Historias cortas de Tragic Love Mafia y novelas con Independence ambientadas en Countdown

At the underground black market auction in New York, Lorenzo Moretti won a rare red diamond with a bid so high it made jaws drop. The entire Commission was waiting for the other shoe to drop—waiting to see me become a joke. Because in the Moretti family, every time Lorenzo gives away a diamond, it represents another one of his betrayals. White diamonds are hush money to cover up tabloid scandals. Blue diamonds mean he had a "slip-up" at some wild party. Pink diamonds mean I caught him in his private apartment, rolling in the sheets with another woman with my own eyes. But this time was different. It was a rare red diamond. Everyone guessed the Don was preparing to divorce me. Instead, Lorenzo publicly declared his love. He said this red diamond represented a "Blood Oath"—a symbol of his true heart and loyalty to me. He said that from now on, he would return to the family and pledge his allegiance only to me. Everyone congratulated me on finally taming the Sicilian Wolf. I, however, left the signed divorce papers in the safe, and all alone, I left him forever.

Everyone in New Volka's underground world knows that the young Don Lorenzo Corsi is a cold-blooded lunatic. He only shows his gentle side to me. Seven years ago, Lorenzo saves me from an underground casino that belongs to the Corsi family. He also pays off my sickly Padre's astronomical medical bill on my behalf. He slips the family heirloom diamond ring that identifies me as the Donna of the family on my finger. When the heads of the family oppose his decision, he declares that he will only accept me as his wife in his lifetime. I once believed I was the only one he favored, but everything changed when his childhood friend, Viviana Rossi, returned to New Volka and became the family's new Consigliere. Lorenzo silently allows her to sit next to the main seat during family banquets—the spot that used to exclusively belong to me. "The Rossi family took a heavy blow for my sake in the past, Clara," he says. "I have to compensate her. However, my heart and the position of 'Mrs. Corsi' will forever belong to you." I believe Lorenzo's words, giving in time and time again as I remain by his side through seven bloody and turbulent years. On our seventh wedding anniversary, a rival family bombs our estate in the suburbs. Lorenzo rushes into the collapsing banquet hall and picks Viviana up. Although I'm three months pregnant, he says, "You're the strongest, Clara. Just hold on for three minutes. I'll come back for you once I send her to the bulletproof car." Three minutes pass, but Lorenzo still hasn't come back. The baby is gone when I regain consciousness. I also lose the ability to become a mother for the rest of my days. I calmly withdrew my hand and looked at Lorenzo, who had sunk to one knee beside the bed, overcome with remorse. Seven years ago, he saved Papa's life on my behalf. I've already paid off my debt to him with the seven years I spent with him and my child's life. I will leave his empire completely and live the rest of my life without him.

Ever since my husband, the mafia capo Rocco Marchetti, poured all his attention and the family's resources into his brother's widow, the woman whose husband took a bullet for him. I found our daughter Tessy's diary, where she had started writing, "My Papa is gone." A nun from her private Catholic school called, asking about his passing. I paused for a moment. "Yes," I replied. "He passed away a long time ago." On Father's Day, the school organized a trip to the church to light prayer candles. While other children wrote cards praying for their fathers' safety, Tessy neatly wrote just two words on hers: "To Heaven." During the parent-teacher open house, the nuns displayed the children's decorated diaries on their desks. The theme for their entries was My Father. My Papa died in a shootout in the next neighborhood over. A lady there wouldn't stop crying, and then Papa never came home. After every entry like this, she would clutch the crucifix on her necklace, her small hand gripping it so tightly her palm grew slick with sweat. Eventually, Rocco sensed the growing chill at home. He dropped everything and rushed back to the estate with a bouquet of expensive red roses, hoping to celebrate his daughter's birthday with her. The door opened. On the coffee table lay Tessy's new diary, its title scrawled in a childish hand: If Papa Were Still Alive.

Five years ago, I threw myself in front of a bullet meant for my husband and lost my hearing in the process. Nico Marchetti learned sign language, held my hand through every doctor's appointment and swore he would protect me for the rest of his life. On the night I discovered his betrayal, he sat across from me at a dinner table surrounded by his capos and smiled, "Giulia is the only woman I love. But I hide it well because if she ever found out about Valentina, she'd leave me."  Then he carved his steak and placed it on my plate like a devoted husband. What he didn't know was that I had regained my hearing exactly seven days earlier. I had already contacted the Benedetti family. I had already arranged my escape to Sicily. All I had to do was wait seven more days. Then I disappeared from Nico Marchetti's life forever.

I grew up alongside the Don of the Vitale family. I took a bullet for him and lost the son I was carrying. I helped move the family’s operations from Sicily to Milan and built the Vitale name into one no one dared look down on. The day Matteo took over as Don, he kissed me in front of everyone and declared that I would be his one and only Donna for the rest of his life. For six years, there had never been another woman by his side. Everyone said Matteo loved me more than anything. Every summer, he returned to Sicily for a family gathering. I asked to go with him three times, and each time something happened that kept me in Milan. This year, on the eve of his birthday, I secretly flew to Sicily alone. I wanted to surprise him. In the familiar courtyard of the old estate, Matteo was sitting beneath an orange tree with a little boy in his arms. The boy called him “Papà.” A woman in a long dress walked toward them carrying a freshly baked tart. “You come back every year for your birthday just to be with us. Aren’t you afraid she’ll find out?” Matteo smiled at her. “No. The family needs her.” “She’s the Donna of the Vitale family. She knows she has to put the family first. You’re the one waiting for me at home.” Standing outside the courtyard gate, I suddenly understood. Matteo had left me to run the family. He had given her a home with him. And I no longer wanted to put his family first. So I booked a one-way ticket to Albania for seven days later.

As the Principessa of the Falcone family, I craved danger and absolute freedom. But on my ninety-ninth attempt to escape my arranged marriage, Vito Moretti finally caught me. My dangerously handsome betrothed cornered me at an underground racetrack. "No one walks away from me, Liliana," he smirked from his modified Mustang. "You're the first." With my weakness for dangerous men, I made a life or death wager. "Beat me on the track, and I'll marry you. Lose, and you get out of my life." Our engines roared as we tore along the cliffside road, its curves dangerously free of guardrails. Nearing the finish line, I took a turn too fast and hurtled toward the edge. But just inches from victory, Vito jerked his wheel. He slammed his car into mine, knocking me to safety as his own plunged into the icy bay below. I scrambled down the cliff, terrified, and dragged his bleeding body from the water. "I lost," he gasped, life fading from his eyes. "You're free." My heart shattered into a million dazzling pieces as tears streamed down my face. Startled by my reaction, Vito swore softly. "Don't cry. I'll tell our fathers the broken engagement was my choice. No one will dare lay a finger on you." I sobbed and pressed my lips to his. "To hell with the bet, Vito Moretti. I'm marrying you!"

After the car lost control on the highway, the passengers around me were all panicking, calling their loved ones to say what they thought might be their final goodbyes. The airbags had gone off. Glass covered the seats. My hands were shaking as I pulled my burning-hot phone from my pocket. Only after a long while did I finally call Vito Moretti. When he rejected my call, I sent him a text instead. 【I probably won’t make it out of this one. Vito, what a shame that we won’t get to grow old together.】 As I stared at the chaos outside the car window, I was strangely calm. The driver managed to avert disaster, and after I escaped the accident unharmed, I saw that Vito had posted my text on his social media. A group of his Mafia brothers flooded the comments, calling me dramatic and accusing me of seeking attention. I calmly liked his post and uploaded one of my own. “After narrowly escaping death, maybe my luck is finally about to change.” His brothers immediately swarmed the comments under my post, mocking me one after another. “Oh, weren’t you almost dead? Looks like you’ve got quite the life in you.” “Serafina, did you know Vito was with Mia tonight and deliberately choose this moment to cause a scene? Who exactly are you trying to disgust?” “Why couldn’t you be the one having the anxiety attack?! A woman who stays by the Don’s side and still gets jealous of a young girl. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

Ten days after giving birth, I told my husband, Ethan Reed, that something was wrong with me. He turned his phone face-down on the coffee table and looked at me for a full three seconds. "Sophia, you just had a baby. It's normal to feel tired." Then he flipped the phone back over and went on texting his office nurse, Serena Blake. That was the last time I brought it up. Everything that happened after that, I assumed was my own fault. That changed when I reached into his coat pocket and felt a collar I'd never seen before. Real leather, brand new, with a round metal tag hanging from it. It wasn't my size.

My husband, Vincent Moretti, had a nightmare. In the dream, he'd had a one-night stand at a hotel with a young woman who had a tragic past and no family. When I found out he'd cheated, I tricked him into signing divorce papers and faked my death to escape. Then I vanished from his life for good. After that dream, the Don whose word had once been law in New York became a different man. Every time he went out, he sent me three location updates. Even a warehouse inspection meant getting on a video call with me to prove there were no women around. I laughed and told him he was overreacting. Then, at our third-anniversary dinner, I went into shock after eating the dessert a server had brought me. When I opened my eyes, Lia Romano, the nun Vincent had once rescued, was standing beside my hospital bed. "I'm sorry, Eve. I didn't mean to..." Everyone there thought she was finished. A maid had once left a jar of hazelnut spread on the dining table. The next day, he'd had her thrown into the sea to feed the sharks. This time, he only frowned. "Eve, she didn't mean any harm." "I almost died from that allergy! Vincent! Get her out of my sight!" He was quiet for a long time. Finally, he nodded. That night, I got a text from an unknown number. "Tonight. The Queen's Hotel." "Sweetheart, will you join me for the fireworks? Let me make it up to you." My friends teased me, saying he spoiled me like a princess. I forgot all about that ridiculous dream. Until I opened the hotel room door and saw something I couldn't believe. Lia, who was supposed to have been driven out of New York, was kissing my husband. And he was kissing her back.

In the seventh year of our marriage, Rhett once again gave something of mine to Lauren without asking my permission. By the time I found out, she was already wearing the brooch my mother had left me at a family gala. I went straight to the study. "Why did you take my things?" Rhett glanced up at me, then rose from his chair and walked over. He slipped an arm around my waist. "She's only borrowing it, Nancy. I know how generous you are. Surely you can let this go. "Lauren has only just taken over the South District, and the old guard are watching her every move. Your mother commanded a great deal of respect within the family. Wearing that brooch might at least make those old men think twice before giving Lauren a hard time. "Besides, her father sacrificed so much for this family. I have a responsibility to help her get back on her feet." There it was again. The same excuse Rhett had used for years whenever he wanted me to give in where Lauren was concerned. At family dinners, he had pressured me to give up my seat at the head of the table. At work, he had handed my resources to her piece by piece. He had even let Lauren come and go as she pleased in the old house my mother had left me. This time, though, I was done putting up with it. Without another word, I walked out of the study and called my assistant. "Book me a flight. I'm leaving in three days."

All of Sicily knew that the mafia boss Ethan Moretti loved me more than his own life. Yet on the day of our seventh scheduled marriage registration, Ethan stood me up again. He sent a message explaining it was an urgent business trip. I had already been waiting for him at City Hall for five hours. Just as I was about to leave, I received a video from his childhood sweetheart, Bianca. On the other side of the world, under a sky full of falling meteors, he took off his own coat and draped it over Bianca’s shoulders, then carefully tightened her collar: “Happy birthday. This is my gift to you.” In the video, his assistant hesitated before reminding him: “Don, today is the day you and Miss Clara Nolan are supposed to register your marriage…” Ethan dismissed it casually: “I love her so much, and she loves me just as deeply. What’s one more day of waiting?” “A meteor shower missed is gone forever. Registering a marriage can be done any day.” So it wasn’t a business trip. He had chosen to spend Bianca’s birthday with her. The City Hall clerk looked at me with pity: “Ma’am, would you like to reschedule?” I smiled and shook my head. “No need.” This time, I would not wait for Ethan any longer.

The moment I find out about my pregnancy, a notification from Twitter is displayed on my phone. Apparently, it's a tweet posted by my husband, Don Romano Caliendo's childhood friend, Teresa Fiorino. "Thanks to your sperm, I get to have a child of my own during the last stage of my life." The accompanying photo is a pregnancy test that clearly states that the sperm donor is Romano. I leave a question mark in the comment section. In just half a minute, my phone begins ringing loudly. Romano's angry voice bursts from the loudspeakers immediately. I've only heard him adapt such a tone whenever he gets mad at others during family meetings. "What did you mean by that comment, Selene Gardo? Teresa is dying from cancer! All she wants is to have a baby to keep her company before she breathes her last! Don't you have any sympathy for her at all?" Before I can put down my phone, my Twitter homepage gets refreshed. This time, Teresa has uploaded another photo. It features a luxurious deluxe-style apartment, where the floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the breathtaking cityscape of Brindleport at night. The caption reads, "Thank you for giving me a home so that I don't feel lonely in my final days." In a corner of the photo, Romano can be seen crouching on the floor while piecing a baby cot together. His side profile shows how focused he is on the task. As I wipe my tears from the corners of my eyes, I silently caress my flat belly, which has yet to show any changes. I'll take you far, far away from here, my dear baby.

I've always been terrible with directions. No matter where I go, I end up lost. Seraphina didn't buy the whole "born this way" excuse. So she roped in my foster brother Gabriel and my childhood friend Lucas, and they decided to put me through "training." For the border patrol exercise, they drove off with the tactical SUV ahead of time, took my phone, and left me stranded alone at the subway entrance—right in the middle of gang territory. They said it was to sharpen my sense of direction. I opened my bag and found a note from Seraphina: "We've walked this escape route with you twice. I know Carone's blood will find its way to the safe house, Leah!" "We'll be waiting at the mansion." I stared at those words, and suddenly this whole childish "training" felt hollow. Truth is, not memorizing the tunnels wasn't even a big deal. What hurt was being left behind—over and over again. So I went home and applied for Zurich. Ten days later, I was gone. And only when I was already across the ocean did they realize what they'd lost.

Vincent,the Don of the Mafia,and I had just exchanged our vows in church when he brought home an orphan. He said it was to repay a life debt. From that day on,whenever it came to that girl,Lila,I always came second. Lila framed me.She claimed I forced her to touch drugs.In a fit of rage,Vincent locked me in the Family's underground water dungeon for three full days and nights. "The freezing water of the dungeon will teach you what mercy means!" The bone-chilling cold was absolute torture.My heart completely died.I begged him through a high fever and pure despair. Yet Lila just nestled into his chest,her voice dripping with fake concern. "Elena is the Donna of the Family,after all.When she suffers,your heart hurts too.I really can't bear to see you like this." Later,just to coax a smile out of Lila,Vincent publicly handed over my West Coast smuggling docks to her—a clueless little brat who couldn't even read a ledger. This time,I didn't say a single word. I simply took off my wedding ring. A few days later,on the verge of a breakdown over my complete disappearance and tearing the city apart like a madman looking for me,he finally got the news. I had been accepted into an Ivy League medical research institute,directly joining their highest-level,top-secret,closed-off medical program. And I was never coming back. He completely lost his mind.

Everyone in the Mafia knew that the Donna was the only woman Don Alessio Bellandi had ever truly loved. He spoiled her beyond measure. Five years ago, an attack during one of my performances left me in a coma. Alessio, a man who had never bowed his head to anyone, brought me into his family and knelt in prayer in his private chapel for seventy-two nights. To wake me, he spent a fortune bringing in the most celebrated composers and symphony orchestra from overseas to create a symphony just for me. When I woke in a hospital suite converted from a box in his opera house, the first face I saw belonged to the man who had kept vigil over me for countless days and nights and never given up on me. Later, he gave me the wedding of the century, and with it the title and honor of the Donna. But I also learned that he'd gotten his first love pregnant behind my back. As I watched her gloat on Instagram, I contacted the Interdimensional Transit Authority, which had been silent for years. "I want to leave this parallel universe. Erase every trace that I was ever here."

My son, Jasper Cole, won the gold prize in an art competition. When I took off my apron and rushed to the award ceremony, I found that the painting titled 'Mother' was not of me but Maeve Leighton, my husband's secretary. Maeve pretended to be troubled as she told my son, "Your mom will be sad when she sees this painting." However, Jasper was unperturbed. "What does her sadness have to do with me? She's an ordinary-looking and incompetent housewife, always nagging me about what I can and can’t do. She's too strict with me. It's annoying! Maeve, I wish you were my mother. My dad doesn't like my mom at all. He's only happy when he's with you. He's only with my mom because he feels obligated." My heart broke at that moment. Since he no longer wanted me as his mother, it was pointless for me to stay. I called my dad. "Dad, I want to go home. Can you pick me up?" My dad could not believe it. He answered after a long pause, "Of course. I'll come pick up my brilliant daughter in three days."

After I came of age, I entered the Gallo family's trial period. Only those who passed the family's trials within five years would earn the right to wear the family crest. Anyone who failed would be sent to the shooting range as a live target. This year's trial was to seize a weapons shipment at the port. I was the first to locate the weapons cache, but when Vera blundered into the ambush, I had to stay behind and clean up the mess to save her. After the fierce gunfight, my team's casualties ended up exactly one more than Vera's. At the crest ceremony, my mother Carmela once again pinned the family crest to Vera Gallo's chest, smiling with satisfaction. "Vera brought back the weapons with the fewest casualties. She passes the trial again this year, without question. "Not that the crest needs to be awarded twice, but Elsa, you really aren't as capable as Vera. Better luck next time." Better luck next time. I'd been hearing those exact words for four years straight. Ever since Vera was brought back four years ago, I, the adopted orphan, had become the most unwelcome person in the house. Because she claimed everything I had should have been hers. The moment she heard that Carmela had treated me well, she'd spiral into hysterics and threaten to kill herself. From then on, I waited four years and never once received the crest from Carmela's hands. This time, I was done waiting. I was going home. My real home.

My husband, Dante, is the most untouchable Don of the Vance family in New York. He has one unbreakable rule: After 9 p.m., if he's out on family business, he does not take calls. I understood his devotion to the family, so for five years, I did my best never to disturb him. Until last night, when I was driving alone past the docks and walked straight into an ambush by a rival family's armed men. In a panic, I called Dante, begging him to save me. The phone rang for what felt like forever. When he finally picked up, his voice was ice-cold: "Nora, we've been married a long time. As the Donna of the Vance family, you should know the rules." Then he hung up. That night, I barely escaped the hail of bullets by the skin of my teeth. I spent the night in the hospital. But when I came home the next morning, all I got was a reproachful look. He accused me of interrupting a critical family shipment deal—and of sending a fake distress signal. I knew how hard he worked, so I swallowed my hurt. But later, when I used his computer, I accidentally saw his call log. One contact had been calling him almost every single night—always after nine. For five full years. I knew that number. It belonged to Alexa, the Vance family's Capo. The woman everyone in the family had agreed, for all these years, was the one truly fit to stand beside Dante. In that moment, every ounce of suppressed hurt came flooding back. After I calmed myself, I picked up my phone and found an invitation I'd received a few days ago—to an international art exhibition. And I clicked "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from his world completely.

My fiancé was the youngest Don of Sicily’s Rina family. After years together, he always told me, “No one gets to look at my woman. If a man stares at you for even a second too long, I’ll gouge his eyes out.” That was why he almost never brought me along when he handled family business. Until one day, I came across a rising couples influencer on YouTube. In the video, a girl stood on a cliff overlooking the Sicilian coast, holding a selfie stick as the sea breeze billowed through her white dress. Smiling, she turned the camera toward the man beside her, revealing only the sharp line of his jaw and the back of one hand. Then he lifted his left hand, and a ring flashed clearly on his finger. I recognized it instantly. It was one of the matching rings William and I had custom-made. I stared at the screen as the warmth slowly drained from my fingertips. When I opened her profile, I found it filled with videos of the two of them together. They had wandered through Venice, climbed snow-covered mountains in Switzerland, and popped champagne in private casinos. So it wasn’t that he couldn’t take me with him. He simply already had someone else by his side. Without a word, I closed the video and sent an email to the Network, asking them to erase every trace of my old identity. If he no longer loved me, there was no reason to stay.

Shortly after we said "I do," the Family sent my husband, Dario, down to the Mexican border. He told me it was a meat grinder down there—cartel territory. where guys were zipped into body bags every day. He said he had to go—to expand the territory, for the glory of the Family. He claimed it was too dangerous and that his enemies would paint a target on my back, so he wouldn't take me with him. I believed him. I stayed behind in his old, rot-infested house in New Jersey, taking care of his bitter, spiteful parents. I spent my days and nights in the Family's moldy laundromat, washing bills stained with blood. He told me he sent every dime he made down there to the widow of a brother who took a bullet for him. He asked me to be understanding. I never complained. Day after day, I pressed expensive suits in that humid laundromat, waiting for him to come home. It wasn't until the eighth year that a mobster came back drunk. When I asked about Dario, he froze, then sneered at me through a haze of alcohol. "Dario? Are you kidding? He’s been a King in Manhattan for years. He’s the youngest Underboss of the Corleone family." I stood frozen, the iron in my hand burning a hole right through a shirt. "And he got married seven years ago. Biggest cathedral in New Jersey. Half the mob was there to toast the groom..." He pulled a crumpled photo from his leather jacket. Snuggled up against my husband was a woman in a high-end couture gown—the very same "poor, widowed sister-in-law" he had told me about. The next day, I contacted a fixer who specialized in fake IDs. On the application for a one-way ticket to Europe—a ticket to vanish off the face of the earth—I filled in the fake name I had prepared long ago. He trapped me for seven years with a sham marriage. From now on, I’d be done with this damn loyalty.