Maiikling Kwento tungkol sa Familial Bond at Mafia, at mga Nobela ng Independence na may Karma

When I was having a heart attack, my parents, my brother, and my fiancé were all at our family casino—celebrating Eva, our adopted daughter, at her twenty-first birthday, her official debut into the mafia world. The doctor refused to operate without a legal guardian’s signature. So I called them. My father’s assistant answered. “Sorry, Miss. The Don is in the middle of a toast.” My brother and mother let it ring until it went silent. Finally, my fiancé, Adam, picked up. Music roared behind him. I could hear laughter, glasses clinking. “Cecilia,” he said, impatient. “If you can’t even show up for Eva’s party, stop causing trouble. Today is Eva’s debut. Every Don from three territories is here. Whatever drama you’re playing can wait.” I lost count of how many times they chose her over me. So after this call, I stopped calling. I signed my own name. My family thought I’d finally learned to be obedient. But they should’ve known that in our world, silence only means one thing—I was preparing to disappear for good.

The Gambino family's highest decree: every Don must be married before taking office. So the moment I came back from studying abroad, my father sent me to intern at the family company run by my fiancé, Ethan Clark—to prepare me for taking over family operations, pave the way for me to become the next Don of the Gambinos, and, you know, build some chemistry between us while we were at it. The first day I walked in, I saw a woman holding court, surrounded by everyone, with everyone deferring to her, calling her "Mrs. Clark" with practiced reverence. She tore up a two-hundred-million-dollar contract, and they all applauded. She spotted the ring on my finger, and they all reached out to take it off for her. I didn't flinch. Didn't panic. "Do you know who can wear this ring?" She scoffed. "An intern. What's the big deal? Take it off." I smiled. This ring is the heirloom of the Gambino heir. Anyone who touches it without permission doesn't live to tell the story. I pulled out my phone and dialed Ethan right in front of her. "Your 'Mrs. Clark' is trying to take my family ring. Care to explain?"

My mom passed away when I was twelve, leaving everything she had to me. My dad cried at her bedside, swearing he'd never remarry and that he'd take care of me no matter what. But six months later, my stepmother moved into the villa my mom had left me, with her daughter. She told me, "I'll love you like you're my own." It didn't take long before my room, my clothes, everything, was taken over by her daughter. I got shipped off to a boarding school and was only allowed home on weekends. That went on for four years. After my father had been away on business for months, her abuse only got worse. She even tried to make me take the fall for her daughter. When I refused, she locked me in the basement and left me there to die. I fought with everything I had, found the old phone my mom had left behind, and called my grandfather. On the other end of the line, his voice was pure fury: "No one messes with a granddaughter of the Moretti family!"