these pointless meetings anymore. But you will always be my wife.” Without a seat on the council, I had no say in any decision. But the Cavinas couldn’t manage their dealings with the Five Families without me. So that was it. They still expected me to bear every risk—they just didn’t want to give me the share I had earned. I smiled, slipped off my wedding ring and family badge, and slapped them both onto the long table. Three days later, Enzo came to me with every elder who had voted for the motion. Together, they knelt before me, begging the “outsider who did nothing but steal everyone else’s credit” to come back and save them.

I sold my brand-new 300,000-dollar Bentley for cheap at a price of 30,000. Everyone thought I had gone crazy, but no one knew I had been reborn. In my last life, my mafia boyfriend, Clay Colton's childhood friend, Wendy Jeffords, was heavily pregnant when she experienced pain during the family's gathering. She grabbed my hand as tears streamed down her face. "Ciara, I'm begging you. I'm going into labor. Please take me to the hospital." I was in a panic, and I quickly drove her to the hospital in my new car. However, the baby suffocated from its umbilical cord wrapped around its neck, and the doctor was unable to save it despite doing his best. After Wendy was discharged, she came crying at my company's door while holding up a sign that read, 'Ciara Snow is a murderer! She killed my baby when she drove dangerously!' She told everyone she met that the ride in my car had been too bumpy, and it caused the umbilical cord to strangle her baby. Someone posted a clip of her online, and it trended right away. My pictures, house address, and phone number were revealed on the internet, and many strangers started cursing at me on my social media. I was fired by my company, and people started throwing rubbish at my door. My parents were too afraid of leaving the house due to harassment. My boyfriend, Clay, did not speak up for me when he was interviewed by the media and instead said, "Ciara loved showing off her new luxury car, and she only has herself to blame for everything that has happened." In the end, I jumped off a building. However, when I opened my eyes, I had returned to the day of the family gathering. Wendy was hugging her belly and looking pale as she approached me. "Ciara, I think I'm in labor. Please drive me to the hospital!"

The day a rat sold out our East Coast safe houses, the FBI got its hands on the addresses of every old base belonging to the Five Families. The Commission gave the order: every associate had to report to the neutral church and register within seventy-two hours. Only those who completed registration would make the evacuation list and be picked up by the convoys. Once the list was sealed, no one could be added. But Viola Romano claimed she was the daughter of the Commission's Chairman. She said her father had already saved a spot for everyone. They didn't need to register, and they could still leave on the priority convoy. My friends believed her and canceled their registrations, one after another. I begged them not to gamble with their lives and told them to register just in case. Viola immediately accused me of being jealous and trying to ruin things for everyone. My boyfriend, Matteo Russo, said I didn't understand power and that I belonged in line with the ordinary members. In my last life, I reported the whole thing to the Commission. Viola was exposed. Everyone managed to register before the deadline and secure a spot on the evacuation list. She was cast out of the Family for impersonating the Chairman's daughter and obstructing an emergency evacuation. In the end, she died in an FBI raid. Everyone said she got what she deserved. They thanked me for saving them. But after we moved into the new safe house, Matteo shot me from behind. The bullet went straight through my heart. The people I'd saved just stood there, watching coldly. "The worst that could've happened to us was getting arrested by the FBI. Viola lost her life!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Viola promised to get everyone onto the evacuation list.

Dad had 22 sons before he finally got me, a daughter at last. He was so thrilled that he replaced our century-old crest of two lions with a lily. I grew up surrounded by doting older brothers. But not one of them had a clue about girls. So when my brother Anthony Gambino brought Elena Bellini home from Milan, I was delighted. When we first met, she stroked my hair and promised to have afternoon tea with me every day. Anthony said she was the love of his life. When Dad saw how much I liked her, he approved the marriage on the spot. But the day after the wedding, she cornered me in the glass greenhouse at the back of the estate. "You stupid little girl. Did you really think I came here to be your playmate? "My husband controls shipping operations at every port in North America. One day, he'll have the final say in this family. "In two weeks, I'll have him send you to Mexico to marry a drug lord. "The only girl the Gambino family treasures will be my daughter." I stared at her smug smile, stunned. Does she really think Anthony got control of our shipping operations all by himself? Years ago, Dad had asked me which brother I liked best. I'd pointed to Anthony without giving it much thought. Dad had put him in charge of the organization's books right then and there. If his wife wanted to make my life miserable, I'd just have Dad pick a different heir.

I was the only granddaughter of Don Elias Colin. From the day I was born, I was the Colin family's sole heir. But I'd loved art since I was little. I had no interest in the arms trade or drug deals. My grandfather had no choice but to ask my cousin Ron to run the family business for me. Every year on January first, I personally renewed his appointment as underboss with the family seal. For ten years, I shut myself away in my studio and painted. I never once looked at the books. I just stamped whatever he brought me without a second thought. Eventually, everyone thought the family seal was just a toy to keep me happy. Then Ron said he wanted to marry Morwen Locke. The Locke family opposed the match until I sent them a complete set of one-of-a-kind jewels. I was happy for Ron. As wedding gifts, I gave the couple jewelry and assets worth tens of millions, and on top of that, I gave Morwen ten properties around the world. The day after the wedding, she sold every one of them. She also froze my bank card. Then she threw a file at me. "Here are all the bills you've run up over the years. Ninety million euros in total. "Write me an IOU. "You'll leave the Colin family sooner or later. You can't expect your cousin to support you forever." I looked at the IOU and gave a cold laugh. Seriously? She doesn't actually think the Colin family belongs to Ron just because he's run things for me for ten years, does she? His position as underboss existed only because I renewed it with the family seal, one year at a time. What a coincidence. January first was just around the corner. This year, I didn't feel like stamping it for him.

I am the sole heir of the Corsini family, the biggest mafia family in North America. The first Don left behind one ironclad rule: blood comes before everything. But ever since I was a kid, I've fainted at the sight of blood. Even the smell of gun oil makes me sick. So my father chose Arthur Cole, who had once saved my life, to sit at the negotiating table for me. He'd serve as acting Don, one year at a time. Every Christmas Eve, I had to press my signet ring into the wax before he could run the family for another year. In those ten years, I never once interfered in family business. Everyone thought the annual seal was just a formality. Then Arthur fell for Vivian Miller, a senator's daughter. But her family looked down on him for coming from the mob. So I signed over our most profitable shipping company to Vivian as a gift. Only then did the senator give his blessing. Before the wedding, Vivian sweetly told me we'd be real family from then on. But not long after the wedding, she threw an agreement at me. She wanted to marry me off to a Mexican drug lord. "Marrying General Juárez is the only way you can be of any use to this family." I looked at the agreement and laughed. They'd forgotten who really ran this place. Christmas Eve was five days away. This year, I was planning to pick a new Don.

On our seventh anniversary, Don Leonardo Luciano gave me an eight-carat pigeon's-blood ruby ring. He told me it was a family heirloom, passed from one Donna to the next. "Camilla, I can't give you a wedding yet, but in my heart, you're already my wife." My eyes filled with tears as I slipped it onto my finger. Then I asked my best friend, Nora Bennett, to examine it after her shift at the auction house. She held it under a lamp and slowly turned the stone. A ring of crimson light appeared inside it. "This isn't a natural ruby." "How is that possible? Leonardo gave it to me. It's a family heirloom." Nora frowned. "Really? I heard every piece of Luciano family jewelry bears a gold lion crest. Does yours have one?" I took off the ring and checked. Nothing. Just then, a new story from Victoria Moretti popped up on my feed. She was the daughter of another powerful mafia family. The photo showed her aboard Leonardo's private yacht. And on her finger was a ring identical to mine. A man stood beside her, his face hidden from view. But I recognized the watch on his wrist. I'd given it to Leonardo. Then I saw the caption. "After all this time, you finally put the family ring on my finger."

My father started out hauling cargo on the docks. By the end, he'd carved out seven city blocks, three harbor warehouses, and two casinos along the East Coast. I was six when he died. His will was a single line: “The family belongs to Luca. Let them choose who runs it.” The Family Council appointed Isabella Conti, my father's most trusted lieutenant, to run the family in my place. Isabella was good at it. She pulled the Vitale name back from the edge of ruin and made it the most respectable crime family on the East Coast. And me? I only came back to the estate for two weeks each summer, to soak up the sun, drink red wine, and do absolutely nothing. Then Isabella married an outsider named Riccardo Falco. On their wedding day, he cut off my access to the estate. “We're turning this place into a reception hall. Find yourself somewhere else to live.” After that, he set up a holding company in my name, with Isabella running it. Last night, in front of everyone, he had the nerve to say, “Luca, you're not a kid anymore. Time to learn to stand on your own two feet.” “Your distributions are over. From now on, you get three thousand dollars a month.” “Learn to manage your money. Stop wasting it.” Isabella raised her glass and nodded. “Riccardo's only looking out for you.” I looked at them and almost laughed. Three million dollars a month in payouts, slashed to three thousand? All thirty-seven of the family's businesses ultimately belonged to me.

As the Donna of the Moretti Family, I paid out of my own pocket to build a high-security school for the children of our fallen members. But the widows repaid me by dragging my name through the media. Worse, they leaked the locations of three safe houses, dealing the Family a devastating blow. They claimed the school was never a benefit at all, but a “hostage camp” where I kept their children to force them to remain loyal to the Family. While Don Lorenzo Moretti was away, they even filed an impeachment motion with the Family Council, demanding that I shut down the school and hand its operating funds directly to them. Fine. I signed the closure order that very day. But the moment the notice went out, the widows swarmed the estate gates, crying and begging me to reopen the school. Only then did they understand— What waited for their children beyond the school gates was never freedom. It was a rival Family’s hit list.

I have a secret. When I was a child, I became very sick. When I finally woke up, I realized I could see the true colors hidden in people's hearts. Candy pink meant tenderness. Magenta meant desire. Pale gold meant longing for something you could never have. Slate blue meant lies. Dark brown meant hurt and resentment. At our engagement party, when my fiancé, Luca Vitali, kissed me, I saw the room fill with soft candy pink. But a second later, a wave of vivid magenta rushed in and swallowed the pink completely. I looked up in shock. His arms were around me, but his eyes were fixed on someone at the far end of the banquet hall. It was his childhood sweetheart, Charlotte. I thought it was just my imagination, until he pulled Charlotte into a dressing room. He kissed the side of Charlotte's neck. "After the wedding, I'll send Nicole overseas. You know I'm only marrying her because I promised my father. Please, Charlotte. You're the only one I want to be with." After five years of loving him, I finally realized I had been nothing more than a stepping stone to him. I turned around, canceled the wedding, and vanished into the rainy night. From that moment on, I would be someone they could never hope to reach.

When Damian was eighteen, he could barely afford a decent dinner. Still, he spent half his first commission on the cheapest silver ring in the store for me. He slid it onto my finger, his expression stern. "Wear this for now. When I have a real name, I'll get you a better one." I laughed at how cheap it was, then hid my hand behind my back and refused to give it back. Later, he did get a name. He was the Moretti family's long-lost heir, the man destined to lead its vast empire. But I never got that better ring. Five years ago, on the night a gang war broke out, I dragged a badly wounded Damian out of the fire. I never made it out myself. When he woke, huge pieces of his memory of me were gone. Cecilia Russo sat beside his hospital bed and told him I had despised him for being poor, betrayed him, and even sold the location of our old safe house to the enemy. She also told him she was the one who had saved him. Five years later, my ghost appeared in the final family trial he had to face. By then, another wedding ring sat on his hand. Cecilia was his wife. When his memories returned, he lost his mind.

It was Thanksgiving. Bianca, the former high school queen bee, was getting married. She sent an e-invite to our private school group chat, tagging everyone. I was going to ignore it. Then, she @’d me directly: "Alessia, I know you faked your wealthy background in high school to show off. But I'm the bigger person. I'll let you come tomorrow. See what a real mafia wedding looks like." Her minions quickly chimed in. "You're too generous, Bianca! No wonder you're marrying into the inner circle of the Castiglione family. You even forgave a vain fake like Alessia!" "Alessia? At a mansion wedding? She'll just humiliate herself if she shows up." The chat was filled with trash talk, but Bianca played the saint. "Let it go, guys. It's in the past. She has nothing anyway. Let's not be hard on her." Right on cue, everyone praised her noble heart. I lay in my husband's massive, cold bed. My fingertips traced the family crest on the silk sheets. His crest. The most feared mafia Godfather in North America. I let out a cold laugh. Back then, she stole my Vitali family name. She turned me, a real mafia princess, into a pathetic wannabe. She made me a target for bullying and humiliation. I opened the e-invite. My eyes narrowed. The venue was my family's estate in the Hamptons. And the groom in the photo looked awfully familiar. Short hair, hooked nose, a scar on his chin. Wasn't that Nico? My husband Rocco's driver? A slow smirk touched my lips. A bloodthirsty glint flashed in my eyes. I grabbed the burner phone Rocco left on the pillow. I texted his private number: "Your lapdog is acting up on my turf." Then I replied in the group chat: "Sure. I'll be there."