Independence Mafia Short Stories & Regret Novels

My fiancé, Don Vito Colombi, postponed our wedding eight times because of Elena Rossi, whose parents had saved his life. The first time, we were on our way to the wedding when he heard that a rival family had kidnapped her. Without a second thought, he left me to go rescue her. It turned out to be nothing but one of Elena's clumsy pranks, but Vito still told me, "Ivy, please understand. Even if there's only a one-in-ten-thousand chance she's in danger, I can't take that risk." The second time, Elena volunteered to be my maid of honor, then deliberately hid the ring that symbolized the Colombi family's authority. The wedding had to be called off, but Vito still tried to talk me around. "She lost her parents when she was little and grew up with my family. She's just afraid I'll abandon her once I'm married. "Ivy, please give her a little more time." Then came the third time, the fourth... Elena got kicked out of school and was in a bad mood. Elena needed Vito with her on the anniversary of her parents' death. Elena ate a few nuts, had an allergic reaction, and needed a trip to the hospital... Until the eighth time, when Vito postponed our wedding yet again to take Elena to a special screening of an old movie. "I promise you, Ivy, this is the last time. "When I get back, we'll sit down and pick the next date. "I promise I'll give you the grandest wedding there is." I stood beneath the stained glass of St. Mary's Cathedral. I didn't cry or make a scene. I didn't sheepishly gather up the invitations, send the guests home, and slip out of the church the way I had every time before. Instead, I swapped out the groom.

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.

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.

It took Matteo De Luca ten years to rise from soldier to Don. I fought through all ten beside him. The year we hit rock bottom, I cast aside every shred of pride and knelt before my father, the man who had betrayed my family, just to borrow twenty rounds. Matteo looked at me, his eyes full of pain. I asked only one thing. "The day you become Don, will you let me stand beside you?" He promised me he would. After he finally took his place as Don, I reminded him of that promise. He kept cleaning his gun without looking up. "Things are tense right now. We'll talk about it later." So I never asked again. Then I stumbled across a video on a dark-web forum: Matteo being crowned Don at Manhattan's Round Table Hall. He'd said he was going to Chicago to handle trouble. Instead, he was standing under the lights with my half sister, Isabella Volkov, at his side. Isabella slid the Don's ring, the symbol of his power, onto his finger. Matteo pulled her into an ecstatic embrace. "Thank you for being here at the start of my reign. I'm so happy." Isabella rose on her toes and kissed the side of his neck. "So am I." I shut off the video, wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes, and returned to cleaning my guns as if it were any other night. When I finished, I texted Matteo, "I want twenty rounds." He did not ask why. He had a whole case delivered. I counted out twenty and texted back two words, "Too many." I had those twenty rounds returned to my father, settling a ten-year-old debt. Ten years ago, I traded my pride and dignity for twenty rounds. Ten years later, Matteo used twenty rounds to break his promise to me. There was no place for me at his coronation banquet. And he had no place left in my Brooklyn underworld.

My husband, Don Lorenzo, ran New York's underworld. And he's the one who put me in prison. All because his childhood flame, Cassandra Viti—the Viti family princess—killed my father. I was the first one on the scene. The Feds caught me standing over the body. He faked the evidence. Made sure I took the fall. I spent three years in hell. His apology? A single sentence and an unlimited black card. "I owe Cassandra three wishes. Once you're out, once I've paid my debt to her, you'll be my Donna again."

On our third wedding anniversary, Lorenzo Falcone came back from Sicily with a chest of jewels. Without thinking, he slid the chest toward my sister Vella and told her to pick first. I stared, eyes wide, and the disappointment slipped out before I could stop it: "Lorenzo. It's our anniversary. Don't I get to choose first?" He faltered for just a second. Then he said: "Lily, as a Donna, you should know how to be gracious. You can't always act like a little girl." I'd heard that for over twenty years. Since I was a child, the eldest daughter of the family, I'd long learned to step aside. Give up the horse I loved. Give up my grandfather's keepsake. Give up the chance to study abroad. Give up the voice that should've been mine. My father told me to be sensible. My mother told me to protect my little sister. When I met Lorenzo, I really thought—foolishly—that I was done giving things up. He'd pull me behind him when the gunshots rang out. He'd hold my hand when the nightmares jolted me awake. He'd say it in front of everyone, so sure of himself: "Lily is my only choice." But I was wrong. Not long after we got married, Vella moved in with us. She said she couldn't bear to be apart from me. Lorenzo promised he would treat her like his own flesh and blood, give her a little extra care. But somewhere along the way, extra attention turned into her first—without him even noticing. After she'd made her picks, she handed me the leftover brooch. Old. Tarnished. "This one suits you, sis." I looked at her. Forced a bitter smile. "Take it all. I don't want any of it." Quietly, I slipped my wedding ring off my finger and tucked it into my bag. Three days from now, I'll place it beside the divorce papers on his pillow. And then I'll walk away. From him. From this city that was never mine to begin with.

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."

As the only daughter and sole heir of the Romano family, I was born into a world of blood and gunfire. To protect me, my father handpicked nine boys from our allied families and raised them to take a bullet for me When I came of age, he told me to choose one of them as my fiancé. The man I chose would be groomed to become the future Don and rule beside me. I chose Luca De Santis, the man I had loved for years. But on our wedding day, his childhood sweetheart, Bianca Ricci, threw herself into the sea. In the suicide note she left behind, she accused me of tormenting her for years. Luca believed every word. After he became Don, he used the power my family had placed in his hands to imprison me while I was pregnant. I told him that every accusation in Bianca's letter was a lie. He refused to listen. "She's already dead, and you still can't leave her alone?" Then he locked me in the estate basement for four days and four nights. On the fourth night, I lost our baby on the basement floor. I screamed for help until I had no strength left. No one came. I bled to death alone. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my father's study on the day he asked me to choose my future husband. This time, Luca De Santis was the first name I crossed off the list.

On the night of our third anniversary, Killian missed dinner again. Texted me he was working late at the auto shop. I looked at the $5.90 clearance cake on the table. I'd fought a crowd at the grocery store to buy it. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat. We need to save for a real house in Brooklyn, I told myself. I put the cake in the fridge. I wrapped my cheap coat tight and walked into the cold to deliver late-night takeout for extra cash. I never expected to run into my "poor" husband at a luxury hotel in Manhattan. He stepped out of a Rolls-Royce in a sharp custom suit, tossing hundred-dollar bills to the valet. A hot woman wearing a priceless pigeon-blood ruby followed behind him, hooking his arm. "Killian, it's snowing so hard. Are you really going back to Brooklyn to play house with your naive little peasant wife?" she whined. Killian looked at the cheap, tarnished silver ring on his finger. A hint of softness crossed his cold eyes. "For three years, she worked five jobs a day to pay off the fake debts I made up. She wouldn't even see a doctor when she was sick." "That's enough. She passed my test. Once I deal with the rat in the family, I'll tell her everything. Give her the glory she deserves as my Donna." The woman bit her lip. "What if she finds out you're a Mafia Don and is just after your money? Why not tell her you have a terminal illness—see if she'll drain her savings to save you. Test her one more time…" Killian stayed quiet for a long time. Finally, he nodded. "One last test. After this, I'm giving her the grandest wedding." The freezing wind howled. I gripped the paper takeout bag. Tears rolled down my face without a sound. I am done with this arrogant, lying love.

Right after I won that $500M overseas order, my CEO husband's secretary kicked me out of the shareholder group. Before I could even react, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Julian. "Zoe accidentally removed you. Don't overthink it." I stared at those words but didn't reply. I knew why he sent this message—he was afraid I'd go after Zoe Carter. But this time, I said nothing and just resigned. I had overheard his talk with his assistant that day outside the office. "Transfer all of Bella's shares to Zoe's name. Have Bella take over the overseas merger next week. Make sure all the paperwork is finalized before she gets back." The assistant's voice wavered. "But if Isabella finds out, she might be upset and even leave you…" Julian let out a sigh. "So I have to keep her in the dark. She's an orphan, and I'm all she has. She feels unsafe, so she's always been jealous of Zoe. But Zoe needs those shares to establish herself in the company. Don't worry, I'll make it up to Bella. When she comes back, I'll give her the wedding she's been waiting for. I'll make us public." I pulled my hand back from the door. I turned and walked away without a sound. He was convinced I was an orphan who couldn't live without him, but that wasn't the truth. Actually, I was the cherished princess of New York's Gambino crime family. For him, I gave up my family's protection and married him as an ordinary girl, hiding my true identity. Now that he betrayed me, I saw no reason to cling to this marriage.

I stood by Leo through three hard years. At last, his company launched. But at the celebration dinner, he didn't propose. He handed me a check for $30,000 instead. "Elena, take this money and go back to your little town. Stop clinging to me." Leo looked down at me with the smug pity of a man who thought he'd made it. "I'm going to marry Chloe, the governor's daughter. It's my ticket to Rockwell Ranch." He pinched my chin and said cruelly, "You're a penniless orphan. You didn't think sleeping with me for three years would buy you a place at the top, did you?" I looked at him and suddenly felt like laughing. I'd helped Leo build his studio from nothing. We couldn't afford staff, so I did everything and worked late every night. Once, my blood sugar dropped so low that I fainted and ended up in the hospital. Three years of love. Three years of giving him everything I had. And in Leo's eyes, a mere $30,000 was enough to settle it all. I studied him for a few seconds, then took the check. "Fine. Since Mr. Green is so generous, let me be the first to congratulate you on your marriage." He thought I was forcing a smile and strutted off to mingle with the important guests. Outside the banquet hall, I climbed into the black bulletproof sedan waiting for me. In the back seat, my father, the governor, was leafing through Leo's bid proposal. "Elena, you ran away from home and hid who you were for three years, all to test this man? "If you're done playing, come home. The papers transferring Rockwell Ranch to you are waiting for your signature."

The first thing my brother did after returning from his studies in Europe was drag me before the family council. I ran the rundown bar our Capo father left me, stocking shelves at dawn and scrubbing counters past midnight. I even took on debt from loan sharks to keep him afloat. "Just one last time," he always promised over the phone. "I'll pay you back once I marry rich." But today, a summons from the family arrived at his request. It demanded I be stripped of my birthright and forced to hand over the bar and our territory. My phone pinged. A photo flashed on the screen: my brother in a silk shirt, sitting close to a woman, her hand digging into his thigh. The message followed: Meet my fiancée, the daughter of the Valenti family boss and their Chief Legal Counsel. She says you don't stand a chance. I stared at that hand for a long, long time. Then I crouched down and pried open the hidden compartment beneath the bar.

The day of the gang shootout, while I was cleaning up the mess, I realized our marriage certificate was missing. My husband Victor Rosso tried to comfort me. Said the whole family only recognized me as their Donna. No need to bother replacing it. I mulled it over for a few days, then still brought my ID to city hall to get a duplicate. The clerk tapped at her keyboard for a minute, then looked up at me. "Ma'am, your marital status shows as single." I froze. Then I wrote down Victor's name and mine again and handed it back to her. She checked once more. Her expression turned strange. "The system says you're single, but your husband is listed as married..." She paused. "The spouse's name is Anna Martin. Do you know her?" My mind went blank. Victor and I were each other's first love. He'd always treated me like I was the moon, the stars, everything. And Anna—my sister, his savior, the woman he personally shipped off to Milan because she wouldn't stop chasing him. Turns out, while he was calling her reckless to my face, he'd already given her his legal name on paper. I pulled out my phone and called my mentor. "Mentor, I need to get back to my jewelry studio. What's the soonest you can get me in?" "Flora. Three days. Just give me three days."

I'm going to die. In the eyes of the underworld, I was a sinner. My death would be a final, cursed dishonor. But even with the Ricci family in ruins, I was still the noble Principessa. The Ricci pride in my blood would not allow my body to fall into the hands of a rival Family. Humiliation. Desecration. Photographs flaunted for all to see. I didn't much care if my body became a trophy to celebrate their victory. But if the world knew the last of the Ricci bloodline had become a plaything for our enemies, it would be a disgrace to the entire Family. After weighing my options, I dragged my broken body to the turf of my ex-boyfriend, the man I'd left seven years ago, now the Don of the Falcone family. "After I die, I need you to handle my body." He was silent for a long moment, then let out a cold laugh. "Of course. I'll sink you in the Hudson River with a tombstone tied to your feet, engraved with the name of your filthy family."

Yesterday, Mike and I were still clinking glasses, celebrating that we'd finally paid off every last cent of his ten-million-dollar debt. Today, his fiancée Linda showed up at my door with a lawyer and elegantly handed me divorce papers. "Emma, thank you for these past five years." She smiled. "Now that Mike's real wife—Jasper's only mother—is back, please leave with some dignity." My mind went blank. My lips moved, but no sound came out. Linda saw the confusion written all over my face and pulled out a document—proof of identity. The husband I'd been married to for five years was actually the next Don of the Cassa family. Every drop of blood, sweat, and tears I'd poured out over these five years—he'd turned it all into leverage to prove he was fit to take over. Linda kept smiling as she explained it to me. The past five years had been nothing but a "human stress test" Mike ran on himself before inheriting the title of Don. And I was simply the random test subject he'd picked. Linda's gaze swept across the cramped little living room, and when she looked back at me, there was a hint of pity in her eyes. "Emma, you played his wife so well." "But the show has to end eventually. Unfortunately... you didn't pass his test." They thought I was just a supporting character put here to lift them up. But what if my identity sat above theirs?

I took a bullet for Vittorio, and it left my right hand permanently damaged. After that, I stepped back and supported him from behind the scenes. For eight years, I stood beside him as he rose from a low-level underling to Don. On his first day as Don, he had my portrait hung in every church he owned, to show the world who I was and how much I mattered. When I told him we had too much blood on our hands, he began going to church every day to confess and pray for us both. Once, I offered to go with him. He only shook his head, his expression solemn. "You got blood on your hands because of me. None of it is your fault. Let me carry all the sins alone." I was so moved that I believed him for three whole years. Then, yesterday, a security-system reset accidentally connected me to an abandoned camera in the church. Against the church's stone wall, he was kissing a young woman. Silver chalices lay scattered across the floor. "Don..." Her voice was tearful. "This is a church. The Donna's portrait is still out there, watching..." Vittorio frowned. He yanked off his tie and bound the hands she was using to hold him back. His voice came out ragged. "Forget her. Focus." I sat in front of the monitor, listening to the obscene sounds they made, and didn't move until dawn. When the first light of morning came in, I called a contact on the dark web. I'd made up my mind to leave. The family's master ledgers lay open on my desk. Without a moment's hesitation, I tossed them into the shredder beside me. The grinding of the machine echoed through the room. This time, I was done being his right hand. And I didn't want to be his Donna anymore.

My husband Christian Messina's assistant has been blowing through my money like it's water. At the underground auction, she laughed in my face and called me a useless trophy wife. So I cut her access. She got humiliated at checkout, and the club's security locked her up for a full day and night. When Christian found out, he froze my card on my birthday. Told me I'd better figure out how to pay, or I'd be stripping down and crawling out on all fours in front of every mob higher-up in New York. What he doesn't know? I'm the heiress to the biggest mafia empire in the country. The Moretti name? That's mine. And everything he has right now—every turf, every dollar, every scrap of power? I put it all in his hands. Quietly. Behind his back.

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.

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.

After my driver's girlfriend refused to let me in the car, she went out of her mind with regret. I am the principessa of the Stascia family. To investigate the truth behind my father's death, I disguised myself as a big-spending international student, chauffeured to and from school in a luxury car every day. Ever since Damian became my private driver, he'd been taking liberties with my car without permission. I turned a blind eye. Until one rainy night when I was being hunted. I called him to pick me up, but his girlfriend threw me out of the car. "This is my boyfriend's car. Who do you think you are? Get out!" Covered in blood and slumped on the side of the road, I smiled as I dialed a number. "Tell the Family. I know the truth." Later, Damian and his little girlfriend knelt before me, begging for mercy. "If you hadn't kicked me out of the car that night, you wouldn't have exposed yourself this quickly. Any regrets?"