Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Melodramatic Mafia Independence

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 night before our engagement, my best man Reese suggested we play Never Have I Ever — our version, where you name something you have that you think no one else does, and anyone who doesn't have it puts a finger down. "Sitting in this room is someone I can't have," he said. Everyone else's fingers went down, except Reese's and my fiancée Molly's. The others erupted in whistles and teasing, not caring that I was right there. "I have the most loyal fiancé," Molly said. "Boring and dull." Everyone glanced at me, and the private room fell into an awkward silence. I was suddenly exhausted. Molly and I had been together for two years. Tomorrow was our engagement party, yet she'd just publicly admitted there was someone she wanted but couldn't have. And in her eyes, the only redeeming quality her fiancé had was loyalty. When my turn came, I said calmly, "I have a grand wedding of the century." I turned to Molly beside me. "But as of now, it's canceled."

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.

Everyone knew Andre Marino as the Don who kept business separate from his personal life. I couldn't call him unless it was business. If someone wronged me, I couldn't ask him to step in. We'd been together for five years. He'd taken a bullet for me. When we were trapped with no way out, he'd given up his chance at rescue so I could get out. He'd done everything a man could do for someone he trusted with his life. But I couldn't walk in and out of his study as I pleased. Every time I needed him, I had to wait outside the door for a long time. Andre said the study was his private space, and he had to keep things above board. I had to wait at the door for a full hour so everyone could see he wasn't playing favorites. Only then could I knock and go in. Then one day, I came back from picking up a shipment and stood outside his study, waiting to report in. The wind had turned my nose bright red. His second-in-command, Nora Russo, walked straight in, wearing his trench coat. She glanced back at me and said casually, "Annie, don't blame the Don for not letting you come and go as you please. He's big on rules. Business is business. Personal matters stay out of it." "Then why can you come and go?" I demanded. Nora twisted her family signet ring on her ring finger, a knowing look in her eyes. "Our families go way back. We've always been allies, always fought side by side. He's even got my last name tattooed on his chest." One of the men behind me gave a fake cough. She scoffed. "What? Am I wrong? She has no say in the business, and on the personal side, she can't even get through his door. Other than taking care of Andre's needs in bed, what good is she?" The door opened. It was obvious Nora had made herself at home. Pink, the color he hated most, now covered every wall. I stood frozen for a long time. Then, slowly, I let the question drop. If he couldn't give me the love I wanted, I knew what to do. I'd go to the man who was willing to make an exception for me.

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, 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.

Two years into my marriage with Luca Mancini, I'd gotten used to waiting. Wait until the accounts were settled—then he'd take me on our honeymoon. Wait until the family meeting was over—then he'd celebrate our anniversary with me. Wait until his men were taken care of—then he'd call the private doctor to see me. I knew how hard it was to sit in the Don's seat, so I never cried or made a scene about it. I even took half the work off his shoulders without being asked. Because of my patience and all the times I stepped back, things between us finally softened. When he was exhausted, he'd lean his head on my shoulder, kiss my forehead, and say: "My Donna, once this busy season is over, I promise I'll make it all up to you." Today was my birthday. He'd promised me half a month ago that he'd spend it with me. I'd booked out an entire restaurant. The cake was cut. I was waiting. But from six to ten, he never showed. Then a photo popped up in my inbox: In the pouring rain, Luca was holding an umbrella, shielding his childhood sweetheart, Anna, tight against his side. The timestamp on the photo read 9:40. Twenty minutes ago. He'd tilted the umbrella over Anna's head, letting the rain soak him through. Then his text came through: "I've got an important meeting. I'll be home late." Looking at that message, I didn't reply "Got it" like the good, understanding wife I always was. I thought I'd gotten used to waiting. I thought if I just cleared every obstacle out of his way, I'd finally get the man who kept his promises. But staring at that photo, my heart sank all the way to the bottom. It was never the waiting I was afraid of. It's just—last month, I was diagnosed with terminal leukemia. This was the last birthday I'd ever have. I stood up, hollow, and walked home alone through the endless sound of rain. The man I'd been waiting for—I couldn't wait for him anymore.

At a mafia family banquet, my boyfriend of five years, Emilio Gimondi, gives away the ring that symbolizes the family's Donna to his childhood friend, Carlotta Lecce. Someone asks in astonishment, "You gave the ring to Carlotta? Isn't Ms. Rinaldi going to be angry?" Emilio looks completely unconcerned. "A proposal is just a formality. Zita is going to be the Donna eventually. She doesn't need to throw a tantrum over a ring." Carlotta makes a point of flashing the ring in front of me. "Zita, isn't it pretty?" Emilio thinks I'll react the way I always have—in anger and jealousy. Instead, I simply watch them quietly and say that it does indeed look nice. He relaxes, thinking that I've finally learned my place. He promises that once we marry, he'll make it up to me with something much better than that ring. But what he doesn't know is that I've already been accepted into medical school. Very soon, I'll be gone.

My fiancé, Orlando, was a mafia captain. Three years ago, he got caught in a shootout, and someone tried to kill him. I took the bullet for him without thinking twice. The wound left me so weak that I spent most of my days stuck at home. Afraid I'd get hurt again, Orlando brought in a maid named Cecilia to look after me and act as my stand-in. Whatever was meant for me, she tried it first to make sure it was safe. Little by little, she got everything before I did. First to break in my heels. First to sleep in my wedding bed. Even the trip to Iceland I'd waited years for—she went with Orlando first, in my place. When the accident happened at the shopping center, Orlando still carried Cecilia into the emergency stairwell first. A falling stone column crushed my ankle. Lying in that hospital bed, I finally lost it. Orlando only frowned at me. "Nadia, stop making a scene. Cecilia is just your stand-in. She faces the danger first so you can stay safe." He sounded so sincere. He took my hand and pressed it to his lips. "Nadia, try to understand how hard this is for me. I can't let you get hurt again. I just can't." That devotion of his made me give in one more time. I never imagined that even at my own wedding—the day that mattered more to me than anything—Cecilia would wear my wedding dress before I did. I can make do with something secondhand. But I don't want a secondhand man.

At the candlelit dinner for our tenth anniversary, my husband, Rian Ruthven, ditched me after getting a call from Chloe, a rookie accountant. He left me with a single sentence: "Finish your food and head home." No hesitation, no concern. Strictly business, as if I were just his subordinate, not the wife who had loved him for ten years. A few hours later, I found out he left simply because Chloe's kid had a fever. She had no friends and could only call her boss, Rian. Rian’s explanation to me was: "I just felt bad for her. It's not easy raising a kid alone." I just found it absurd. Since when did the famously ruthless Godfather of the Ruthven family have such a bleeding heart? It suddenly hit me that in the ten years I'd been with Rian, I was his wife in the shadows; to the rest of the world, I was just his CFO. When I ran a 104-degree fever and asked for time off, all I got was a cold text: "Recover quickly. The business needs you." A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I quietly drafted my resignation and divorce papers.

Married seven years, and after my husband Nathaniel broke another promise to me over his new assistant, I set a glass jar on my nightstand. Every time he broke a promise, I dropped a coin inside. Ten disappointments. That was the final line I drew for myself. The first coin was for the anniversary he forgot entirely, all for her birthday. The third coin was for the date night he promised me, then turned around and took his men to clear out a whole venue for her birthday party. The sixth coin was for the time I got shot by accident, and he just told me to bandage it myself while he carried her into the hospital in his arms. By the ninth coin, Nathaniel finally noticed the jar. He picked it up, gave it a shake, and joked: "Audrey, this is dangerous. The last one, you have to remind me. I can't lose you." So when the tenth time came around, I made a point of reminding him before I left. Our seventh wedding anniversary. Nathaniel promised he'd be home before eleven. At eleven-thirty, Victoria sent me a photo. Nathaniel, sitting in the pet ER with her ragdoll cat in his arms, still wearing the shirt I'd ironed for him that morning. Then she sent a voice message. "It's your anniversary today, Don. If you don't head back soon, that coin jar on Donna's nightstand is going to be completely full." On the other end, Nathaniel laughed. "So what if it's full? She's not going anywhere." "I gave her power, status, gave her everything. She's crazy about me. You think she'd dare leave?" A two-second pause in the recording. Victoria let out a dry laugh. "Really?" I laughed too. I loved him too much, so I was willing to put up with anything. But in the end, that just became something he took for granted. I slid the diamond ring off my ring finger and placed it in an envelope, along with ten cold coins. Nathaniel, there really was no "us" anymore.

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.

On Christmas Eve, my husband's widowed sister-in-law, Roxy, called again. My husband, Damian Caruso, was in his study, listening to his underboss go over the books. I glanced at my husband's phone. Roxy's name flashed across the screen, and I answered. Her voice was sweet and helpless. "Dami, the backyard cameras just caught a man climbing over my wall. I don't know what to do..." I knew that carefully practiced helplessness all too well. I kept my voice even. "Do you want me to send some men to check it out?" There was a pause. When Roxy spoke again, the sweetness had drained from her voice. "Camilla? Why are you answering his phone? I don't need armed men showing up at my house and drawing attention. Dami is the only one I trust." Damian stepped out of his study, and I handed him the phone. I didn't hear what Roxy said, but his expression changed at once. "Okay. I'm on my way." I knew what that meant. Nine months pregnant, and I'd be spending Christmas Eve dinner alone again. Five years of marriage. Five Christmas Eves. The same thing every year. Roxy's calls always came in the early evening on Christmas Eve. Never too early, never too late. Damian grabbed his coat, wearing that familiar look of apology. "Roxy has it hard enough on her own. Marco took a bullet for me. I promised him I'd look after her and the boy." "I'll check on her and come straight back. I promise I'll be home in time for Midnight Mass." It wasn't a question. He was telling me what he'd already decided. For the first four years, I'd argued. I'd cried. I'd asked him why he always left. And Damian always gave the same answers. "We're family. If I can help, I should." "Don't worry. This year, I'll stay the whole night with you." But he had never kept that promise. Outside, the church bells began to ring, and snow started to fall. I watched him walk away and suddenly realized I no longer cared whether he made it back in time. This year, I wasn't going to wait for him.

I spent ten years by Luca Romano’s side, helping him rebuild after the shooting and seize control of the Romano family. At his lowest, even soft footsteps in the hallway kept him awake all night. Night after night, I held his trembling hands and helped him fight his fears. When he recovered, the first thing he did was cook for me: simple tomato meat-sauce spaghetti. I finished every bite. He said he’d make it for me for the rest of my life, whenever I wanted. But once Luca reclaimed the family, work swallowed him. Coming home needed advance scheduling, and I hardly saw him. On the rare nights he joined dinner, I’d ask for that pasta again. He’d rub his brow and say, “I’ve worked all day. I just want to unwind at home. We have a chef. Tell them if you want food.” I knew how strained he was, so I never mentioned it again. Then Friday, Luca’s right-hand man Mark Rossi came to the house for painkillers. Afraid Luca’s old gunshot wound flared up, I went with him — and found Luca at Selina Bruni’s apartment. In the kitchen, he’d shed his jacket, rolled up sleeves to cook pasta. Selina sat at the counter; her brother, Luca’s former deputy, died saving him. A chef stood nearby, yet Luca plated the pasta himself. He wiped a smudge of sauce off the plate, handed it to her, and leaned down to ask if it was too hot. I thought of the week before: he’d promised dinner at home. I waited four hours, six till ten, only to get a message that he was worn out and going straight to bed. So tiredness wasn’t the issue. He simply no longer wanted to cook for me. I left the painkillers there and walked away. That night, I took a London magazine job offer and messaged my lawyer. As I slipped off my wedding ring, my phone lit up. Luca texted: “I’ll come home for dinner this weekend. I’ll make your favorite pasta.” I stared long and sent no reply. He’d already made that pasta for someone else. There was no reason left for me to wait at the table.

My brother was dying. He needed an operation. So I finally took the deal from my boyfriend's father, the Don. A million dollars to leave Rocco Valeriano, the sole heir to the Valeriano family. It drove Rocco mad. After a family war, he was covered in blood. Refused any treatment. Until his father had no choice but to bring me back. Rocco lay in that hospital bed, a gun to his own head. His eyes were dark with obsession, yet full of love. He threatened desperately, "Ava. Marry me, or I die right here." He forced my hand. He got what he wanted. But on our wedding night, he didn't say a word. He just tore my clothes off and took me with a punishing force. When it was over, he grabbed my chin. He spat, "Gold digger. You'd do anything for money, right? Well, from now on, you get nothing." Five years of marriage. He had mistresses everywhere, all of them dripping in jewels. As for me, I was the Donna in name only. My credit cards were frozen. I needed his approval just to buy a coffee. Then my brother's illness came back. I begged him for a five-grand advance to save his life. I begged him all night at his private club. He gave me ten dollars. And a sneer. He mocked, "A woman who betrayed me for money. This is all you're worth." I clutched that ten-dollar bill and cried next to my brother's corpse until I couldn't breathe. Meanwhile, Rocco was spending a fortune on a birthday party for his new girl. When I woke up, I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just found him, perfectly calm, and threw the divorce papers in his face. He gave a scornful laugh. He scoffed, "You want a divorce over five grand, Ava? Seriously?"

After my fiancé ran away with my sister, I became the biggest scandal in New York. Then Roman Vescari—the feared Don of the Vescari crime family—confessed that he had loved me for years. I married him. For five years, Roman treated me like the center of his world. Everyone believed I was the cherished wife of New York's most powerful mafia don. Then I overheard him speaking to his consigliere. "Celeste is Adrian's wife now. Are you really going to spend the rest of your life pretending to love Evelyn?" Roman fell silent. "I married Evelyn. I'll love her and give her everything a Vescari wife deserves. Celeste is in the past." But when Celeste and I fell into a freezing lake, Roman swam past me to save her, leaving me to sink only yards away. That was when I finally understood. He could protect me for the rest of his life, but his first instinct would never be to choose me. After I was rescued, I arranged my death at sea and ended our five-year marriage. When Roman learned of my "death," the ruthless mafia don shoved Celeste away, coughed up blood, and seemed to age ten years overnight.

I had been secretly dating Carlo Mandelli, heir to the Mandelli Mafia family, for five years when he finally agreed to marry me. A month before our supposed wedding, I went to discuss the guest list with him, but I overheard him talking to his underboss. "Your wedding to Ginetta is in seven days. What about Alessia?" Carlo's underboss asked. Carlo answered without hesitation, "Ginetta and I grew up together. Our marriage is for the good of the Mandelli family, not for love. I can't make Alessia my wife, but I'll give her all my love. She'll understand. Once the alliance is secured, I'll give Alessia a wedding ceremony of her own." His underboss shrugged and continued, "Then you'd better explain things to Alessia clearly. She's already pregnant, and stress isn't good for her." Carlo smiled but said nothing. Standing outside the door, I stared at the guest list I had just finished writing. I struggled to take in what I had just heard. Carlo had once promised to make me the happiest, most beautiful bride. He'd spent the past month secretly planning the wedding venue. I thought he was preparing a surprise for me, but he had actually been planning his wedding to another woman! Carlo thought I would love him no matter what, but he was wrong. I wouldn't spend the rest of my life with a man who was married to someone else. I decided I would leave on his wedding day and end things for good.

A New York tabloid covering the underworld caught my husband, Don Antonio Vescari, fooling around in a parking garage with Lillian Shaw, the pianist he kept at the estate. That same day, everyone on the dark web started betting on how much I'd pay to make it disappear this time. After all these years, it was an unwritten rule in the Vescari family: whenever Antonio caused a scandal, I cleaned it up. From the balcony, I looked down and saw Antonio kissing Lillian, his arms wrapped around her. Through the cigar smoke, he even arched an eyebrow at me, amusement in his voice. "Cecilia, she looks most like you when I kiss her, eyes red and breath coming fast. I lost my head for a second. "Don't be angry, sweetheart. I'm only having a little fun with her. Bury the photos for me, and I'll come see you later. Okay?" He said it so casually, like it was nothing at all. I froze, my hand drifting to my ring. A bitter laugh escaped me. Then I turned and walked away. The tabloids never knew when to leave well enough alone. They dug up the video of his oath from seven years earlier, the day he became Don. Covered in blood, Antonio had gone down on one knee, kissed the back of my hand, and sworn he would love only me for the rest of his life. Now the two images ran side by side across the same front page. The contrast was laughable. My phone wouldn't stop buzzing. The tabloid's boss cautiously asked how much I planned to pay for the negatives this time. I said no. After all, I was going home to Sicily soon. This scandal couldn't touch me anymore.

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.

On the day my sister fled her wedding, the mafia Don, Dominic Cross, slaughtered everyone at the harbor. Even the stray dogs passing by were torn to pieces. Terrified of his wrath, the Vance family forced me into the wedding dress and sent me straight into Dominic’s estate as his substitute bride. For seven years after marrying into the Cross family, I took bullets for him, laundered his dirty money, and even tasted his food for poison. The entire mafia family came to revere me as their Donna. But in the eighth year, my sister, Elena, suddenly returned. Clad in a scarlet dress, she strode right into the family banquet hall and tasted Dominic’s red wine for poison right in front of everyone. Dominic’s grip on my hand tightened. As she collapsed from the poison, she leaned into my ear and whispered, “Sienna, thank you for keeping my seat warm all these years. Now, it’s time to give it back.” I stood frozen in place, watching Dominic’s face. The horrors of that night eight years ago flashed before my eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder. Would this Don—this man who struck absolute terror into the hearts of the entire mafia underworld—lose his mind and burn the world down for her all over again?