Melodramatic Mafia Short Stories & Independence Novels

My father died. He left me a contract. A marriage to the Donovans. The Chicago Outfit. He wanted the future Don to protect me. The whole family's power, wrapped around me for life. But on my wedding day to the eldest, Finn… he ran. Took my family housekeeper's daughter with him. His brother, Cillian Donovan, stepped up. He married me instead. Wedding night. I was in the music room. Alone. Playing the cello. A sad song for my father. Cillian kicked the door open. His eyes were bloodshot. Pure jealousy. A sneer on his face. “Does marrying me instead of Finn really hurt you this much?” For the next five years, he brought women home. Different ones. Kissing them in my rose garden. Fucking them in our bed. I swallowed it all. Played the part. The perfect Donna of the Donovan family. Until today. When he kept his latest toy around for four months. My heart hit the floor. She clung to Cillian's arm, her red lips at his ear. “Cillian, the way your wife looks at me… like she wants to eat me alive.” Cillian stroked her hair, not really caring. His eyes found mine. A cruel smile. “My wife? She doesn't want to be. She wants to be his woman. The traitor's.” That night, a rival family hit the estate. Fire everywhere. Cillian grabbed his girl. Ran for the armored car. No hesitation. I was on the ground. Smoke in my lungs. Couldn't move. I watched him drive away. Leaving me in the dust. Something inside me just… snapped. Five years of this bullshit marriage. I was going to end it. Myself. …

My husband Dante, Don of the Moretti family, was killed in a gang crossfire. I was devastated, because the same day, I’d also found out that my IVF injection had worked. I was pregnant. The Moretti didn’t want me to spiral. So they called in Dante’s twin brother, Ash Moretti, to help around. I felt both guilty and grateful until I overheard them talking in the study. “It was Ash who died. Why would you make us tell Harper it was you?” His father asked. Dante’s voice. “I only married her because you promised me the Don’s seat.” Then Gianna’s voice. “Dante had given her a child. That alone should’ve been enough.” So. It wasn’t my husband who died. It was his brother. And my husband and his sister in law thought this was his clean exit. As he wished, I gave it to him. When the doctor told me the fetus had less than a ten percent chance of survival, I agreed to terminate. And along with reclaiming everything else I had once given the Moretti, I walked away from his life—for good.

The entire New York mafia world knows that Don Alessandro of the Rossi family takes a brutal punishment from the Council every year just to marry me. Because the Rossi family has a strict rule: all marriages must be approved by the Council. Yet, for three years in a row, Alessandro submitted our marriage application, and every time, it was rejected! The first year, he was locked in solitary confinement for three days and nights. The second year, his back was whipped raw. The third year, he even knelt in a torrential downpour to beg for their mercy. I always thought it was my fault, that I just wasn’t good enough to meet the Council's standards. It wasn't until the fourth year that I found out all those rejection letters from the Council were forged by Alessandro himself. And the reason was Mia—his secretary who had been secretly obsessed with him for years. "Mia has been by my side for eight years. She took a bullet for me. She held me and cried, saying the day I get married would be the darkest day of her life." "I love Jane, but I just can't bear to hurt Mia." "It just means marrying Jane a little later. She loves me so much, she won't mind." But he was wrong. Even though my heart was breaking, I didn't want this kind of love anymore. I called my father: "Dad, I'm ready to come back to Italy and marry the Don of the Caruso family."

Day three of the silent treatment. My husband Adrian Veta, the Don, once again went behind my back and approved Mirena Ricci's deeply flawed port logistics plan. He thought I would argue my case as I used to do at family meetings, but I merely responded faintly. When he saw that, he handed Mirena the docks I had spent years managing and dismissed several men who had openly supported me to establish her authority. Still, I did not fight back. Mirena smugly leaned against him. "I told you that she'll learn her place once you neglect her. She can't bear to leave you." Adrian agreed wholeheartedly. That evening, he made a rare visit to the estate, promising to give me management of the West District winery if I obediently stayed by his side. However, he had overlooked one thing. Just a few days earlier, while he was busy cleaning up a mess for Mirena, he had signed the stack of documents I handed him without even a glance. Tucked among the pages was a divorce agreement. Another was a declaration that I was voluntarily withdrawing from the Veta family. After that night, I was no longer his wife and certainly no longer his Donna.

I have been with Leone Donato, the don to a Mafia family, for four years. During those four years, he lets me live in the family estate but rarely tells me anything about the family's affairs. I fool myself into believing it's simply his cold, guarded nature. As the don to a Mafia family, he has to be cautious. Many of his secrets aren't ones he can easily share with others. But then, on the very day we are supposed to apply for a marriage license, I receive a screenshot of a private Mafia family group chat. "Ladies, I hear Leone's childhood sweetheart, Camilla Conti, is back in the country. Do you think Leone will still apply for a marriage license with Isola Munari tomorrow?" "Hard to say. After all, the family trust reserves 15% of the family business's profits for Camilla. All Isola gets is the family agreeing to accept her as the Donna and let her attend family meetings." Someone asks, "Then why exactly does Leone want to marry Isola?" Someone replies in the screenshot, "Because she's obedient, I guess. After all, for Leone's sake, she turns down an offer from Bellamare's top research institute. She even drives herself to a private clinic while suffering from a high fever. "Leone's exact words are, 'Isola can't live without me, and she doesn't care about any of that anyway.'" Obedient… So, in the eyes of the family, I am nothing more than an obedient lover. As I stare at those words, I slip off my diamond ring and place it on the partially signed prenuptial agreement. Then, I open my email and type, "Professore Ferrante, I've changed my mind. If the position at the research institute is still available, I'll join it this time."

On the day I was supposed to get matching tattoos with Zach Cross, I waited at the studio from sunrise until nightfall. The tattoo artist glanced at me nervously. “Miss Annie, is the Godfather still coming? Maybe we should reschedule.” I lowered my eyes and forced a smile. “He promised he’d be here. I’ll wait a little longer.” Two hours later, Zach finally arrived. He was not alone. Julie Williams walked in behind him. She was carrying his jacket. When she saw me sitting in the tattoo chair, she offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Annie. I had no idea you two had a tattoo appointment today. Otherwise, I would’ve never asked Zach to pick me up from the airport.” Zach walked right past me. He glanced around the empty studio and said, “Let's begin.” Before I could say a word, he pointed at the tattoo chair and turned to Julie. “You first.” Julie froze for a second. She glanced at me, then reluctantly took the seat. The tattoo artist turned to look at me. Standing off to the side, I overheard Zach’s men whispering among themselves. “After all these years, Miss Julie is still the perfect match for the Godfather.” “Yeah. It’s a shame things didn’t work out back then.” I looked at Zach. I knew he had heard every word. However, instead of denying it, he turned to me and said coldly, “Julie’s here today. Watch your attitude. Don’t embarrass me.” My gaze drifted to his left hand’s ring finger. It was still bare. He once told me he would hide my name inside the petals of a rose tattoo—a secret only the two of us would ever know about. I worked with the tattoo artist through seven different revisions to get the design just right. When he proposed, he held my hand and said, “The most painful mark I’ll ever wear will belong to you alone.” I put on a bitter smile. Unfortunately, none of the marks he carried had ever truly belonged to me.

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.

For all seven years of our marriage, I believed Nolan Harris was an orphan who'd never been to school and could only find work hauling cargo at the docks. Nolan brought home so little money each month that I worked two jobs every day to help make ends meet. Nolan practically lived at the docks and was hardly ever home. Every day, I cooked for him and had someone take him the food. Then complications during labor sent me to the hospital. There, I saw Nolan in a room with a woman I'd never seen before. She was crying in his arms. Nolan wore a sharp, expensive suit, and a crowd of his men stood behind him. That was when I found out Nolan had never been a dockworker at all. He was the Don of the Harris family. The woman in his arms was Christine Walsh, the widow of his best friend. Matthew Walsh had died saving Nolan's life. To repay that debt, Nolan had given Christine the best of everything and kept it all from me for seven years. And now a rival had brutally murdered Christine's child, Jamie Walsh. To comfort Christine, Nolan wanted me to give her my baby. Once I learned the truth, I gave up on Nolan completely. I decided to walk away from our seven-year sham of a marriage and break free of Nolan for good.

My husband, Kieran, is the heir to the Thompson family. In the three years of our arranged marriage, he has never once touched me. I told myself he was just cold and guarded, that I could find a way into his heart, little by little. Then one day he came home drunk, pinned me to the bed for the first time, and called out his first love's name. "Camilla, all these years... I've thought of you every second of every day..." That was when I knew. All the passion and love he possessed was already spent on another woman. I pushed him away, burned every photo of us, and went to a high-end club in New York full of handsome male models. Nine months later, I walked into the airport with my newborn baby in my arms. Later, Kieran searched the world for me, his eyes bloodshot. He asked in a trembling voice why I never told him I was pregnant, why I wouldn't let him see our baby. I glanced at him and gave a light, breezy smile. "Who said the baby was yours?"

Everyone in Sicily knew my fiancé, Silas Lazzari, had one rule. Every night at ten, he turned off his personal phone and refused to take calls from anyone. Even when we were crazy about each other, he'd hang up the moment the clock struck ten. Last Christmas Eve, the rival Greco family ambushed me. I was shot in the stomach and couldn't stop bleeding. I called him again and again. When I finally got through, his voice was sharp with irritation. "Sophia, can you respect my rule for once? Don't let it happen again. I'm hanging up." Thank God the ambulance arrived in time. I barely survived, and I was left with a long scar down my arm. When I came home the next day, he frowned and complained that my late-night call had almost disrupted his sleep schedule. He never even noticed my bandaged arm hanging at my side. Today, the Greco family got hold of data leaked from the phone of Silas's adopted sister, Lina Conti. Silas put me in charge of containing the breach. My assistant emailed me all the stolen data. I opened it and found a log of every call between Silas and Lina, including when and where they called and what they discussed. Last Christmas Eve, after Silas hung up while I begged him for help, he stayed on the phone with Lina until one in the morning. Throughout our eight years together, he'd talked to Lina every night until well past midnight. Numb, I read all 99 pages of call logs. Then I pulled up our marriage license application and hit Cancel.

One week before our engagement ceremony, fiancé took me and his foster sister to their hundredth dinner together. The maitre d' knew their table, their wine, and Serena's favorite meal. She sat beside the fireplace while I was squeezed into a chair in the aisle. Then the restaurant presented them with a silver decanter engraved: D & S. Always at the same table. The date beneath it was my birthday three years ago—the night Damian had abandoned me at a clinic because of an "emergency." He had spent those two hours here with her. Serena smiled. "After you and Evelyn get engaged, are we still keeping our monthly dinners?" "Of course," Damian said. "You're my family. If Evelyn can't accept that, she isn't fit to become a Moretti." For four years, I had fought Serena for every place in Damian's life. I fought for the seat beside him, for the bedroom meant to be ours, and for the right to be chosen whenever we both needed him. Every time, he told me to stop keeping score. That night, I finally understood how foolish I had been to abandon my own future for a love that never chose me first. So this time, I chose myself. I accepted Saint Clair Design Group's offer to become its Global Creative Director and youngest equity partner, then booked a flight to Milan for the morning of our engagement. Damian thought my silence meant I had finally accepted Serena's place in our marriage. He didn't realize I had stopped fighting because I no longer wanted a place in his life. He and Serena could keep their fifteen years of brother-and-sister devotion. In seven days, my love for him would be over.

My husband's childhood sweetheart was diagnosed with a terminal illness. To fulfill her last wishes and let her experience the warmth of family, my husband, Aaron Turner, gave her my necklace. He even let her claim my birthday. Even our son started calling her "Mom" in private. He told me, "Chrishell, Sylvia is dying. Just give in to her, will you?" Whenever I asked him to spare even a little time and affection for me, our son, Lucas, would rush to speak on their behalf. "Mom, didn't you always teach me to be generous? Sylvia is dying. Why do you always make things difficult for her?" Over time, I stopped asking for anything at all. Then one night, I overheard my son speaking to his father after returning from the hospital. "Sylvia is so gentle and graceful. I wish Mom could be more like her." Aaron chuckled and affectionately brushed his hand over our son's hair. "Your mom may be a little strict, but it's all for your own good. Since you like Sylvia so much, how about we let her be your godmother?" So even the child I risked my life to bring into this world didn't like me. I lowered my gaze, quietly closed the bedroom door, and pretended none of it had happened. Since they were both filled with such regret, I'd leave quietly and give them what they wanted.

After three days of the silent treatment, my fiancé, Matteo Vitale, decided I had finally learned my place. I no longer asked where he was or called to make sure he was safe. He kissed my forehead, pleased. "Now you're finally acting like the future Donna of this family." Later, he boasted to his friends. "You can't let a woman get too clingy. Ignore her for a while, and she'll learn to be independent." I said nothing. I booked a flight to New York for three days later. A year earlier, his convoy had been ambushed. He disappeared for thirteen hours and came home bleeding. Afterward, he promised to call whenever he was safe. But in less than six months, he grew tired of the promise he had made himself. Then he started using that promise to train me—to stop being so "clingy." The last time I couldn't reach him, I called all night and caught the first flight home. I found him drinking champagne. His assistant, Nora, was bragging that she had received her call before eleven. "It was a bet," his friend laughed. "He told us to ignore you. Behave today, and he'll announce the wedding date." I hadn't argued. That was what he mistook for progress. When he saw my packed boxes, he assumed I was moving into his estate. "That's my good girl." I let him believe it. If he thought my love was a cage, I would set him free. This time, he would be the one waiting for a call that never came.

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.

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."

For five years, I was Carlos’s dirty little secret. In the light of day, I was his executive assistant, handling his legitimate businesses while he treated me with cold, professional detachment. In the shadows, I was the woman he claimed to love more than life itself, the one who warmed his bed while he whispered promises against my skin. That was until I found out I was pregnant. I was ready to tell him, to finally ask for a life in the light. But then, I discovered Carlos had purchased a secluded estate in the suburbs—a fortress meant for a wife. I followed him there, heart in my throat, only to watch through the window as his hand slid beneath a woman’s silk lingerie, his eyes burning with a raw desire I thought belonged only to me. "Sophie," he groaned, his voice rough with emotion. "I stayed unmarried all these years for one reason. I was waiting for you to come back to the States. Marry me." The sounds of their pleasure echoed from the room. The shock was a physical blow; my body revolted, and the stress induced a miscarriage right there in the cold. When I woke up in the hospital, empty and broken, I made a call I had been avoiding for years. I accepted the arranged marriage my family had set up for me—a political alliance with a rival syndicate. The next morning,I would vanish from Carlos’s life forever.

I gave up ten years of my life and went to prison to protect my sister, Jasmine. In return, she took my baby, claiming my one-night stand with the ruthless mafia king, Dominic Valentino, as her own. Now, she sits on a stolen throne, playing the perfect mafia wife. And I become my son's night nanny. Dominic is lethal, cold, and suspicious of everyone. He married Jasmine out of duty, yet he refuses to touch her. But the moment I step into his house, his eyes lock onto me. He doesn't know I'm the woman who saved his life in a bloody alley a year ago. He doesn't know the baby crying in the nursery is mine. All he knows is that the air burns whenever we are in the same room. My sister thinks I'm just a broken ex-con she can easily crush. She forgot one thing. I didn't just survive prison. I learned how to run an empire in the dark. And I am taking my son, my man, and my throne back.

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.

For the five years I was married to my mafia husband, Dante, I never once showed my face to the Moretti family. I thought it was Dante’s way of protecting me. Until a family meeting record landed in my hands by mistake. It said Dante Moretti had formally married Gianna Romano. The date was five years ago. When I saw that name, I froze. She was Dante’s most trusted capo. She’d saved his life. She was also in love with him. Five years ago, she’d been against Dante marrying me. While I was performing on stage, she deliberately sent a spotlight crashing down and destroyed my career as a pianist. Afterward, she cried and said she hadn’t meant to. Dante believed her. He couldn’t send her to prison, but he swore that from then on, he’d never let Gianna appear in front of me again. I didn’t trust Gianna, but I trusted Dante. Now I’d found out that on the very day my husband made that promise to me, he married her. I clutched that thin sheet of paper as the warmth slowly drained from my body. I didn’t go into hysterics or demand answers. Instead, I took out my phone and opened an email I’d received three days earlier—an invitation from the Aurellian Ministry of Culture to apply for citizenship through its exceptional talent program. I tapped “Accept.” Seven days from now, my name would vanish from this country without a trace.

When my mother went into kidney failure and needed a transplant, it was Pauline Maynard—on the brink of death herself—who gave my mom a second chance at life. Just before Pauline passed, she gripped my hand tightly and whispered her final words. "Summer, Ricky is my only son. He's rebellious… and fragile. Please, take care of him. Just three years, please?" I gave her my word. Then I moved into their home and gave Ricky everything he needed—love, comfort, a sense of safety. For three years, I stayed true to that promise. By the third year, Ricky had transformed. No longer the wayward boy he once was, he rose to become the Mafia Don Ricky Lenza. And I was carrying his child. As I busied myself with wedding plans, I overheard something I was never meant to hear—his voice, low and mocking, as he wrapped another woman in his arms. "Summer? She's just pretending to love me for the sake of my mother's inheritance and a stupid deal. A gold digger like her dreams of marrying me? What a joke." A sharp pain pierced my chest, like thorns stabbing deep beneath the skin. On the way to a prenatal checkup, we were hit in a crash. My baby didn't make it. And my mother, sitting in the passenger seat, shielded me with her life. When I woke up, I stared blankly at the date on my phone. Three days left. That would've marked the end of the three-year promise. I realized then—I'd paid my debt to Pauline in full. It was time for me to go.