Tragic Love Mafia 단편 소설 & Hypocrisy Regret 소설

I died five years ago. Now my husband, the Don of our Mafia family, wants me to take the fall for his sister again—this time for accidentally killing a British noble's heir during an arms deal. He's holding a fake confession letter with my forged signature, storming into my old apartment in the rust district, only to find it empty. Frustrated, he grabs the corner store owner downstairs, demanding to know where I am. The owner pauses, wiping his hands on his apron, calmly tells him: "Serafine? She died five years ago." "Heard it was retaliation from a rival family during the gang war. They ambushed her in an alley... shot her over a dozen times. She died immediately." My husband, Lucien, refuses to believe it. Convinced the owner is on my payroll, hiding me to help me escape his reach. He scoffs, his eyes filled with scorn: "Oh, so what? Because I called her out for messing up that last job, now she's throwing a tantrum?" "You tell her, if she doesn't come back and take the fall in three days, I'll revoke her grandmother's 'special family protection'! Let the old woman rot!" With that, he storms out, his rage still simmering. The owner watches him leave and sighs, shaking his head. "There's no grandmother left to protect... That woman passed away not long after Serafine did... couldn't survive the winter without our family's medical supplies and protection..."

My mafia boyfriend, Silas Vale, didn’t recognize me when I dragged myself back to him after being tortured and shot by his rival gang. He was too busy holding Amy—his childhood sweetheart—in his arms. “Get this woman away from me,” he snapped at his guard. “Amy’s afraid of blood.” I’d lost so much blood I genuinely thought I might die that night. But luckily, a stranger passed by and rushed me to the hospital. When I finally recovered enough to walk, I went home—only to find Silas there, completely unconcerned about the fact that I had disappeared for almost a week. And Amy was there too. Her clothes were scattered across the floor. I didn’t confront Silas or say anything. I just pulled out my phone and called my brother. “You said you are moving to Italy? I’m coming with you.” If Silas couldn’t cherish me the way he was supposed to… then I’d vanish from his world for good this time.

I was the odd one out in the Chicago mob. Other men's women spent their time fighting for affection, clawing for power, watching out for the homewreckers. Not me. I spent mine cleaning up after my boyfriend, Don Vincent Maro. His political rivals — I squared away. His brother's messes — I handled overnight. The women he kept on the side — I dealt with personally. Last month it got worse. He asked me to go chase off a man who'd been hanging around Sofia, his new girl. Sofia pouted. "Elena really can do everything." Vincent said, "That's why I keep her around." Sofia asked, "Won't Elena be upset?" Vincent paused. "Her? She's used to it." Seven years. No title in the Maro family. No public acknowledgment. Just one function — fixing things. This time, I was tired. I slid the last stack of documents across to Vincent. He signed them one after another without looking up. When he was done, he asked: Anything else? I said: No. It's all handled. What he didn't know was that at the bottom of that stack was the document terminating every identity I held inside the Maro family. The moment his pen touched that page, I no longer belonged to the Maros. And I no longer belonged to him.

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.

For three years, I slept with my father’s head of security behind everyone’s back. Last night, with one hand at my throat and the other under my dress, he finally asked for a name, a future, something real. “After graduation,” I whispered against his mouth. “Let me finish my defense first. Then we’ll tell them.” “No.” By then I was shaking beneath him on the leather seat. “Then sooner. On my birthday next Friday. I’ll stop hiding then... Cassian, please—gentler...” That seemed to satisfy him. His mouth softened against my skin, and his voice dropped low against my ear. “Good girl. I just want you too much.” The next afternoon, I met my best friend for tea. The moment she opened the passenger door, she spotted the torn foil packet caught beside the seat and lifted a brow. “Bourbon cherry?” she said, already grinning. “That’s our company’s unreleased line. So this is what you’ve been hiding.” I snatched it up and shoved it into my bag. “It’s not public yet.” She frowned. “That’s the strange part. We only sent those samples to a handful of VIP clients.” Then she pulled out her phone. “I did a product follow-up with one of them yesterday, and his private account was basically a shrine to his girlfriend.” She turned the screen toward me. I only looked once, and my whole body went cold. The man in the photo had a line of Latin script inked low across his abdomen. I knew that tattoo. I had kissed it the night before. My fingers started shaking as I opened the private account Cassian had never shown me. April 4. The conservatory. Me and him. April 7. The upstairs studio. Me and him again. April 11—last night. A six-second clip in the back of the car.

Vivian was wheeled out of the delivery room for the third time after a massive hemorrhage. The baby was stillborn. The doctor told her that her womb had been damaged by too many pregnancies. She would never carry another child. Numb and hollowed out, Vivian dragged herself toward the morgue to see her baby one last time, and that was when she saw her husband Ethan standing in the corridor, talking quietly to one of his men. "Don, your wife's baby was a perfect marrow match again. One more extraction and Claire's son will be cured." Vivian froze mid-step, every nerve in her body going still. Then came Ethan's voice, light and almost amused, and it shattered something she didn't know was still whole. His man hesitated, something pained moving across his face,"If Claire's boy pulls through, then losing those three kids was worth it." "Don, if the Donna ever finds out what really happened to those babies…" A cold shudder ran through Vivian, and her eyes locked on Ethan. But the curve of his mouth turned sharp, almost cruel. "She won't. I'll make it up to her, get her pregnant again with a healthy one this time. She'll be too busy with the baby to go digging." "And if she does find out, then what?" "Her mother gave her life for mine. That debt has chained me to her for ten years, and I can barely breathe under it. But now there's someone I actually want to protect. She has no right to stand in the way." Something softened in Ethan's face then, something Vivian had never seen turned toward her. "Claire was my brother's wife, and I'll never forget that he died protecting this family. So protecting his widow and his blood are our family’s and my duty." "She's the only person who's ever made me feel like a husband. Like a father." "I have to take care of her."

At another Sunday dinner at the Bellandi estate, Luca Bellandi's assistant, Ava Marino, was sitting in my seat. It was the first chair to Luca's right at the long walnut table, the seat everyone in Chicago's underworld knew belonged to Mrs. Bellandi. Ava sat there as if she had been born into it, her pale wrist brushing Luca's sleeve while she poured his wine. I stood in the doorway and looked at him. "She's in my seat. You don't have anything to say?" Luca raised his eyes. "You were late. Don't blame someone else for sitting down first. There are empty chairs over there. Sit if you want. If not, get out." The dining room went dead quiet, and before I could answer, his thoughts slipped into my ears. [Vivi, don't go. Come sit beside me. Tell them it's your seat. Tell me you still want to be my wife.] [Please get mad. Please care. Say you need me, and I'll give you the whole world.] In the past, those soft, trembling thoughts would have been enough. I would've swallowed the insult and stayed beside him like a loyal dog that didn't know when to leave. This time, I didn't. I slipped the wedding ring off my finger and laid it on the table. "If the Bellandi family can't even keep a wife's seat for me, then I guess this family doesn't need a wife anymore. Luca, let's get divorced."

On my wedding day, my fiancé's first love walked in holding a little boy and named the groom as the child's father. My mother saw it, and her heart gave out. She died right there on the floor. The wedding collapsed and I went down with it, fainting in front of everyone. When I came to, my oldest friend, Lucian Graves, was sitting beside me. He held me tightly in his arms. He took care of all my mother’s funeral arrangements for me. When the reporters swarmed, he put himself between me and the cameras. He cleared my name over the wedding, and then he got down on one knee in front of everyone and asked me to marry him, swearing he would take care of me for the rest of my life. After marriage, we became the happiest couple in our circle. Then, on our first anniversary, I opened the chat history on his phone. "Don, thank God you set up that wedding disruption. My son and I are happy now." "You did get her mother killed, though. Don't blame yourself. She's the one who insisted on marrying a man who was never hers." The replies were from Lucian. "Nothing to blame myself for. It was just an accident." "As long as you're happy, there's nothing I won't do." The ground dropped out from under me, and the phone hit the floor.

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.

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."

Five years married to Marcello, and I find out he's no street punk. He's the Don. The head of New York's McCarthy family. While I was pinching every penny, he was dropping millions at auction, buying a fortune in diamonds for Camilla, his dead best friend's widow. He even took the baby I nearly died giving birth to. Gave him to Camilla. He stroked my hair, his voice soft and cruel. "Camilla and I, we grew up together. She was carrying Ethan's kid. If she knew her baby died... she couldn't take it." "We'll have other kids," he said. I said no. So he threatened my family. I gave in. But I made a promise to myself: I was leaving this man. I secretly signed the papers to be a combat medic. I ship out in seven days.

"Dominic, Julian, guess what I wished for?" A cheap, marked-down cake sat on the table. I closed my eyes and made a wish. When I opened them, the two chairs across from me were empty. That was when I remembered: my brothers didn't want me anymore. When I was ten, my brothers brought Leah Morgan home. She was the daughter of their late mentor, Professor Andrew Morgan, and they told me to treat her like a real sister. But little by little, Leah stole all their affection from me. I grew anxious, then competitive. I thought that if I were good enough, they might love me a little more. In the final round of a piano competition, Leah burst into tears after losing to me. Dominic comforted her. "In my heart, you play better than Heather ever could!" I ranked first in my school and won a scholarship, which cost Leah her place among the candidates. Julian went so far as to force the school to investigate whether I had cheated. At my eighteenth-birthday party, Leah fell from the second-floor balcony into the pool. She pointed at me. "Heather pushed me!" My brothers were furious. Without an ounce of mercy, they dumped me in the worst part of town. "We indulged you for too long, Heather. That's why you became so competitive. Now it's time you learned to rein in your jealousy." They even sent local thugs to my door to harass me and steal what little money I managed to earn. They thought I would learn my lesson. What they didn't know was that I had received an email offering me a full scholarship to the University of Zurich. I was about to leave for Switzerland, and I was never coming back.

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."

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.

I was alone at Maria Hospital for a prenatal checkup when someone added me to a group chat I didn't recognize. Everyone in it was family or a close friend. My foster sister, Linda, had posted a video with the caption, "Enzo is such a great new dad!" In the video, my husband, Enzo, held a newborn and gently played with the baby's tiny hand. The baby's hospital wristband said Maria Hospital. Everyone in the chat was celebrating the birth. No one noticed I was there. My brother Luke wrote, "Congratulations! This family is finally complete." I said nothing. I saved the video. The moment it finished saving, a notification popped up. Linda had removed me from the group. I steadied myself and called Enzo on his private line. "Enzo, where are you?" "Baby, I'm at the airport in Los Angeles. I'm flying back to you soon. "The doctor told me yesterday that you have mild gestational diabetes. I had a nutritionist put together some meals for you. Make sure you eat them." I stood outside Linda's room, staring through my tears at Enzo's back. "Is that so? Do airports have hospital rooms now?"

After we made love, Damon pulled me into his arms and opened WhatsApp. A message from Serena popped up, along with a revealing mirror selfie. "Damon, we had a deal. Once she's slept with you, you're in my bed for the next month." I turned my head, stunned. He kissed my cheek absentmindedly. "Serena and I bet on whether you'd sleep with me today. Looks like I lost. "Let's take some time apart. In a month, I promise you a grand wedding." I looked at him, keeping my face calm despite the cruel joke. On the day I moved out, Damon blocked the villa's front door, frowning. "Layla, it's just a bet between Serena and me. Don't throw a tantrum." I didn't answer. I picked up my suitcase and left without looking back. A month later, he proposed, just as he'd promised. I held up the wedding ring I'd just put on. "Sorry. I don't take back trash."

My parents came all the way from a small town in Texas to New York just to talk about our wedding plans. But my fiancé—the Rossi family's Don—was late. My mom smiled, trying to comfort me. "Traffic's probably just bad. It's okay, your dad and I can wait a bit longer." That "wait" lasted three hours. I called him a fifth time before he finally picked up. Marcello didn't even sound apologetic. "Someone broke into Valerie's apartment. She's terrified and won't stop crying. I have to stay and calm her down." I went quiet. This wasn't the first time. Valerie always found some excuse to drag Marcello away from me, and Marcello always gave me the same line: "She's like a little sister to me. Stop making a big deal out of nothing." Because I was just a civilian with a normal background, our marriage had been mocked and questioned by his world from day one. I used to tell myself I could tough it out, all because I loved him. But now, my mom looked at me with pure worry. "Cora, do you really have to marry him?" "I just feel like... with his attitude, and who he is... if he ever hurts you, we won't be able to protect you at all." My dad let out a heavy sigh. My nails dug hard into my palms. Mom was right. I stood up abruptly. "The wedding is off. Let's go."

To the Moretti family, I'm nothing more than the Don's trophy wife of five years. Five years into our marriage, I found a used condom in his study. We were trying for a baby, so we never kept condoms in the house. I was still staring at it when Alessandro Moretti walked up behind me. "Olivia, Daisy is back in the country. We slept together last night." Daisy Ward was his first love. On her first night back, Alessandro had brought her straight into our home. He picked up the condom and tossed it back into the trash. "I promised Daisy I'd marry her in three days." I turned to him in shock. "So you want a divorce?" He answered without hesitation, "Olivia, I'm not leaving you. I just want to make up for the one regret I've carried all these years." Before he could mention divorce, I beat him to it. "I understand. I'll move out tomorrow. We should start the divorce process too." Alessandro froze. He clearly hadn't expected me to take it so calmly. "Don't worry. I won't shortchange you after the divorce. You'll get fifty million dollars and all my shares in the Sicily Group." I smiled and nodded. That night, I sent a message to my hacker friend, Nina. "Once the assets clear, get me a new identity." Alessandro, I gave you five years of my life, but I was never the woman you chose first.

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.

In New York’s underworld, my name topped every do-not-cross list. My husband, Don Dante Russo, ruled the most powerful Mafia family on the East Coast. My father ruled the second. Once, they wiped out an entire family overnight for threatening me. But when I was six months pregnant, I received a video. It showed a family portrait session. My pregnant half sister, Bianca, stood beside my husband Dante while he carefully supported her waist. My father stood with them, smiling at the camera. A message from Bianca followed. My mother took your father. Now I’ve taken your husband. I didn’t cry or make a scene. I walked out of the clinic and made one call. “In seven days, I need a new identity and a flight no one can trace.” My father and husband had both betrayed me. I wanted nothing to do with a love so tainted by lies. But after I left, regret drove them both mad.